Brute: The Valves MC (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Even Ginger knew I was in no shape to be up and out of bed, much less getting her ready for school. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this sick, and the slightest motion set off a new wave of nausea. But I had a job to do, and I was determined to do it to the best of my ability, despite my own illness.

“Mommy, you should be resting,” she said as I stood in the kitchen packing her lunch and had to close my eyes as the smell of peanut butter hit me like rancid, fresh sewage. “I can call Daddy and have him take me to school.”

“No,” I snapped, and I instantly regretted it. Ginger’s face registered how hurt she was that I would yell at her. I had never really raised my voice to her, no matter what, mostly because she was so well behaved. She was precocious, but Dawson had been raising her right, teaching her how to act.

Ironic, considering the life he led.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I told her, reaching out to her and pulling her against my leg so I could hug her. I was afraid to bend over with the way my stomach churned. “I just don’t feel good and I will rest, after I get you to school, okay? I’m going to have a sick day and stay home, like some of your friends do when they have colds.”

“I think that’s a good idea. Daddy’s home, though. I saw him through the window outside when I got dressed. He was on the phone. He can take me so you can go to bed now.”

I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t feel like it would be safe for me to get behind the wheel of a car in my condition, and the bed was calling my name. But Dawson was going to disappear, very soon, and I didn’t want Ginger to get used to being able to call on her father whenever she wanted. He wouldn’t be available when he was behind bars, and I still didn’t know when that was going to happen.

It hadn’t been that long since we’d all talked, but the whole weekend had been difficult. The discussion as Ginger packed her bags for an ‘exciting visit’ with me had ended in agony for both Dawson and myself, and I’d been sick the whole time. I’d brought the child home with me – a mere few feet away from the home she shared with the man she knew as her father – and struggled through Saturday and Sunday without giving in.

Since Dawson hadn’t appeared to be home most of the time, it was a little easier. Now, though, knowing he was available and that there was little danger in him giving his daughter a quick ride to school had me thinking twice about my resolve to cut all contact.

I’d eventually have to talk to him anyway.

The hopeful look in Ginger’s eyes got me, and I sighed heavily, hoping the fresh air outside might calm my stomach. “Let me get my sweater, and we’ll walk over to ask, okay?”

Her face lit up, and I felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over me. I’d managed to avoid that for the last two days, too busy trying not to throw up while taking care of Ginger full time, but the love Dawson and Ginger shared was deeper and built a stronger bond than any biological father and daughter I’d ever known. And I had all but forced the wedge that was going to be between them for god only knew how long.

In slippers and an old, ratty cardigan that was soft and thick and warm, I walked the five-year-old next door and reminded her to knock. It was her house, but I could never be sure there wasn’t something going on inside Dawson wouldn’t want her to see. Not anymore.

He opened the door, looking stunned to see us there, and if I hadn’t felt like I might collapse – and Ginger hadn’t gotten here first – I might have thrown myself at him. As it was, Ginger had her arms wrapped so tight around his denim-clad legs it looked like his knees might buckle from the pressure. He put a hand on the back of the girl’s small head, a loving gesture I knew all too well by now, and he looked at me with a question that quickly became concern. “Is everything okay?” he asked in a raspy voice that made my toes curl, even with my stomach churning.

“Daddy, Mari is still sick, and I told her to rest. Can you take me to school, just today?” I apparently didn’t have to say anything. The child was going to explain the situation for me.

Dawson’s eyes changed, and his concern grew deeper as he considered me. It was strange how I could see just that small difference in his expression. “You’re still sick? Mari…”

I held a hand up to stop him and closed my eyes against a fresh wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, I told him, “I’m taking the day and going to the doctor. There’s no need to worry, okay? I’ll be better by the time she’s out this afternoon.” It was wishful thinking, I was sure, but I had to be certain Dawson focused on his own problems and not mine.

“Do you need me to take you to the doctor?” he offered, still holding his hand on his little girl’s head.

It sounded lovely, not having to be strong and face it alone, but I couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t give in like that. He had other things to do, and I had my own agenda that didn’t involve drawing Dawson back into my life when he was going to be gone for however long they put him away. “I appreciate the offer, but I can make it. Besides, I might have to call you to pick Ginger up, if the appointment is later in the day. I’d rather have her taken care of.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to count on him for things like that very soon, but I would find a way to make other arrangements, when that time came.

