Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) (25 page)

THIRTY-FOUR

King

“What are you doing?” Twig stands in the way of my bike, legs either side of my front wheel.

“Move, brother.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

A few minutes ago, he thrust his phone at me, saying one of his cohorts from Kansas was on the phone. I listened to what the guy had to say and hung up before heading straight out to where I am now without saying a thing.

“I need to go take care of something.”

“You’re fuckin’ drunk,” he observes.

“Fuck off.”

The bold son-of-a-bitch leans over the bars and pulls my keys out, trapping them in his fist. “Spill.”

“Fuck! I need to get goin’ already.” I dismount and move to take him down and wrestle the keys from his grasp.

He halts me in my path with a quick fist to the stomach. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere with a fuckin’ attitude like that without tellin’ me why first.” I struggle to keep my last whiskey down.

The first two weeks without Elena had been hard enough. I honestly thought I had the key to distraction figured out by visiting Mom and Dad regularly so I could go stand on my land and plan our house. But that soon lost its appeal when I kept coming up with things I wanted to ask her. Would she like an island in the kitchen? How many bedrooms did she think we’d need?

So I turned to alcohol to numb the pain from her silence. It works for some of the other brothers around here, and seems to be working for me too.

Coughing, I back up and take a seat on an upturned crate. “She’s in fuckin’ trouble.” My throat is tight. “And she thinks she’s pregnant.”

Twig groans, running a hand down his jaw. “Let’s start at the beginning: who’s ‘she’?”

“Elena.”

“Come again?”

I lift my eyes to his and wince at the disappointment I find.

“Tell me it’s not the Elena I think it is.”

“Yeah, Carlos’s woman.”

“The broad from the roadhouse?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Fuck man!” He hurls my keys at me, the metal leaving a sting where it connects with my shin. “What the fuck were you thinkin’? Apex know?”

“Jesus. Fuck no.”

“Well that explains the woman in Cuba you were havin’ me track.” We never did find an answer about Elena’s mom. Twig paces between the rows of bikes in the garage, tapping his finger to a wing mirror or two. “What’s the trouble?”

“He’s taking her to Colombia. She thinks she won’t come back.”

“That what Benny told you just now?”

“Yep.”

“How does he know?” Twig stops pacing, facing me with his arms crossed high on his chest.

“Word from Carlos’s maid. She told the old boy at the grocers, and he tracked down Benny.”

“When?”

“What?”

“When did the grocer guy hear about it?”

I work back through the timeframes mentioned in my mind, frowning as my fingers still fidget with the keys. “Yesterday, I’m guessin’.”

“Yesterday.”

I nod.

“So she’s probably already gone, right?”

Fuck.
“Probably.”

“So where were you goin’, lover boy? Goin’ to kick the door down while she ain’t home and leave her a romantic note?”

He’s right.
“What the fuck do I do?” I stand, the frustration needing an outlet. “How do I fix this?”

“Maybe you can’t.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“Think about it.” He steps in my space, nose to nose. “What kind of shit you think is goin’ to rain down on us if you go chargin’ in there on a personal vendetta?”

“Don’t you think I’ve thought about that? Don’t you think that’s the only reason I haven’t until now?” I sigh and turn away from him, running my fingers through my hair. “I’m not givin’ up on her.” Spinning to face him once more, I implore him with my eyes. “You’ve gotta help me.”

“I ain’t gotta do shit about you not knowin’ when to fuckin’ keep it in your pants.”

“She was supposed to fuckin’ be mine,” I yell, thumping my fist against my chest. “He fuckin’ stole her. Married her to give her a fuckin’ visa.”

“Tell me you haven’t been fuckin’ her while they’re married.”

Silence falls on the garage. Twig drops his head back and covers his face with both hands. “Fuckin’ moron. Follow me.” He strides past me to head for the door that leads inside.

Fuck.
I hesitate, eyeing my bike. I could get on and peel it out of here before he can reach me.

“Now!”

Shit.
May as well go with the asshole. If I want help, I’m going to have to get it the right way. All I want is to ride, though. To get my ass over there and see her.

To ask her if the baby’s mine.

THIRTY-FIVE

King

“You fuckin’ leave it.” Apex shoves the heel of his hand into my shoulder, sending me stumbling back into the door. “No fuckin’ way are we getting into a war over
this.
”

“Would you leave it?” I ask, barely controlling the need to punch him in the throat.

“If I was given the choice: club or slut, yeah, I would.”

“She’s not a slut.” I launch forward, but Gunner’s hands around my arms hold me back.

“Easy on the disrespect, Prez,” he says from behind me.

“Do you know if this fuckin’ kid is yours?”

I shake my head. “No, but how the fuck am I going to find out if you’re banning me from contact?”

“Walk away, King.” Apex sits on the front edge of his desk, hands either side of his body. “This can’t end well.”

