Bastard burst into the headquarters of Damned Devils, his chest so tight he thought he might snap in two. Brothers lingered in the front room, reclining on couches, sucking down beers. As usual a scene as any in the headquarters, but also par for the course in all the various chapters along the west coast. Damned Devils were known for having a good time all the time.
And Bastard had been there too many times to count when those good times involved harassing the morning stumblers out of the clubhouse. The noobs, as they were sometimes referred to; partiers who didn’t come around a lot, who didn’t know the lay of the land. They were easy targets for the brothers, quick entertainment.
But Kit had been the target, and he wouldn’t stand for that shit. Being a nomad didn’t mean he was an outsider. It was time to set the record straight.
“Hey.” Bastard fought to keep his voice level as he came up to some of the guys lounging on the ratty plaid couch. “I need your help.”
“Shoot, bro.” Mac leaned forward, some of his thick blond hair slipping out of place behind his ears. Doug and Iron lounged nearby, listening.
“Any of you remember a girl leaving here the other morning? Four days ago. Black hair, big green eyes.” He leaned against the back of an arm chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
Doug snorted. “You’ll have to be more specific. Tits out? Garter belt?”
The guys chuckled. Bastard cleared his throat. “Sweats, plain clothes. I don’t know when she left, just know that she did. Told me some of the brothers were calling out at her.”
Mac squinted into the distance, pinching an eye shut. “Yeah, mighta seen her.” He turned to Doug. “That was the other day, we were outside, right? On the picnic table?”
Doug sniffed, shrugging. “Yeah, I think I seen her.”
“Yeahhh.” Mac nodded. “We were with Head, too.” He swung his head to look at Bastard. “Why?”
Bastard clenched his teeth, trying to rein in an ounce of diplomacy. “Well, whoever was talking to her scared her the fuck off. Said some fucked up shit. And that’s not cool.”
Mac’s brow formed a hard line. “Hey. Whatever was said, that’s just the way it is here,” he began. A moment of silence passed, and then he added, “Besides, she probably deserved it, whatever it was.”
Bastard launched toward him, grabbing Mac by the collar. He could barely see straight from the avalanche of anger that overcame him. “What the fuck did you say?”
Mac laughed weakly, holding up his palms. “Bro. Chill. Just cool it. You know what I mean.”
“What do you mean,” Bastard hissed. Doug was at his side, pulling at his shoulders to get him off Mac. But Bastard stayed steady, never breaking his gaze.
“Nothing.” Mac backpedaled, nervousness creasing his face. “I didn’t mean anything. Just drop it.”
Bastard clenched his fists around the collar of his shirt and then pushed him back into his seat. He stood over him for a moment, watching him, drawing deep breaths.
“You don’t do that shit with her.” Bastard’s neck throbbed, his pulse careening. “She’s carrying my kid.”
Everyone fell quiet. Rock music thrummed in the background while guilty glances coasted between the group.
“How were we supposed to know?” Mac finally muttered, crumpling his beer can. “Coulda been anyone, for all I knew. Fuck, you wanna start asking for name tags at the door?”
Irritation streaked through him. Mac was a newer member; had just been patched in six months earlier. He liked to get drunk and talk shit, and thought he could have any girl he wanted. Between him, Doug and Head, he could see Mac being the real culprit the morning Kit walked away. But really, they were all just as likely to say something offhanded or stupid. Even Bastard.
But things were different now, for better or for worse. And this shit would change. “You need to make it right with her.”
Mac scoffed. “What, she your old lady now?”
“Not yet.” Bastard examined his knuckles, feeling lightheaded from the insurmountable task before him: making things right with Kit. “But she will be. Just gotta make a few things right.”
Doug’s gaze bounced between him and Mac. “Yeah. We can talk to her. I’ll tell Head, too.”
