A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (11 page)

“Use your head, kid,” he says. “We need to be smarter than ever right now. I’m depending on you to be intelligent about things, given the current climate. You can’t go popping off at police officers for no reason. What’s your stake in this, anyway?” He narrows his eyes at me over his tented fingers. “This seems more personal than I would have expected from you. It ain’t just about your business, that’s for damn sure. What’s going on? What don’t I know?”

I lean back. I’m not ready to tell Croak about Kendra yet. The commotion at the club will bring attention in its own time. To be honest, the fact that Croak hadn’t even heard about it yet is just another piece of evidence that he is slipping. In his prime, he knew about everything the second it went down. But the sloppiness I’ve seen from him lately isn’t promising. He’s been getting too old, too drunk, too careless; now, when I need him to let loose on the reins of the club, he is being way more cautious than I ever would have imagined. It used to be that Croak fired first and asked questions later. Now, here he is investigating me, like I’m the one worth his scrutiny.

True, there are things I am hiding from him. I’m still figuring out the best way to present the whole Kendra situation to the club. Some guys might frown on stealing another man’s wife, even a man as piggish as Grady, and I need a full bloc of support if I want to start taking shots at the guys who work the triggers of the government guns. Something like outright theft just won’t look good.

But it isn’t fair to call it that. She’d come with me because she wanted to, not because I’d made her. That sounds hollow even in my ears, though. I have to admit, if another Angel had done something as foolish as run off with the wife of the one guy in the whole town who could unravel our business on a whim, I’d be on his ass quicker than lightning. No, I need to have a bulletproof explanation, and this is neither the time nor the place nor the way in which I want to lay all my cards on the table.

I open my mouth to respond to Croak’s question, but a burst of noise interrupts behind me before I can begin.

“I want his fucking head!” Grady roars, kicking in the door to Croak’s office. He has his police baton in one hand. The tip of the weapon is twirling like it is hungry to inflict pain. He looks down, sees me sitting in the chair, and seizes me by my shirt before I can react. Grady spins and slams me against the wall, pressing the baton across my throat to cut off the air. I try to push him away, but he’s fueled by rage. Crazy always wins in a fight.

“You motherfucking cocksucker, I ought to kill you right here! How fucking dare you march her around in front of me like that. I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you, you goddamn crook!” His jowls flop like they are surging with enraged electricity. Spit flecks from his mouth to my face, which is only inches away.

Vince and Steezy come barreling into the room and pull Grady away from me. I hear them apologizing to Croak as they separate us. They help me down from the wall and step between Grady and me to prevent any more fighting. He shakes them off.

“Don’t fucking touch me, scum,” he snarls.

“I’m sorry, boss,” Steezy says to Croak. “We didn’t know if we could stop him or not. He had his badge out. He told us he’d have us arrested on the spot if we tried to keep him out.”

Croak raises both hands, trying to bring the tension in the room down a notch. Everyone is huffing and red-faced from the exertion. “Thank you, boys. It’s okay. Officer Freeman, sit, please.” He points to an adjacent seat. I stand still where Grady had thrown me, fists clenched, ready to swing if provoked. Croak looks to me. “You, too, Mortar. Sit.”

I stride cautiously to the seat I had been in before. Grady scowls at me as we sit next to each other, separated by only a yard. Either one of us is more than willing to cross that distance and end the life of the bastard on the other side of it. Croak is the only thing stopping that from happening.

He walks around the desk and sits on the edge closest to us. When he speaks, his tone is low and soothing, like a zookeeper talking to wild animals. “Grady, you and I have been working together for a long time. We’ve made a lot of money together and you know I do everything I can to make sure you stay happy. Tell me what’s going on.”

Grady glares at me. “This motherfucker stole my wife, the piece of shit,” he spits.

Croak raises an eyebrow as he turns to face me. “Is this true?” he asks. There is a brooding undertone to his voice. He’s not happy about finding out like this.

“She came on her own, Prez,” I say, keeping my words concise.

“That’s a fucking lie!” Grady says, starting to leap up at me. Croak put a hand on his chest and lowers him back to his seat.

“Don’t you touch me either, you bastard,” the cop growls at him. “I’m a cop. Nobody fucking touches me.” Sweat is running in rivulets down his starched navy collar.

Croak doesn’t waver as he replies, “You may be a cop, but you’re in our house right now, Grady. Think before you act.”

“Are you threatening me?” His voice is murderous.

“Not a threat, Officer. Just a fact.” Croak is every bit as icy calm as his reputation predicted.

I see Grady’s hand itching to draw his gun. He must be insane if he’s willing to resort to that. There’s no way he’d be able to explain to a state ethics investigation why he’d been in the middle of a known criminal hangout during a firefight. I can’t imagine that he’d be so stupid.

He reconsiders and leans forward, practically spitting in Croak’s face. “I want his head on a silver fucking platter. Do you understand me? He stole my wife. He fucked her. And he needs to die for it. I’m not negotiating here, Croak.”

Croak acknowledges Grady’s words with a somber expression. He looks to me. “Tell me what happened, Mortar.”

I lay out the story as simply as possible. “She didn’t want to be with him. She came with me. I didn’t force her; she chose it. That’s all there is to it.”