Rich, coming from the fucker who’s getting our club into bed with the psychotic asshole Elena’s married to.

“I can’t.”

“You fuckin’ well will.” He pushes up, getting in my space. “Patch or her. Your choice.”

“Are you for fuckin’ real?” I push into his chest with mine.

“You know how it goes, King,” Twig quietly warns from behind me.

I spin around, facing the asshole. “You were the cunt who suggested I go about askin’ for help the ‘right way.’” I say the last words all high-pitched, taking the mickey. “And now look where that’s got me. I should have just fuckin’ ridden out, straight over your God damned foot.”

“Fuckin’ try it.” He steps up, inches from my face. Shit’s about to go south in here—fast.

“Get Beefy, for fuck’s sake,” Apex hollers, dismissing Gunner with the task. He leaves Apex’s office with a slam of the door and returns a short time later with the fat fucker.

“What’s goin’ down?”

“Cunt-knuckle here got Carlos’s woman knocked up,” Apex spits out, glaring at me as he talks.

“Fuck’s sake, kid.” Beefy takes the only chair, damn near crushing it. “What the fuck you do that for?”

“I didn’t think we had enough drama around here,” I snipe, glaring between Apex and Beefy.

“Careful.” Apex lifts a thick finger. “I’ll kick your ass out for fuckin’ disrespecting officers in a fuckin’ second.”

I curl my top lip back at him, baring my teeth. Asshole does that, and I leave with half his face on my fucking knuckles.

“I get you’re all hopped up about this girl,” Beefy says, one hand raised to appease everyone, “but that kind of conflict is the last thing we need.”

“I imagine so. Right royally fuck up your plans to do more work for the asshole, wouldn’t it?”

“What?” Gunner asks, pushing off where he leans on the wall.

“Didn’t you know?” I back up to avoid Apex’s advance. “Our prez here has jacked up more work with Carlos after the three runs are through.”

“That true?” Gunner steps between Apex and myself before Prez can lift his fist.

“It’s good money, Gun. We’d be fools to turn it down.”

“It’s also fuckin’ suicide. Look what the asshole has us doin’ now,” he says. “You want our club to go that way?”

“Ain’t any other road clear, is there?”

The two of them stare each other down. I’ve started something here, and hopefully it pays off in my favor. “What is it you want from us then, King?” Beefy asks.

“Help gettin’ Elena out.”

He snorts a heavy breath through his nose and places a palm to his knee, his elbow popping out to the side. “After the last of these three runs is through we could table the issue.”

Apex whips his neck to look at Beefy. “No. That’ll fuck up what I’ve got planned.”

“Exactly my point,” Beefy says, pointing a finger at Prez. “This is
your
plan, not ours.” He gestures between Gunner, Twig, and himself. “I’ve covered your ass long enough. You’re standin’ here preachin’ rules and shit to King about his situation, and yet you’re fuckin’ bending them to suit your own needs.” He shakes his head, his neck wobbling. “Time to do your fuckin’ job properly.”

“You want out too?” Apex threatens.

“Look, my fuckin’ job here is to make sure everybody keeps their fuckin’ shit in line.” He leans forward. “And that includes you.”

“After the third run,” Apex cedes, “we’ll take your problem to the table.” He jabs me roughly in the shoulder. “But I’m not fuckin’ promising squat.”

“Better than doin’ fuckin’ nothing though, ain’t it?”

“Get out.” Apex rounds his desk, dropping into the worn seat to pull up a bottle of Jack. “All of you. Fuck off.”

***

“What’s your gut instinct?” Gunner asks later, after we’ve downed four shots each. “Think it’s yours?” He was stunned to hear the news, but knowing that Beefy was on side with Apex, Twig thought it was a good idea to include Gunner as a second witness.

“Hope so, brother.”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin, leaning back where he’s reclined on one of the plastic deck chairs. “You always struck me as a family kind of guy.”

“Got our house planned out and everything.”

“Yeah?”

“My parents have a farm. They’re dividing off the back of it and I’ve bought a section.”

He lets out a long, low whistle. “Hope it’s not too much of a commute.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because when you’re the prez one day, you’ll be here a lot.”

I laugh and stretch out as well. “Don’t think I’ll ever be prez after today.”

“Wouldn’t write it off completely.”

“Why not you?” I ask. “You’d be good at it.”

“Don’t want it. Got enough on my own plate without having to wipe half a dozen other asses.”

Silence falls between us, Gunner closing his eyes as the sun makes an appearance from behind a cloud. I lose myself thinking about Elena. How is she coping? Is she safe? I push thoughts of exactly what’s being done to her out of my head. Each time I think about that fucker touching her, treating her like meat, it leaves me wanting to kill someone.

Preferably him—Carlos.

“You asked Twig to keep eye on her?” Gunner pipes up.