Bastard deflated, relief pulsing through him. It wasn’t much, but it was something. These guys were family, but he couldn’t have them scaring away his actual shot at a blood family. If this thing with Kit was gonna work, she had to be able to count this clubhouse as her home too.
“That means a lot to me,” Bastard mumbled. “I need to make this right.”
“We’ll help you out,” Iron offered, opening his hands. “We’re your brothers. Just let us know when.”
Bastard nodded, scrubbing the heel of his palm against his jaw. “Yeah. That’s the next part I gotta figure out.”
He squeezed Iron’s shoulder and wandered away, just as the front door opened. Rock stomped inside, the club president. As soon as he saw Bastard, he pointed at him with a meaty finger.
“Looking for you,” he said in his trademark rasp.
“What’s up, prez?” Bastard followed him toward the main meeting room, shoving his hands into his pockets. Probably another run. It usually was, when he started off by pointing at him.
“Need you in Mexico,” Rock said as he came to the big wooden table, where all the club meetings and roundups took place. As a nomad, Bastard didn’t have to sit in on the roundups, unless Rock invited him. Sometimes he did, and it was nice to be kept abreast of the goings on of the club here and there. But sitting in on so many meetings reminded Bastard why he preferred the freedom and the solace of being a nomad.
Bastard cleared his throat, running his knuckle along the wood grain of the table. “Okay. What for?”
“Simple pickup,” Rock said, leaning back into his chair. It creaked under his weight. “About forty keys.”
Bastard nodded. Way too much for his bike. “Want me to take the Civic?” It was a pet name for their international vehicle, which was a big utility van outfitted to look like a plumbing company. Usually it was Bastard who drove it, so they had registered it to his name and even forged the company under his likeness as well. Worked like a charm every time too. Must be something about him that screamed plumber.
“Yeah, gonna have to.” Rock ran a hand through his hair. “This is for the Calicos.” A smalltime cartel growing in power, a solid contact for the Damned Devils. “They want you in Tijuana by Thursday.”
Bastard nodded. So he had two days until he had to leave. “Okay. No problem. Consider it done.”
Rock tapped his fist against the table. “You ever think about coming back to the club?”
Bastard grimaced. He’d been a part of this founding chapter of the Damned Devils, a regular member with regular duties. But he’d only lasted a year and a half before striking out as a nomad. Now, three years into being a nomad, it was the lifestyle he preferred. But all the questions and unknowns with Kit had him considering what would be best anymore.
“I dunno.” Bastard sunk into a chair. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
“I know you’d get voted back in.” Rock sniffed, his weary gaze settling on Bastard. “But I know you love all the travel too.”
“Yeah. I sure do.” Bastard paused, considering his next words. He hadn’t wanted to share his business with the brothers yet, but it seemed he just couldn’t keep it under wraps. “You know…I’m expecting a kid.”
Rock’s brows shot upward. “Really? Shit, were you trying for one? Did I miss something?”
“No.” Bastard drew an invisible map with his finger on the tabletop. “Just happened recently. Met a girl, and…”
Rock chuckled. “Yeah, that’s usually how it happens, ain’t it? Congratulations, brother.”
“Thanks.” Anxiety cinched his chest. It was so early, still. So many things could go wrong. But he’d try like hell to make sure Kit had what she needed. “So basically, I need more gigs. If that means I come back fulltime, I’ll do it. I just wanna be able to support my girl.”
My girl. The words made a strange heat blossom inside his chest. It felt good to say it. But would she ever actually be his girl? For now, it was just a fantasy his brothers believed. He still had to get Kit on board. If she’d ever let him back in.
Rock nodded slowly, assessing him with steely eyes. “Definitely. Happy to hear that, too. You know I’ll keep you in mind. You’re one of the most solid guys we’ve got. I want to help you any way I can.”
Bastard swallowed hard. “Thanks, Rock. I appreciate that, coming from you.”
“I’ll toss in a bonus for the Mexico deal, too. Just because you’re a family man now.”