Croak nods, taking in what I said. I see the gears turning in his head. What could he be weighing? There is never any telling what’s happening in that inscrutable brain of his. He folds his arms across his chest before saying in a careful voice, “I can’t let you kill him, Grady.”

Grady looks apoplectic. He might explode just sitting there. The tone that comes out of his mouth, though, is dark and controlled. I didn’t expect such self-control. I don’t like to see anger held back like that. You can always count on an angry man to be angry. But when an angry man holds back his emotions, it always pops out in unexpected ways. Unexpected is the last thing I want.

“Fine,” he grits. “But the bitch owed me money. I want repayment. For her and for her debts.”

Croak nods. “That seems justified. What were you owed?”

Grady outlines the terms of the deal. The amount of money he quotes is jaw-dropping. I don’t know how I’ll manage to pay it off, but I keep my face under control. No weakness in front of the enemy.

“Mortar will pay everything that she owed you, as well as a blood money fee to compensate for the loss of your wife.” Croak’s words are final. I know without even asking that he’ll never budge.

Grady stands. He turns to me and raises his baton. From the back of the room, Vince and Steezy start to step forward to intervene, but Croak holds up a hand to stop them. The mood is tense, thick enough to slice, practically sweating with pent-up fury.

Grady pushes the tip of the baton under my chin. I feel the cold plastic on my skin, black and threatening.

“You crossed a line, my friend,” he says. The thin-lipped smile on his fat face is far scarier than any weapon he might aim at me. It’s the smile of a man prepared to do terrible things. “I’m coming for you. For her, too. You’re both gonna wish you’d never been born.”

He stares down the baton at me. Neither of us blink or move. I can see Croak, Steezy, and Vince lingering in the corner of my eye, ready to jump in the second something happens.

“We’ll be ready,” I hiss back. Grady’s smile does not change.

“Good.” He drops the baton, holsters it, and strolls out the door, whistling.

I suck in a deep breath, rubbing the lined bruise on my throat where he’d pinned me against the wall. Croak drops into the seat next to me as Vince and Steezy file out the door with concerned looks on their faces.

He won’t look at me. “You know I’m right,” I tell him. “You know what needs to happen.” He won’t say a word. He’s slipping, letting the whole organization crumble between his fingers like sand at the beach. Grady needs to be stopped or else he’s gonna cause a world of trouble for us for a long time. Not just me, but the entire club. Can’t Croak see that? Doesn’t he realize what’s at stake?

But he won’t say anything. He just tents his fingers in front of his face and stares at the floor, unblinking, as I stand and walk out the door.

I suppose, all things considered, that this was kind of a victory. I didn’t get the green light I wanted from Croak, but I’m not so sure it matters anymore. He’s not as on top of things as he once was. I’m willing to bide my time, but if things escalate and I decide to put a bullet in Grady’s thick skull, I’m not gonna be sitting around waiting for Croak to tell me everything is all good before I pull the trigger.

The debt is another issue. I made a promise to Kendra that I would help her keep the studio, and I intend to follow through. But, like everything else in this grim, shallow world, it just comes down to money. I’ll have to find a way to make it all work.

At the core of it all is Kendra herself. I feel a little uplifted at the thought of her. She’s mine, despite whatever Grady fucking Freeman has to say about it. There’s not a person in this world who can do anything about it. We’re bound by a promise. Croak, Grady, and anyone else who has something to say about us can just go ahead and shove it up their own ass. She’s mine, and I’m never letting go.

Never.

* * *

I decide to take the long way home, cruising down the boardwalk to see the families and tourists flocking to the beach. I pass the bike shop, some restaurants, and, just before the last turn, a tall, run-down building that catches my eye.

There’s a window thrown open on the second floor. From street level, I can see a figure in there with her back to me. I’d recognize that body anywhere.

Parking my bike on the sidewalk in front, I dismount and kill the engine. I frown when I notice the door swinging on its hinges crazily, one bad bump away from falling off and hurting someone. I’ll have to get that fixed. I don’t want Kendra getting concussed by something as silly as a broken door.

Moving inside, I mount the stairs two at a time. Light streams through the upstairs room, along with a sea breeze that flirts with the edges of the loose canvases that cover every desk and table top.

Kendra doesn’t see me as I enter. I pause at the door and watch her work. She’s got her hair tied back in a messy ponytail and paint smeared on her neck and arms. She’s wearing an apron over a tank top and jean shorts, just enough clothing to show plenty of the dusky skin I love. The strokes of her thin muscles bend and flex as she dips a brush in paint, raises it to the canvas on the easel in front of her, and focuses intensely on a tiny patch of sky. I laugh at how zoned in she has, how in her element, so unaware of everything in the world except for the miniscule square inch under her brush.

She’s one of a kind.

I stroll towards her, careful to be quiet and avoid breaking her concentration. She still doesn’t notice me. I drink in the easy curves of her breasts, pressing against the rough cotton of the apron tied around her. Her belly is flat, but I can’t help but let my imagination wander and do some painting of its own. I picture her stomach growing, swelling with my child, until the apron is taut across her rounded womb. I wish I could walk up behind her like I’m doing now, rest my hands on her hips, and feel the soft thrum of my son kicking within her.

I’m hard just thinking about it. Picturing this woman heavy with a baby is a bigger turn on than anything else I’ve ever encountered in my life. None of the women in my past could even come close. She just looks so starkly stunning, so beautiful, so alone in the world.