“Take care of yourself. I’ll get her to school. Are you ready, baby?” he asked, addressing Ginger now.

She nodded. “See? I’ve got my backpack and everything.”

With a smile and a nod, Dawson acknowledged her preparation and then looked at me as he told her, “Let me get my shoes on, and we’ll be on our way.”

I knew he was giving me silent thanks for letting him have some time with his daughter, despite our arrangement otherwise. I gave an almost imperceptible nod and started to walk away. I couldn’t keep staring at him and keep my emotions under control.

“Mari?” he called quietly. I glanced back over my shoulder, refusing to give into the urge to turn around and fall into his arms. “Can we talk later?”

I didn’t know if I was ready for that. We’d just had the hardest talk ever a few days ago, and I was still drained from it. From one of his men attacking me. From taking his daughter away. And from being so sick. But it was going to happen sooner or later and, for once, I decided to rip the bandage off. “Sure. Are you going to be here all day?”

He scowled, and I didn’t want to know what other obligations he might have. “Why don’t you call me after you see the doctor? We’ll coordinate.”

Again, I nodded and walked away. I couldn’t handle any more of this. I could feel the nausea welling up in my throat and needed to get to the bathroom, fast. Worrying that Dawson was meeting with the Valves made it worse, and the alternative that he would be meeting with the police to cooperate with their investigation wasn’t any better. One meant danger to Ginger, to me, and I couldn’t allow that. The other meant no less danger for Dawson and took him away from the only family he had.

It had been a long time since I’d thought how unfair life was, but right now, it was all I could think about as I stepped inside my house with every appearance of being calm. Then, I ran full throttle and fell to my knees in front of the toilet, nothing but acid and bile coming out. I hadn’t eaten much for the past few days – some crackers and sparkling water was about all I could handle – and it showed.

Exhausted, I sat down and leaned back against the cool bathroom wall, closing my eyes. I’d have to get over my aversion to food if I was going to make it through this. And I certainly wasn’t going to the doctor. There wasn’t anything he could do for me right now. I’d just suffer through it, for now.

Dragging myself off the floor, I rinsed my mouth, washed my face, and brushed my teeth, which had me feeling almost human again, and I went to the bedroom, gazing out the window to see Dawson pulling out of the driveway. For a split second, I panicked. Had I made a mistake? Anyone in the motorcycle gang could figure out that Dawson was most vulnerable when he was with his daughter, and they would guarantee he had her when it was time to go to school.

I shook the thought away. I couldn’t be with Ginger twenty-four hours a day, and that meant she was vulnerable anyway. At least with Dawson there, she had someone to protect her. For the moment. How was Ginger going to react when the extended stay at my house became a permanent one? Dawson was confident he wouldn’t get more than a year, but I still didn’t know what charges he could have against him. He’d given me a vague idea of the things he’d done that he wasn’t proud of, but he hadn’t laid it all out on the table in detail. What if he got hit with twenty years? Or a life sentence?

I couldn’t think about it, the worry churning my stomach worse. I forced myself to go to the kitchen and get some butter crackers, and I poured myself some strawberry soda, hoping all of that would help settle my stomach. I sat down at the kitchen table with the snack and my phone, though I didn’t know why I needed the phone. I wasn’t expecting a call from anyone. Dawson said to call him, and that would be later in the day. And no one else ever called.

Realizing that just made me feel pathetic. I didn’t have any friends. The few neighbors who had been friendly before seemed to have gone all righteous on me when I started seeing Dawson, and the same was true of my coworkers. Imagine how they would look at me when Dawson disappeared with no explanation, and I still had his daughter. Not just a fool and a harlot for being with him, but now a single mother, as well.

With my parents gone and my sister off gallivanting around the world as a flight attendant, I was alone, and the only friends I had were a beautiful little girl who had started to call me Mommy and a dangerous biker looking at heavy prison time. And they weren’t just friends; they were family. We were all going to be miserable.

I made it through half my crackers before my eyelids started to droop, and I took advantage of the fact that I might actually be able to sleep. I trudged to my bedroom, not bothering to clear the table, and fell into my bed.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Hands on my ass got my attention and I rolled over to face Dawson, his eyes dark and hot. I could feel his cock against my thigh and was instantly aroused. I opened my mouth, wanting to tell him we couldn’t do this anymore, but he put a finger to my lips. “Don’t talk,” he whispered, and somehow, I knew it was important to be quiet, though I wasn’t sure why.

