Rebellious (2 page)

Unlike me. I still hadn't changed out of my summer job attire. My white summer dress definitely didn't fit in here. If anything, I looked like a virgin sacrifice. I was way out of my league. But Tucker nervously picking at his nails in the backseat reminded me exactly why I was here doing this. Someone had to look out for this kid. I really hoped his dad was better than his train wreck of a mother.

“Sit tight,” I told Tucker before I opened my car door and stood in the vee between my door and car. “Hey.”

Zag stopped a few feet away, and I could tell by his expression he wasn't impressed. Either with me, the grinding sound my car was making, or the fact that I was in front of his biker clubhouse.

Something told me it was probably the latter.

“What the hell are you doing here? Because the only reason a single girl like you shows up is to audition to be a club whore. If that's the case you'll have to blow Sig first,” he said, nodding toward the stocky guy at the gate. “That's the price of admission around here.”

“You take that back!” Tucker bounded out of the car and stood toe-to-toe with Zag before I could blink. Even though his nose only came up to the biker's chest, he shoved a pointed finger in Zag's face. “Ms. Clark is awesome. She's not like that!”

“Tuck?” Zag looked from the kid to me and back to Tucker. “What are you—how are you—”

“This would be ‘what the hell I'm doing here.' ” I couldn't help the snide note in my voice. His comment about paying the admittance fee burned. Especially the way he'd said it. Like I was a prude or something. “Tucker thought his dad was here, and I need to have a word with him.”

I glared at Zag and tilted my head. Hoping that my expression told him what I really didn't want to say in front of Tucker. Mostly that Zag could go screw himself. Although I was pretty impressed that Tucker was willing to stand up for me with a crazy biker. Hopefully he got some of those amazing qualities from his dad. Maybe Mr. Gifford wouldn't be as scary as Zag.

Hey, a girl could hope.

“Sig, go get Reb.” Zag barked the order to the biker guarding the gate but didn't look away from Tucker. “I'm glad Ms. Clark has someone like you to look after her, Tuck. She needs it in a neighborhood like this.”

It wasn't exactly an apology, but Tucker's shoulders puffed up with pride at the compliment as he dropped his accusatory finger. It would've been cute but for the look Zag sent me. He clearly wasn't happy that I was in possession of his buddy's kid. And in this neighborhood.

Hell, neither was I, but that didn't mean I was just going to hand him over to whoever claimed to be Tucker's dad. We were gonna have a little conversation first.

My self-righteous resolve crumbled as I caught sight of the biker striding toward us.

He was
huge.
His wide shoulders cast a large shadow behind him, and from what I could make out in the dim light, there wasn't an ounce of fat on him. He would've looked more like a football player than a biker but for the leather vest, boots, and badass swagger.

I had no doubt he was Tucker's father, as the kid took off at a run with a shouted “Dad!”

And then I was treated to the amazing sight of this big, bad biker cuddling with his son. Well, not cuddling exactly—Tucker was eight and a boy, so clearly too old for that, but it was dang close. He clasped Tucker to him for a brief second, and I could've sworn he dropped a kiss onto the top of his son's head. But it was all over quickly when Tucker pulled away and mimicked his dad's stance.

“What the hell are you doing here, kid? And who brought you?” Tucker's dad crossed his muscular arms over his equally muscular chest and surveyed me from head to toe. Something in his expression made me think he found me sadly lacking.

Tucker crossed his arms. “This is Miss Clark. She lives two doors down from Mom at the apartments. And she's awesome.”

A smirk crossed Tucker's dad's face. He gave me one more once-over that made my cheeks burn with my blush before he turned back to his son. “That doesn't explain why you guys are here.”

Tucker quickly lost his defensive stance and ducked his head.

I swallowed hard and stepped forward. “We're here because I'd like to have a conversation with you, sir. In private.”

Mr. Gifford's scowl deepened at my “sir.” Between that icy stare, his heavy stubble, and the neck tattoos, I was intimidated. Then there was his overwhelming size—I'd need a step stool to be able to look into the man's eyes. Not that I wanted to get anywhere near him at the moment—or ever. The cute greeting between Tucker and this man was long forgotten. Now he was every inch a hardened, scowling biker. I had to give myself a mental pep talk to stay put. I was here for Tucker. He was worth every bit of my nervousness. I had to stay until I was sure he was okay—despite the fact that I wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else but here.