Bastard cracked a grin. “Hey. Don’t go too far now. I’m just starting out. Gotta ease into everything.” Like making sure Kit would let him within a ten foot radius of her and the baby.
“Sure. But once that baby’s born, you’ll be a slave. Trust me.” Rock laughed. “Ain’t no turning back once they pop out.”
Bastard nodded, pushing to his feet. “Thanks for the advice.”
They bumped fists, and Bastard wandered back out into the clubhouse. It was barely nine p.m., which meant Kit was probably performing by now. Part of him wanted to go back and see her, give it another shot. But maybe space was best for now. Letting things cool before he really tried to pry his way back into her life.
He’d barely cracked open a beer before he realized that no, waiting around was not in his style. Not anymore. Not when it came to her. He took a sip of the ice -cold beer and then bolted out the door, one destination in mind. Even if all it did was let him glimpse her again or make his presence known, that was enough. That was something.
The cool night air flooded his senses on the ride over to the club, his second trip there for the day. After he’d parked, he could hear the low undertones of the band slipping out of the bar as he approached the front door. And once he stepped into the inner set of doors, Kit’s sultry voice had already hooked him like fish.
He pushed into the dark bar, heart in his throat as he waited to glimpse her. Would this ever get old? Could he ever tire of someone like Kit?
Questions like these were new to him, since he’d always just figured that he would tire of anyone after long enough. And maybe it was true. But there was only one way to find out.
He pushed through the standing crowd of people, drawn to the stage like he was caught in a tractor beam. Kit’s throaty tone enveloped him, feeling more like a hug than a live performance. After he’d pushed through enough people, her gaze swung over to him. Her eyes hardened, but her singing didn’t waver.
“And no there’s nowhere to hide, since you pushed my love aside…”
Bastard relished the thrill running through him as he watched her belt out the low tempo, modern remake of Hopelessly Devoted.
“I’m outta my head, hopelessly devoted to you…”
Her gaze scorched over him, lingering, maybe, unless he was just wanting it that badly. Was their conversation from before the show still weighing on her? If it was, she wasn’t showing it with the way she worked the crowd, sending sultry looks toward the audience. Her gaze was heated and alive; her body lithe and voluptuous. Dammit Kit, I want you.
He and every other man in the room.
Except he’d be the only one to claim that she was his.
By the time her set was winding down, Bastard finally tugged himself away to go order a beer. He sipped at it coolly, calculating his next move. If he showed up at her dressing room again, it was liable to go poorly. He needed to play this right.
When Kit’s band finished with a flourish, the entire place erupted with applause. He set his beer down to clap, and then waved over the owner.
“I need to talk to Kit, but I don’t think she wants to see me again.” He paused, cracking a knuckle. “Can I send a note back there?”
Gary’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think she wants you bothering her anymore, Bastard.”
“It’s not…” he sighed, studying the foam of his beer. “I’m not bothering her. I’m giving her space.”
“By bothering her with a note?”
He steeled his jaw. “I can’t explain what’s going on. But trust me. I just want her to know I’m looking out for her.”
Gary eyed him for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. One note.”
Bastard grabbed for a napkin, borrowing Gary’s pen to scribble down a quick message: You look beautiful. Amazing job tonight. I want to talk more. Because I’m making everything right, Peach. And then he wrote his number at the bottom before signing it, folding it up and handing it off.
“That’s it.” He put his hands up at his shoulders, gesturing his submission. “I’ll even leave to show you how serious I am.”
Gary nodded. “Okay. Got it. I’ll deliver it myself.”
“Thanks, Gare.” Bastard squeeze his shoulder and downed the rest of his beer. He scanned the bar before he headed for the door, just to make sure Kit wasn’t around or waiting for him. Not like he could expect something like that anytime soon.
He pushed out into the night air, the taste of beer on his tongue, optimism swirling through him despite it all. All he could do now was wait.
And having something—someone—to wait for felt a lot better than he’d expected.