“Not yet.”

“He will, you know.”

“I know.” I hesitate for a moment. “He’s a good guy, Twig.”

“Yep. Another bastard who cares about other people’s happiness far too much for his own health.”

“What do you mean
another
?”

“I mean besides you, you dumb shit.”

THIRTY-SIX

Elena

four days later

I waited. Like Rapunzel locked in the tower, I waited. But King never came.

Too weak to leave the house, I couldn’t go to him. I’m not sure if Sully would have tried to stop me, or helped me. I don’t understand him anymore.

So I lie in bed and while away my time teaching Maria how to read English properly, sleeping, and crying when I’m alone.

The doctor returned the day after the incident at the airport with the pamphlets she’d promised. She also came back in person because she didn’t want to break to me over the phone that I was right on the cusp of fourteen weeks. Even if I had wanted to terminate the baby—which I still couldn’t imagine doing—I couldn’t have.

I’m fourteen weeks.
Officially in the second trimester.

That means King has every chance to be the father.

I cried for a solid hour when I realized.

As though slapping me in the face with the severity of this latest complication, my stomach decided now would be a good time to start swelling. At first, I thought it was because I could eat again. After throwing up regularly for weeks, I’d lost almost fifteen pounds. By the time I could stomach a full meal, my body couldn’t cope. I had to start again with small helpings and work up.

Things started to look up. I was getting stronger.
Maybe I can leave?

And then Carlos came home.

His dealings went well in Colombia, even without me, or so I gathered when he came to me the night he returned and slept in my bed. He wanted to celebrate.

I guess I was being punished.

I never asked him more about what happened over there. Part of me would rather never know what my name helped him achieve. If it even did.

By this point though, I don’t care.

I haven’t told Carlos I’m pregnant. I tell myself it’s because I’m not ready to face his reaction—what if he beats me to try and make me miscarry? I think deep down, though, I’m hoping King will come and I won’t have any reason to let Carlos know.

Still, life in the Redmond house has become somewhat . . . mellow. Carlos is happy with whatever screwed up plans he’s working on, Maria and I enjoy our afternoons reading, which as long as the books don’t get left in the library, Carlos allows.

Life is . . . normal. Or as much as I can let myself believe.

The doc came back with vitamins and more information on what to expect. I hugged her when she said she would lie to Carlos about why she was there. She’s advised me to try and find a discreet clinic offsite to go to for regular check-ups. I haven’t figured out how I’m supposed to do that yet.

The sun is out this afternoon, which has been a rare occurrence of late. The rain persisted for two days after I confirmed my pregnancy. I think that was Mama crying.

The pool house is cool compared to the heat that now rises from the pavers of the courtyard. I started out in the sunshine, soaking up all the natural vitamins I could get, but when the sweat began to run a path down my sides, I shifted into the shade. I’m contemplating going for a swim when Carlos comes in to view, strutting through the door with a smug grin on his face.

Nothing new there.

“You’re looking much better now you have some fat on your bones.” He sits on the side of my lounger, ignoring the open book I have over my stomach as a distraction. “Something the matter?” The question isn’t asked out of concern, it’s posed as a challenge.

“Just tired,” I lie.

As far as he knows, all of this is still a run-on from my concussion. I think the doctor gave him some spiel about the supposed severity of it. I’m not sure. I just know he hasn’t been on at me so hard since he got back from making that deal. This amicable treaty of ours is new. I’d planned to fight to leave after he returned, but the past few days I haven’t had it in me. Maybe I am tired from the pregnancy. Who would know? I sure don’t anymore.

I’m a stranger to myself.

“I thought you might like a break from the house, if you’re feeling better,” he says. “You need better fitting clothes since you’ve lost weight with your illness.”

“A trip out sounds lovely.” Again, a lie. I’d been enjoying the extra room in my clothes. They hide a certain bump.

“Sully will be with you, of course.”

“Of course.” I roll my head to the side and look away. How am I ever going to get to King again if I’m being babysat?

“Is there a problem?”

“No. I think I might have a nap, is all.”

He grumbles and stands, his weight leaving the lounger. “I’ll send Maria out with fresh water.” He points to the empty bottle beside me. “You need to keep hydrated in this heat.”

He exits, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. Tears flow in its place. Living here isn’t living. It’s
existing
. My heart aches, my soul crying out to be with King again.

I’ve died, and I need him to breathe life back into me.

There’s nothing left of the woman who spent four beautiful hours pretending the world didn’t exist. There’s only a shell, a hollowed-out chamber where love used to reside. My hand rests on my stomach as I curl in on myself and silently weep. If I have no love left for myself, how am I going to care for this child? Will my inability to love the life growing inside of me mean that my child turns out cold like Carlos, no matter who the true father is?

Something has to change.

I can’t raise a child in hell.