Of course right then my car made a delightful coughing sound, and the headlights dimmed for a second before the engine leveled out and purred once more. That wasn't good. I really needed my car to last a bit longer. I couldn't afford to replace it right now.

Instead of staying toe-to-toe with Mr. Gifford, I ducked inside my car and shut it off before it really embarrassed me by dying. As I stepped back, I ran into a solid object that definitely wasn't my door—it was more man-shaped. My cheeks still burning with a blush, I was careful to keep a respectable distance between me and Mr. Gifford as I closed my door.

“Your car sounds like shit,” he rumbled.

An aroma of tobacco, leather, and man wafted between us. Why did he have to smell so damn good? I shook my head slightly and turned back to the matter at hand. “Yeah, well, it works for me for now.”

“You serious about wanting to have a word?” He said it more like a threat than a question. Like I was calling him out or something.

I swallowed hard and nodded. I probably should've said something to let him know I was serious—Tucker mattered and needed to be taken care of—but really I was so dang nervous.
He
made me so dang nervous.

Mr. Gifford grunted in response. “Follow me.” Tossing one arm across Tucker's shoulders, he walked around my car and up the sidewalk.

The gate ahead of us rattled as it slid open. I stared at the razor wire for a beat. Were they trying to keep people in or out? Unwilling to examine that thought too closely, and with my pulse pounding in my ears, I followed them into the compound and the gate clanged shut behind us.

Mr. Gifford avoided the main entry and opened a door halfway down the building. I got a glimpse of a rumpled bed, a few dressers, and the glowing screen of a television on the far side of the room before his large frame blocked the doorway and my view.

“Tuck, take a load off. Hang out with Zag and watch some TV. I need to have a second with…what was your name again, sunshine?”

“Emily,” I answered while trying to ignore his patronizing nickname for me. Regardless, I took some solace in the fact that Tucker wouldn't be exposed to whatever the hell was going on inside the clubhouse. At least here he'd have some adult supervision, but that didn't mean I was satisfied he'd be taken care of. Mr. Gifford had to prove it to me first.

I had no idea what I'd do if he didn't. I couldn't let myself think about it. My stomach churned so much I was afraid I'd embarrass myself by barfing all over my shoes. Or worse, his.

I maintained my “Fake it till you make it” mantra as we walked to the front door through a mountain of cigarette butts along the outside of the building. He stopped in front of the double metal doors and loomed threateningly over me. “You still sure you want that private conversation with me?”

Again, I couldn't make out his facial features, but the rumbling warning in his voice had me shivering despite the warm July breeze. I wouldn't be here but for the cute little guy who had eaten most of my pizza tonight. And who apparently needed a hero. I gulped. “I'm sure.”

Tuck's dad pushed open the metal doors, and we descended into the third circle of hell. Between the throbbing rock music that I felt deep in my chest and the suspicious skunky smell, my senses were assaulted. It was wall-to-wall gluttony. Through the dim lighting I was able to make out a bar with a lot of alcohol on tap and a handful of bikers standing around. The ones who weren't standing sat at a few round tables, and they weren't alone. I counted four mostly naked women sitting on men with their mouths otherwise occupied. One topless blonde with huge fake boobs popped up from under the table. I had no doubt what she'd been up to as she wiped a mixture of drool, milky liquid, and smeared lipstick on her arm.

There was no way in hell I was leaving Tucker here. What kinda father was this man? Not a good one, from what I'd seen so far.

My white sundress shined like a beacon, drawing everyone's eyes as we walked through the den of iniquity. After spying that little blow-job scene, I averted my eyes and trained them on the back of Mr. Gifford's vest instead. True Brothers. Nothing I'd seen so far made me think of brotherly love. A low groan from nearby had my eyes bulging. Case in point.

I couldn't help myself. I craned my neck in the direction of said groan, but before I could catch a glimpse of the floor show, I ran into the back of Mr. Gifford. The impact sent me sideways, and I teetered on my wedge heels. My ankle twisted, and I crashed to the floor.

A smattering of mocking applause broke out.

Annoyed at both my gracelessness and the jerks behind me, I put my hand down to shove myself back up and immediately felt something wet and sticky on my palm. With a muted shriek I jerked my hand away and shook it. I couldn't see anything in the dim lighting, but I made a mental note to douse myself in bleach later.

Tucker's dad grunted. “You're getting to be more trouble than you're worth.”

