Outlaw's Baby: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (5 page)

T
hump
, thump.

I twist over in the bed, trying to block out that noise. It’s probably coming from inside my own fucking head. It usually is. Although…did I drink that much last night? I can’t remember hitting the booze as hard as I normally do. That being said, my mouth is unbearably dry. That's a pretty good sign that I’ve spent the previous night wasted out of my skull. 

I fling my hand out, trying to grasp onto something to tell me the time. I hit soft, warm flesh instead, which brings the memories flooding back. This time, the girl beside me is a pleasant surprise rather than someone I need to get rid of. Someone that I should
 
have sent home immediately after I was done with her.

“Hmph.” Cherie murmurs before shifting over and making herself comfortable again.

I can’t help but smile at the sight of her pale, innocent young body writhing next to me. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but there’s just something about her that makes me want to protect her. Like some kind of aura, or whatever shit they call it these days. It’s more than the fact she came all this way to find her missing sister. She walked straight into danger, in that shit heap of a car and without any money to boot. It’s just the essence of her. She fascinates me; every aspect of her.

This feels like so much more than a random hookup. It did right from the first moment I smelled her. How fucking weird is that?

That’s why I didn’t fuck her last night. I wanted to wait, to savor the moment when it finally arrives. I know it’s gonna be something else, too. The feel of her wet, tight pussy last night has my cock standing to attention even now just thinking of it.

Thump, thump.

Oh shit, there’s that noise again. What the hell is it? Is someone knocking at the door?

Holy fuck. I jump up out of the bed, starting to feel more panicked than I ever have before. If this is the cops, then I’m fucking screwed. And at the worst possible time, too. I don’t want to get arrested with Cherie here. How goddamned humiliating would that be? Plus, it’s likely that she would be somehow implicated, even though she’s perfectly innocent.

Well, innocent in most ways, anyway.

I grab my jeans with one hand as I scramble around the room for all my belongings with the other. I can’t think straight, I just need to…

Thump, thump.

Oh god. My entire body slumps with relief as I realize that the sound is coming from next door. It’s their door that’s being pounded on. It’s probably just housekeeping or something. If they even have cleaners in this shit hole of a motel.

“Stop being so paranoid, you fucking idiot!” I hiss to myself.

I can’t let Cherie see me all worked up like this. I need to calm the hell down or she’ll worry, too. Even more than when she wakes up and remembers that she spent the night with a man on the run; a supposed murderer.

I head for the window, but before I open it, I spot something that makes my heart leap right up into my throat. Police officers, two of them. For real this time. This isn’t just my paranoia speaking—I can actually see them with my own fucking eyes.

“Oh, fuck.”

I mutter under my breath as I watch them stop directly under the window. They talk intently to each other, pulling out random documents to examine as they do. They’re here for me, I just know it. I don’t know 
how
 I can be so certain of that, just that I am. An iciness starts to creep up my spine as a tight knot of panic boils in my stomach.

“Cherie.” I grab her, shaking her more ferociously than I probably should be. She turns over but doesn’t instantly wake.

Should I just go? Would it be better if I left her? At least she wouldn’t get any shit for being with me…unless someone saw us as we came in? Oh crap, I can’t make this decision right now. I don’t want to, and I don’t want to leave her, either.

“Cherie!” I say a bit louder this time, and luckily, she bolts upright in bed.

“Wha…?” she asks while rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Oh god, why the fuck does she have to look so cute right now? I really don’t need this distraction or the current throbbing in my pants. I need to focus for once in my fucking life.

“We have to go. We need to leave right now.” I emphasize my words, desperate to get my point across clearly and quickly. She needs to understand me right away.

As she pushes her way out of the bed, seeming to just get it, I race back over to the window. They’re still there, which means we have a chance. We might actually be able to escape.

“Come on,” I hiss. I know I sound rude, but now is not the time for bullshit niceties. “We can get out of the back, if we leave this second.”