He was already undressed, and he quickly pushed my pajama shorts down my legs and buried his fingers in my folds. He rubbed and teased and pushed inside, thrusting over and over until my moisture poured over his hand, and he sighed. “That’s it, Mari. Come for me.”

The whispered words did me in, and the wave of pleasure stroked my skin like a loving caress as I shivered and moaned quietly. “Dawson, please!” I begged. I didn’t have to explain – he knew what I wanted, and he was ready to give it to me. He shifted his weight on top of me and then between my legs, and he rolled his hips back and forth, rubbing against my clit and teasing at my core. And when I couldn’t catch my breath, he drilled into me with a long, harsh thrust his cock was deep and satisfying, filling me, massaging every part of my inner walls.

But something was different, and though there was the same desperation that we always shared in the bedroom, there was a tenderness I wasn’t used to in the way he touched me, a sensuality that was more pronounced, and it took me to a level of passion I wasn’t sure I would survive. Instead of the angry, violent pace that was our norm, he fucked me with long, thorough strokes that had me on the verge of blacking out with the pure ecstasy of it.

I clung to him with my whole body, desperate not to lose him as I realized this felt like saying goodbye. His lips crashed down on mine, and then he filled me, his body shivering with the effort not to scream as he found his release. I milked him dry, my inner walls pulsating and contracting around his cock with my own explosive orgasm.

I closed my eyes in delicious satisfaction as he collapsed, but I didn’t feel his weight on me, and it was strange. I clutched at him, but all I got was air, and I opened my eyes, finding my limbs wrapped around a pillow. It couldn’t have been a dream, I thought. It felt too real. But as I looked around and found myself completely alone – and wearing something completely different than I had pictured – I knew I’d imagined it all, and tears slid down my cheeks.

I had no idea if I’d ever feel Dawson’s arms around me again, if he’d ever lie next to me in all his beautiful nakedness, and that broke my heart. I let the tears flow for a few minutes, mourning the loss of something I knew now to be more special than I’d ever wanted to believe. Then, I told myself to get over it. I had to be strong, for everyone. I had to carry myself through this, take care of a little girl who’d already had her life uprooted once before, and I had to make sure Dawson had enough confidence in my ability to do so that he could focus on taking care of himself and getting back to her as quickly as possible.

I climbed out of my bed slowly and carefully, fearing the oncoming nausea that was inevitable, and when nothing happened, I took a moment revel in the fact that I didn’t feel sick for the first time in several days. Then, I marched with slow determination toward the bathroom. I needed to shower. I’d feel more alive when I was clean.

I was hungry, but I wasn’t going to satisfy my appetite and risk bringing back the morbid illness that had kept me down for so long. I would let myself recover fully and feed myself when I was sure it would be safe, when I couldn’t hold out any longer. I dressed in simple clothes, loose and comfortable – my favorite yoga pants and a soft, long-sleeved t-shirt would be fine for my intentions, which involved nothing more than drawing up my courage to speak to Dawson.

Before I called, I had to decide whether I wanted to be on my turf or his. My house was my solace, and I would feel more solid and confident here, in whatever I had to say or do. But it would be easier to end the conversation if it got heated or if Dawson wasn’t ready to back down from some argument or plea if I went to his place. I had a hard time with the idea of throwing him out, but I could readily march out of his house any time I wanted and not look back.

Six of one, half a dozen of the other, right? I decided to let Dawson tell me where he wanted to talk. Before I could talk myself out of it, I dialed his number. It went to his voicemail, and I was about to leave a message when my call waiting beeped. I answered his callback instantly. “Hello?”

“Sorry I missed the call, ba…Mari.” He was going to call me ‘babe’ and stopped himself. I winced. I hadn’t wanted things to come to this, ever, and I hated myself for what I had to do. “I was on the other line with my mother.”

I wondered if he’d told his mother what he planned to do, and why. I wondered, actually, how much the woman really knew about his life. I didn’t ask. “It’s all right. You told me to call.”

“Did you go to the doctor?” he asked.

I didn’t answer immediately. I didn’t want to lie. Finally, I said, “I think I had food poisoning or something. I took a nap and I feel better now.” Weak and tired still, but not nauseated. Anything was an improvement at this point. “Do you still want to talk?”

“Yes.” His tone changed, from worried to despondent. “Are you up to eating? I can make lunch.”

I chuckled softly, not feeling the humor. “Thanks, but I doubt I could handle anything more solid than soup or tea.”