And before I knew it, he'd grabbed me by the arm and swung me up and over his shoulder. Hoots and catcalls sounded behind us. My face burned from my embarrassment and probably the blood rushing to my head.

“Fuck her good, Prez!” someone shouted from the bar.

“Oh my God. Put me down,” I gasped. I didn't need to look up to know that everyone in the building was watching us. I could practically feel their eyes searing into my body.

“Hold your horses,” he said and grunted as he juggled me and what I guessed from the jangling noise to be a set of keys. A second later a door popped open and he carried me into a room. Mr. Gifford kicked the door behind him and it closed with a loud thud. The pounding bass took a backseat to the throbbing of my pulse, which was so loud I was sure he could hear it.

I was alone. With a biker.

Before I had a chance to untangle my panicked thoughts, I saw the keys skitter onto the desk as we passed.

“Let's take a look at that ankle.”

“I'm fine. Really. You can put me down. It doesn't hurt.” The last thing I wanted was his hands all over me. Or so I tried to convince myself…

He plopped me onto a leather couch and knelt in front of me. With the lighting behind him, I still couldn't make out any distinguishing features. I watched helplessly as he unbuckled my shoes. The tender side of this large biker confused me. And it was at odds with the scene we'd just walked through in the clubhouse. He palpated my ankle as he twisted my foot left, then right.

Unable to hide my gasp, I pulled my foot out of his hands. “Ouch.”

“It's probably just a sprain, but we should put some ice on that.”

“It's fine.” I looked away from the sight of him at my feet. It unnerved me. Instead, I took in my surroundings. It was bigger than I would've guessed for an office in a biker clubhouse. He had a desk, a few chairs, and two leather sofas that had seen some life, judging by their wear. The cracked leather bit into my thigh when I fidgeted.

Ignoring me, he leaned over toward a small fridge I hadn't noticed at the end of the couch. A few minutes later I had a bag of ice on my ankle and my bare foot in the lap of this large biker.

“So you mind telling me how the hell you show up here with my kid?” His rough voice made my eyes dart away from the enthralling sight of his thumbs caressing my foot and to the face I'd been avoiding.

The impression I'd gotten of him earlier was just as true in the light of his office. He was a big guy, but the details I hadn't been able to see previously held me spellbound now. His face had that hard manly look, but was softened by full lips that were nearly camouflaged by his closely cropped beard. But it was his eyes that captivated me. They were a soft blue, the same shade as my favorite pair of faded jeans. “I, um…”

“Sunshine?” His eyes crinkled as something resembling a smile spread across his face.

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole since I was pretty sure he knew that I was attracted to him. Oh God. I thought he was hot? There was something officially wrong with me. Given what I'd seen on my walk through this place, and what someone had yelled at me, attraction should be the last thing on my mind. I didn't belong here—my bare foot in his large, calloused hands kinda underlined that point. His type would eat me alive given half the chance. What was I doing here?

“Sunshine? My kid? How'd you get him?” His voice reflected his growing impatience and snapped me back into reality.

“I, uh, came home today to him sitting on the front steps of our apartment complex with a bag of groceries. Well, ‘groceries' probably isn't the right term. He had a sack of junk food next to him and apparently had been locked out of the apartment. Again.”

He shot up off the sofa and paced the floor in front of me impatiently. “Goddamn it. I knew I should've put a guy on her place. That fucking bitch.”

I grabbed the bag of ice off the floor where it'd landed when he'd jumped up, and put it onto my ankle again. Trying to stay calm in the face of his growing agitation, I watched him pace. I didn't know what to say to pacify him, so I kept quiet.

Mr. Gifford's anger was palpable in the suddenly smaller room. “What do you mean
again
? He's been locked out and
left alone
before?”

“I, um, yeah. A few times. He has a key, but he's only eight—he has a hard time keeping track of it. Usually he hangs out with me or another family in our building, but they're out of town on vacation right now.”

“So, if you hadn't come home, he would've been outside alone for fuck knows how long?”

My shoulders hunched as his anger grew. “Uh-huh.”

“And he had a sack of groceries with him? Which means fucking Rhonda isn't coming home tonight. Or who knows how fucking long. Son of a bitch.” He pivoted and drove his fist into the wall.

I couldn't help the shriek that left me as the wall above my head exploded and rained dust and bits of Sheetrock down on me. My heart raced as it brought back memories of Michael and the stuff he did to terrorize me.