As I turn back, I quickly see that Cherie is already dressed. She has the clothes back on that she washed yesterday. They’re still a little damp, but she doesn’t seem to care about that at all. The frantic look in her eyes suggests that she only has one end goal. The same one as me... getting the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.

All the words that I want to say fall away as I grab her wrist and drag her from the room. I flick back one last glance to check that I haven’t left anything behind. I don’t want to leave any clues that either of us were ever here.

We tumble down the stairs, making far too much noise as we go, but I don’t give a shit about that. I just need to escape. I know that there’s a back door, leading right to the spot where I parked my bike. I also know we have about three seconds to get there before the police start their manhunt around this place.

Roman’s word means fuck all to me now. He might have deemed this place safe, but I wouldn’t put it past the bimbo on the main desk to rat me out. I could see it in her eyes; she wanted to fuck me and throw me in jail all at once. If she got wind I actually came back here with another woman, she’s the type to tattle merely out of spite.

God damn it, I did not think this plan through.

“Where…” Cherie pants. “Where are we going to go?”

“You just leave that to me, baby doll,” I throw back at her. I have no idea how to answer her question, but I don’t want her to know that. She’s still a little confused about being woken up in such a manic fashion. I don’t want to give her anything else to panic about.

Especially not because of me.

Finally we push the doors open, and the cool early morning air hits our faces. I hear Cherie let out a small gasp, but I don’t stop. One slip-up could be all it takes for me to end up in jail. They can fuck off if they think I’m going there for something I didn’t even do.

“There.” I point to my bike, and we both jump on it. Luckily I have a spare helmet hanging from the handlebars. I actually keep it in case I lose one, but this time it’s going to come in handy.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I occasionally take chicks out for a ride to impress them before we fuck. However, now isn’t the time to say that out loud, especially not to Cherie.

She places her hands awkwardly on my hips, as if she’s never ridden on a bike before and has no idea how dangerous it is. Grinning to myself, I grab her arms and wrap them tightly around me. She’s going to have to grip me hard if she wants to stay on. We’re about to go faster than I’ve ever gone before.

“Don’t let go,” I say before revving the engine to life. God, I love the sound of that purr. This bike is probably the only non-shitty thing that I own, and I love it with my life.

I flash a glance behind me I put my foot down and race off into the distance. I'm trying to get as far away from this fucking motel as humanly possible. I don’t even think about where I’m headed. In fact, all I really think about is Cherie’s arms clinging to me.

Soon, my mind begins to wander into much dirtier territory than is appropriate for a moment like this. As it does, I suddenly realize that I’ve now turned Cherie into a fugitive, too. She’s now on the run with a suspected felon.

Coming back to my room with me was one thing. She could have easily denied that she knew anything about me. But to run from the police alongside me like this...

No one could deny knowledge there, not even the world’s most expensive criminal attorney.

Wasn’t like either of us could afford top-dollar legal representation anyway…or any at all.

I wonder if she’s noticed this, too. I wonder if she’s regretting ever setting eyes on me. I can’t imagine Cherie has ever done anything bad in her life before. I certainly can’t picture her sitting in the slammer.

I don’t know why she’s still with me, and I don’t know why she made the decision not to turn me in last night. I do know that I’m grateful. I don’t know what it is about her, I just feel more powerful when she’s around.

I think I might be in trouble, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the authorities.

“
W
here are we going
?” I finally hear Cherie ask meekly from behind me.

I have no idea how to answer her. All I’ve really been worrying about is getting away, but I don’t think that’s an issue anymore. We’ve been driving for ages with no sign of anyone, so I’m pretty sure we’re safe. It’s time to make up my mind; it’s time to take some sort of action.

Instead of immediately saying anything, I veer off to the side of the road and stop the bike. I pull off my helmet, feeling the sweat from my dirty hair trickle down my face as I turn to face Cherie.

