His Property (Iron Bandits MC)

And then his voice, deep and strong, boomed at me.

“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but you got the wrong guy, lady. Time for you to go. Get the fuck out of my office.”

My jaw dropped and my eyes about popped out of my head, and I was glad he could only see the back of me. This guy sounded downright mean—and scary.

This was Jack? Things were not off to a good start. I could feel the tears begin to burn behind my eyes, and my throat tightened.

I didn’t get up; I couldn’t, really. But my body must have jerked, and Peter had unlatched, and he started to cry. I wasn’t sure what to do: get the baby back onto my nipple, or stand up and face off with the ugly, distempered uncle in our midst.

I decided on the latter.

As gracefully and quickly as I could—and it wasn’t very much of either, with baby in arms—I adjusted my bra and re-settled my top, stood up, and turned to see the man himself.

Jeez, he was huge. Tall, probably six-three or -four—taller than Keith had been by a few inches, I was pretty sure. But also, he was built. Cut. Defined. He probably lived in a gym, when he wasn’t here at the shop. He didn’t look like Schwarzenegger—this was not steroid-big—he more aptly resembled a super-fit linebacker out of uniform. He shared some features with Keith: gorgeous, widely-spaced big blue eyes, strong brow ridge, strong jaw. He had dampened, dark, silky hair that fell over his forehead, ears, and nape. What skin I could see was tanned. His full lips cried to be bitten and licked, and he had a few days’ growth of beard. He looked hot. My panties immediately dampened, and I’m pretty sure I blushed. I couldn’t help it.

Nevertheless, that didn’t negate that he was rude. And wrong. And…and…and rude.

Gah. My brain was not working so well.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think I heard you right. Did you just tell me to get the fuck out of your office, Jack?”

His eyes were covered in shades, so I couldn’t read them for a clear reaction, but I’m pretty sure it was my use of his name that gave him pause. Score one for me.

Peter, by this time, was in a full-on squall. I glared at Jack, grabbed my things from the other chair, shoving a spit blanket and rattle and snot sucker back into the bag one-handed, muttering the whole time. “Jerk, crap, dammit, jerk.”

I slung the bag on my shoulder and turned my attention back to Jack. “For your information, I do not have the wrong guy. You are Jack Edwards? Yes? So, no. I’ve got the right guy. But it seems you are not the guy I thought you would be. This is your nephew, Jack. This is your brother Keith’s baby. I thought you might like to meet him, maybe even get to know him as he grows up.” I broke off, and tears threatened to pour. “If he grows up.”

God, I hated sounding dramatic, but this was our truth. I needed always to be honest about this, to keep myself braced. I fought to keep my voice from choking—but I didn’t stop. “I need your help, Jack—but obviously, you don’t care. Okay. Fine. Keith told me you were a great guy, which, it turns out, is not the case. So, no, I don’t want my son to know you. I’ll find another way, you ass. Congratulations, Jack, you are getting your wish. We’re outta here. And fuck you, too.”

As I said, I was feeling a little bit emotional.

He had backed up enough for me to charge out of his space and I was mid-way through the shop before I realized that I was playing this all wrong. He was right on a majorly important point: he didn’t know me, he’d never seen me before, and I was there at my own instigation. I was there because I needed him—no, Peter needed him—well, in any case, we needed him, and it was my responsibility to slow down, back it up, and get him to hear what I’d come to say.

Jack had had no warning, no indication of our existence up until today, I was pretty sure. Plus, he really needed to meet his nephew. I had to give this—give Jack—a second chance.

I was slowing my pace with each passing step, but I was still on the verge of tears, and that was not how I wanted this to go down. So I kept walking to the front desk, hoping I’d make it out of the shop before I had an absolute breakdown. I figured I’d have myself a little cry, get myself under control, and then go back in for round two.

I didn’t make it out, unfortunately.