Years of self-preservation instincts took over, and I ducked around his large body, then practically ran to the door on the other side of the room as fast as my bum ankle would let me. I was inches away from freedom when a large hand shot past my face and braced against the door.

I shrieked again and dropped down, my hand shielding my face from the impending blow.

But it never came.

I peeked through my fingers and found Mr. Gifford standing over me with a determined expression on his face.

“You're not going anywhere, 'cause we're not done. If I were gonna hit a woman, you wouldn't even crack my top five.”

He said it like
my
reaction was crazy. I stood and backed away from him, putting myself out of his reach. Where I found the courage to say my next words, I don't know. “No, you just hit the wall next to my head. Why shouldn't I think I would be next? It's not like Rhonda is here to get the beat-down you clearly think she deserves.”

“No. Fuck no. Christ.” He ran a shaky hand over his buzzed hair. “I just…I grew up with…Fuck. I wouldn't, okay? If Rhonda is out there walking around just fine, you got nothing to worry about.”

“No, not okay. Now move away from the door and let me go. I'm getting the hell outta here. Me and Tucker.”

His expression hardened at the mention of his son. “The fuck you are.”

“Fine.” I walked back across the room to where I'd dropped my purse in my frantic rush. “I'll just call the police and let them know what's going on here. Both with your little club and your kid.”

Before I could dial a nine, my phone disappeared out of my hands and into his. “Hey!”

He tucked my phone into his back pocket, then held his palms up like he wasn't a threat. “No one's calling anyone. Give me a minute to explain the situation, and you'll see that Tucker is just fine here. With me.”

“Here?” I asked, incredulous. “Seriously? You have guys getting blow jobs out there. That's not an environment for a child.” I couldn't bring myself to mention that despite his protestations, he obviously had an anger problem. I could only hint vaguely at it. “If I don't feel safe here, why should Tucker?”

“Because I'm his father. Because I would die before anything touched a hair on his head. He's safe here. Hell, he's inside a locked room with a person I trust with my life.”

I shook my head. “It's not enough.”

He huffed an irritated breath. “Fine. Come out to my house. See what kind of environment I provide for my son and then tell me what you really think.”

“Give me back my phone and I'll come with you.” Like hell. The second I had my hands on that phone I was calling the authorities. They could sort out the cluster of who was an acceptable parent. As far as I could see, neither one of them was worthy of that sweet boy.

“I will.” He nodded. “In the morning. No shady shit, I swear. You'll have your own room. And you can see Tucker all you want.”

So for all intents and purposes, he was kidnapping me.

I tried not to panic. My mind whirled as I ran through scenarios. I knew I couldn't count on Zag. He'd made his stance clear when I showed up. This wasn't my world and I wasn't welcome in it. And I really doubted that anyone in the clubhouse would help me. Heck, for all I knew, even those women weren't here willingly.

But was Reb such a horrible guy? He was so sweet when he talked about his kid. And he'd been so gentle and caring about my welfare up until now. Yes, he was
technically
holding me hostage, but it was because he cared about his son—that wonderful, loving boy who clearly didn't have the best of examples in his mother. I knew more than anyone how easily the foster care system could fail. And I could see the way Tucker idolized his dad. Was this man worth such devotion?

“I'll go with you, but know this,” I pointed a finger at him, but for all my bravado, my hand—like the rest of my body—shook uncontrollably. “I called Jessica when I came here tonight. She knows where I am, and she'll move heaven and earth for me. We're closer than sisters. She gives a damn about me and won't buy your club business bullshit for a second.”

Reb's eyes narrowed at my “club business bullshit” line, but other than that he showed no reaction.

“And if I'm not happy with what I find out tonight at your home with Tucker, I'll get ahold of the cops, DCFS, and the freaking FBI if I need to. That kid will be safe tonight and every other night if I have anything to say about it.”

I hadn't thought it possible, but Reb's expression lightened and something almost resembling a smile softened his granite-like features. But still he didn't say anything. He just jerked his head in a tight nod.

I let out a shuddering breath. “Fine. I'll go home with you
and Tucker.
”

“Fan-fucking-tastic, sunshine.” Reb picked up a longneck beer that had been sitting on his desk. He raised the bottle toward me in an ironic toast. “You won't regret it. You'll see.”

Famous last words.