“Then soup and tea it is. Give me twenty minutes, okay? I haven’t showered yet. I’ve been…busy.” There was the cryptic tone I had grown to hate, silently whenever possible. I gritted my teeth against it, no longer feeling I had the right to come down on him or beg for full disclosure.

Instead, I said, “That’s fine. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” I hung up and silently watched the clock on the wall as the seconds ticked by. It became almost hypnotic, soothing, and my heartbeat synced with the ticking. After fifteen minutes, I stood and went to my room, grabbing socks and sneakers from my closet. I sat on the bed and pulled them on, glancing at the time again. It had only taken two minutes.

I decided to take some aspirin, my head throbbing suddenly, and by the time I swallowed that, it was time to walk over. I didn’t bother locking the door, and I didn’t carry anything with me. What was the point? I lifted my hand to knock, but the door opened, and Dawson stood there in a tight t-shirt, jeans slung low on his hips, and mussed wet hair. His tattoos glistened, his skin still damp from the shower, and my mouth went dry. In that moment, I thought my nausea would have been preferable. At least I wouldn’t have debated calling a truce long enough to get my fix.

He smiled tensely and stepped aside to let me in without a word. He closed the door and, as I stood in the entry by the kitchen, he swept past me, motioning for me to follow. I balled my hands into fists and pulled my cardigan tighter around me, suddenly very cold, though it was toasty and comfortable in his house. I saw the table set with bowls of steaming soup and hot tea. The lemon juice was next to my serving, and I smiled. Dawson always thought of everything.

But there was something else on the table, and I frowned. The manila folder, a pen resting on top of it, looked very formal, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what was inside. Clearly, it was for me, but what was it? “Have a seat,” he said finally, and he pulled out my chair like some classic gentleman.

He didn’t take a seat until I was settled, and I teased, “Is that where you were this morning? Taking lessons on chivalry?”

He returned my attempt at humor with one of his own, though his expression held about as much mirth as that of an executioner for the wrongly accused. “No, I learned that from my mother, who just reminded me earlier that I should act like a gentleman from time to time. Whoever said chivalry is dead hasn’t met my mother and her determination to keep it alive.”

I forced a chuckle and tasted the soup. Its warmth going down felt nice, and my stomach seemed quite pleased that I was actually putting something of value into it. “Thank you for lunch. I haven’t had an appetite in days.”

He nodded. “It’s the least I can do, under the circumstances. Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

I wasn’t sure it would last, but I nodded honestly. “I slept, took a shower, and suddenly, I could breathe without feeling sick. It’s a miracle.” I took a few more bites and sipped at my tea, but I didn’t want to drag this out all afternoon. It was my M.O., and I had to change that about myself. I needed to be more assertive as a person, as a mother, and not just when thing got too difficult to handle otherwise, the way I had at work. “You wanted to talk, Dawson. What about?”

He looked away, not meeting my eyes. “I have some business to take care of with you. And I wanted to straighten out a few things, now that you know…what kind of person I’ve been.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Before you say anything, I want to reassure you that, whatever things you’ve done, they’re in the past.  You can’t change them, and you’re working to atone for any damages you’ve caused. I believe you’re a good man in a bad situation, Dawson, and you need to believe that, too. Because it doesn’t matter what happens next. There will come a time that you’ll need to be here for Ginger, and if you keep kicking yourself for everything that it’s too late to fix, you won’t be able to take care of her when that time comes.”

It took a lot of strength and determination to get through that speech, and my heart wrenched as I said it. I knew it was as much my forgiveness to him for what he’d hidden from me and the danger he’d put us all in as it was a reassurance that I believed in him.

“Thank you, for saying that,” he grumbled quietly. He lifted his hand, slid it across the table, and I thought he was reaching for mine. But I couldn’t be sure, since he drew it back almost instantly. Relief and disappointment battled inside as I thought about how nice it would be to touch him, or to have him touch me, even in such a chaste manner.

He took a deep breath and said, “I want you to know everything about how Ginger came to me. And I want you to know how important it is she never finds out about it.”

I stared at him, blinking. He’d told me what happened to her father. I didn’t think there was anything else to it, but, apparently, I was wrong. I hadn’t been prepared for this sort of sad story, and I had to brace myself. Deliberately, I picked up my tea and wrapped my hands around the hot cup, partly to keep them warm and partly so they didn’t shake as bad as I told him, “I’m listening.”