She imitates me, tugging off her helmet, too. I’m amazed to see how good she still looks. She was pulled from her bed in a hurry, she’s had no time to dress properly, to brush her hair, even to shower. Yet somehow, she still looks gorgeous.

Like a fucking angel.

Her piercing blue eyes look questioningly into mine. It takes me a second to shake myself out of this moment and back to what needs to be done.

“We should get started,” I say in a gruff, matter-of-fact tone. When Cherie doesn’t immediately say anything, I speak again. “We should start looking for your sister.”

“Err…right, yeah. Okay.” She sounds a little stunned. Maybe she didn’t really expect me to help her. Does she not know that I always keep my promises? No, I suppose she doesn’t. We’ve only been acquainted for a little while. Not even a day, come to think of it. Mere hours, really.

Why does it feel like it’s already been a lifetime? And why doesn’t that bother me in the slightest?

“I mean, if she’s been missing for a while, we can’t really afford to waste any more time, can we?”

Cherie’s silence proves that I’ve probably said the wrong thing. Of course I have. I don’t want to worry her more than she already is and make her think something awful has happened to her sister. She’s been dealing with this shit for months already.

“So, where do we start? The strip club, maybe. What did you say it was called again?”

I do remember—my memory isn’t that short. I just love the cute, uncomfortable look Cherie gets on her face when having to say such a dirty thing.

“Pussies Galore,” she says.

She almost whispers the words. She's shifting in her seat and letting her hair hang down across her face like a mask for her to hide behind.

“Do you know where it is?”

“Do you?” she snaps back, either taking her worry out on me or trying to find out how much time I spend in strip clubs. Perhaps a bit of both.

It might not be a good idea to admit that I’ve been to that particular club more than once. I shrug, feigning innocence. “Maybe we should ask someone.”

I turn as I speak, as if I’m looking for the next random passer-by to speak to.

“Stop it,” she hisses, pulling me backwards. “I have the address written down somewhere.” She pulls her backpack off her back and starts to rummage through it.

I try to hide the smile that spreads across my face as I watch her. Half of me is enjoying winding her up, but the other half of me wants to stop it. I wish I could just wrap her up into a massive hug to protect her from whatever she’s about to discover.

I don’t like to say it out loud, but a missing person is never a good sign. I’ve never known anyone to vanish and turn back up again without some serious baggage. Plus, the situation surrounding Bridgette’s disappearance just doesn’t sound great. A stripper, an abusive boyfriend…it just doesn’t equate to a happy ending in my eyes. Maybe it would in the movies, but this isn’t a movie. This is real life, and real life fucking sucks.

I’ve known that for far too long now.

“Okay, I think it’s just around the corner from here.” Cherie finally looks up, panting and a little red-faced.

“Sure,” I say, shoving my helmet back on. I don’t want her to be able to read my expression and be able to tell that I already knew that.

We race around to the filthy street which contains the seedy building that is Pussies Galore. Trash floats along the road, including more than one condom wrapper. Graffiti covers the red brick walls and shady characters loiter on every street corner. It doesn’t escape my notice that Cherie grips on to me much tighter.

I twist the bike around into a stop, right by the door. I admit, I’m showing off a little, but that’s to cover up something much deeper. It’s not necessarily fear, just a bit of anxiety that Cherie is about to get bad news.

I don’t allow that to show, though. I swing my legs off the bike and grab Cherie’s hand. I keep my face steely and confident. As we walk through the bright red chipped doors, I continue to swagger in the confident way that I always do. The more presence I have, the more I get what I want. I’ve learnt that over time. If my crappy life has taught me anything, it’s that, and that’s a lesson that I’ll always use.

It’s the early, but there are still girls dancing, and there are still clients paying. It may not be the top-notch clientele, but it’s a well-known fact that Pussies Galore never sleeps.

“What now?” Cherie whispers, slipping her hand into mine and moving her slight body behind me.

She’s uncomfortable, so I take the lead, something that I’m extremely good at. “Let’s take a seat and get a drink. Act natural.”

We slide into a nearby booth and wait in silence for a waitress to come and serve us. I find my eyes scanning the girls, even though I have no idea who I’m looking for. Bridgette might not look like Cherie, but I should be able to spot some sisterly resemblance. Plus, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I told Cherie I’d help, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.

Fuck, when did I suddenly become so whipped?

“Can I get you guys anything?” A brassy southern drawl interrupts my thought pattern, and I open my mouth to ask for a whiskey. It might be early, but we need to blend in.

To my shock, Cherie pipes up before I can get a single word out.

“Where’s Bridgette?” she snaps, her voice sounding much harsher than I’ve heard before.

I snap my eyes around to face her. I know we didn’t exactly have a plan between us, but whatever I was thinking, it certainly wasn’t this. Does she not know anything about getting information out of people? You don’t just go in head first, like a bull in a china shop. It takes street-smarts and manipulation.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any girls by that name here. Now if you’d like to hire one of our dancers, we have Karma and Destiny available today…”

Cherie doesn’t let the waitress finish. “Don’t give me that spiel. Bridgette is my sister. I haven’t seen her for months. I need…” To her obvious annoyance, her voice starts to break a little and tears fill her eyes. “I need to know where she is. I think her dancer’s name was…”

She pauses thoughtfully for a second, and I glance over to the waitress, trying to gauge her reaction. I hope the tears are going to work. I really
 
don’t want to have to seduce this woman; not in front of Cherie. Plus, she has the haggard, tired look of a woman that spends too much of her time entertaining. I know a lot of the girls here have the side job of the oldest profession in the world. I wouldn’t be surprised if this woman was one of them.

She impatiently shoves a wayward strand of dyed red hair behind her ear. I get it. These women have people asking after them all the time, and it’s the duty of the staff to ensure that no one gets close. One of the biggest dangers in this profession is odd characters becoming obsessed. That’s the sort of thing that causes bad shit to happen.

Just as I open my mouth, to try and say anything to make it better, Cherie speaks out again.

“Crystal!” She sounds excited that she’s finally nailed it. “Her dancer name is Crystal.”

“I…” The waitress glances around, starting to look uncomfortable. “I can tell you when she’s in work next…” She starts to say something else before clearly thinking better of it. “I…um…I’ll just go check.”

She suddenly scuttles off behind the bar, hopefully to consult a work schedule.

“I guess she can’t…” I lean in towards Cherie, wanting to reassure her.

“She can,” she says, interrupting me. “She could if she really wanted to. She knows that Bridgette is in trouble, and she knows that she should tell me what she knows. Something is holding her back.”

“Maybe because she isn’t too sure you are who you say you are?” I don’t know why I’m defending this woman; I just need Cherie to calm down. She might be sitting here rather quietly, simmering away in her anger... But she has this burning energy surrounding her, and I’m concerned she’ll explode.

“I can’t do this,” she says before abruptly standing up. She storms over to the bar, and I know I need to stop her before she does something really stupid.

Before I reach her, I see one of the dancers making their way over to her and quickly whispering something in her ear. Whatever she says, it’s clearly nothing to do with business. Her words stop Cherie dead on the spot.

For some reason, this makes me freeze, too. She’s discovered something; I just know it.

I just don’t know what.

I wait, my shoulders tense as I see her turn back to face me. It’s like the action is happening in slow motion, and that’s killing me. I live life in the fast lane—

Always have done, always will—and I need to know now.

Her bright blue eyes are shiny and panicked. Her lips are pulled inwards, pursed into a strained expression. She’s wringing her hands, tugging on her fingers, clearly stressed as hell.

I want to rush to her side. I want to pull her in towards my body. After what feels like forever, she slowly lifts up two of her fingers, indicating two minutes.

I want to shake my head, to tell her not to go anywhere without me. Time speeds up once more and she’s whipped away from my sight.

Not sure what else to do, I continue my walk over to the bar. I notice my swagger has already become more of a stagger. If Cherie is about to find out that her sister is dead, then she’s going to collapse. I may have only met this girl last night, but I don’t think I can see her fall apart. It’ll tear at my heart.

Until now, I didn’t even know I had a heart.

“Whiskey,” I manage to blurt out to the bartender.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” The tall, leggy brunette throws an exaggerated wink my way.

Normally, I’d want to flirt back, just to be polite, but I can’t even muster up a half-smile.

The drink slides across the bar in my direction, and I shove my hand into my pocket. I'm desperately trying to find some change to pay for this drink. In all the chaos, I’d forgotten how broke I was.

“This one’s on the house.” The brunette smiles at me again as she watches me.

“Thank you,” I mutter, finally forcing a weak half-smile back at her.

“So…” She leans on the bar, pursing her red lips towards me, forcing my attention on her. She squashes her arms together, trying to make her cleavage more bountiful and attractive. “What’s a handsome guy like you doing in a place like this so early in the morning?”

Now that she’s closer to me, she’s using a huskier voice; one that clearly works on other guys the rest of the time. I can’t even feel a stirring in my pants, though. I’m much too worried, too distracted, too focused on another girl. 
Cherie.

It’s fucking weird; I’ve never been this way about anyone before. I still don’t even know what to do about it.

“I’m just…” I’m about to quickly shoot the brunette down when it hits me. I might be able to use this girl to get some information. I know Cherie is off speaking to someone else, but having multiple opinions can’t hurt. In a world like this, you never know who you can and can’t trust.

I lean in, almost close enough that I could press my lips against hers in a second.

“I’m just wondering where Crystal is,” I say, arching one eyebrow.

My plan is to go with jealousy. The bigger the reaction I can get out of her, the more she’s likely to spill.

“Crystal?” She pulls back, indignant. “God, it’s always about Crystal!”

I can’t believe how quickly it’s worked. I was expecting a much bigger fight. I thought she’d at least attempt to play it cool at first. 

“She 
has
 a boyfriend, you know,” the girl continues.

“Yeah?” I take a slow sip of my drink. I'm trying to remember the name of the guy that Cherie mentioned when she told me about Bridgette. “The same guy as before? Brian?”

She looks confused for a second before realization crosses her face. “Oh, you mean Hunter? Ugh! No.” She picks up a rag and starts wiping it over the dirty bar. Clearly I’ve gone a step too far and shown too much interest in another girl. Luckily my end game has nothing to do with getting this girl into bed, so I’m not really bothered by her reaction. “No, she’s with Lucas now. One of the bouncers that works here.”

I hear her answer, but I barely take it in because I can see Cherie making her way back over to me. Her face is pale, but also relieved. I can now see that she was well aware that her sister could have turned up dead. Thank fuck she hasn’t—but that doesn’t necessarily mean that all is well in the world. Cherie looks very aware of that fact.

Before I’ve even realized that I’m moving, I’m by her side, touching her arm. She looks unsteady on her feet, so I lower her into the nearest seat.

“She…Hunter…I don’t…”

“I know,” I say before she puts herself out trying to explain this to me.

She stares at me, confused for a second, before choosing not to question me further. I’m a guy that always gets what he wants. At least she can see that now.

 She sucks in a couple of deep breaths before snatching the tumbler of whiskey from my hand. She gulps down a decent-sized mouthful. She pulls a face as the warm liquid slides down her throat. The girl manages to keep it down, which is impressive for someone who’s not legally allowed to drink yet.

“Hunter doesn’t bother her anymore.” Her voice is monotonous as she says this. I can tell that she’s forcing her emotions to remain inside, all bottled up. “But to find out everything, I need to speak to the club owner.”

“Okay…” I roll this word off of my tongue. Strip club owners are notoriously hard to get hold of.