Zero Tolerance (Lost Kings MC 12)

Placing my hands on the table, I lean over and glare at the old man. “I don’t give a fuck who you are or that you just got out of the hospital.” There’s no reason to yell, my low voice hums with enough rage to make my point. “You treat your daughter with some respect, or I’ll put you right back in the hospital. Are we clear?”

He glares right back. “You criminal!” He stands and flails his arms in the air while Lilly’s mother tugs at his sweater to get him to sit back down. “You think you can come into my home, eat my food, and talk back to me? Get out. Take your bastard son and my slut daughter with you.”

“Dad!” Alex snaps. “What’s the matter with you?” He brushes up against me and holds his hand out, as if he’s asking me to back away to let him deal with it.

Too little, too late. This is something he should’ve dealt with a long time ago. Not let this old fuck tear Lilly down so damn much. Bringing up shit that must be, what, fifteen years or more in her past? For fuck’s sake.

I turn and find Chance staring up at me with tears in his eyes and my heart shreds into pieces. “It’s okay, buddy,” I say in the gentlest tone I’m capable of right now.

He points at his grandfather. “He was mean to Mommy.”

I blow out a breath. Maybe it’s shitty of me, but I’m thankful his reaction is to his grandfather’s epic display of assholery and not me losing my temper. The last thing I’d ever want to do is scare my son or make him feel unsafe around me.

I lean over and scoop him up and he wraps his arms around my neck. “Parents and kids say stuff to each other they don’t mean sometimes,” I murmur to him. “Everything’s okay.”

When I reach Lilly, she doesn’t seem angry. Red cheeks and glassy eyes, she seems more mortified than anything else. I take her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Ready to go?”

“Yes,” she answers in a tight voice.

Her mother chases us down to the front door. “Lilly, you can’t leave this way. This is beyond rude. Go back and apologize to your father right now.”

Lilly opens her mouth to protest, but I push her behind me and stare her mother down.

“Hell fucking no, she’s not apologizing to anyone for anything. No father should talk to his daughter that way.”

“No one asked you!” she screams, reaching around me to claw at Lilly’s arm.

“I wanna go,” Chance wails in my ear.

“We’re going,” I assure him, running my hand over his back. “Lilly.” I give her hand a sharp tug and she jerks the front door open. Together, we lurch onto the porch.

The door slams behind us and the muffled yelling from inside increases in volume.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she whispers.

In my truck, she stares out the window, saying nothing for the longest time. We’re almost to her road when she glances in the back seat at Chance.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I tried to warn you it might be…unpleasant.”

“Some things have to be seen to be believed.”

“You’re being awfully nice even though that turned into a total trainwreck.”

“I’ve been to one or two family dinners that ended in screaming and potatoes hitting the wall.” I glance over. “Why do you think I chose my other family?”

“The club?”

“The club is my family for a reason. No one, not even your blood relatives, have the right to tear you down that way. Blood doesn’t give anyone permission to hurt you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her fidgeting with her sleeves.

I clear my throat and stare at the road straight ahead. “You’re not staying there.”

“What?”

“Your parents. You said when you thought Chance was comfortable with me, you’d go stay with them to give us some time to bond or whatever. That’s not happening.”

She blinks and turns to stare out the window but doesn’t respond.

“No one treats my wo—the mother of my kid that way. Anyone else in the world spoke to you like that, I woulda fuckin’ killed them,” I say in a low voice not meant to reach Chance.

She sucks in a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Sticking up for me. No one’s ever… My mother never speaks up for herself let alone her kids. My aunts are almost worse. Alex tried to reason with my father when we were younger, but they have their own battles.”

I grunt in response. My opinion of Alex is pretty low at the moment.

All her skittishness about relationships and commitment in general finally make sense. “You think I’m like your father?”

“What? No.”

“I mean when we met. Because of all the girls who hang around the club and stuff?”

She seems to consider the question before answering. “Not really. It’s more that I never wanted to turn into my mother, you know? Loving someone so much that you give up your own life. Trapping yourself so you have no other option but to tolerate any shit he wants to shovel over you. All while cooking his meals and doing his laundry. That’s what being a good wife means to them, and it always seemed like a nightmare to me.”

“I told you I can feed myself. And believe it or not, I also know how to do laundry.”

She cracks a smile and gives me a playful shove. “You know what I mean.”

“I think I do.”

“That’s why I was so determined to get out of that house as soon as I could.” She pauses and picks at her skirt. “They tried to arrange a marriage for me when I was seventeen.”

“Seriously? That’s fucked up.”

“It was, especially because the man they chose was old enough to be my father.”

“Jesus.”

“I moved in with Alex for my senior year in high school and he put a stop to the arranged marriage nonsense.”

“Thank fuck he’s good for something,” I grumble.

Maybe she’s annoyed with her brother too. Ignoring my dig, she continues. “I was in a quandary then. I couldn’t qualify for financial aid, but my parents wouldn’t pay for college unless I came home. And I didn’t trust them.”

“So that’s why you started dancing?”

“Where else is an eighteen-year-old girl with a high school education going to make that kind of cash?”

“Nowhere around here.”

“They only found out because one of my father’s friends saw me dancing there.”

“Uncomfortable.”

She laughs. “Yeah, he wanted to pay for a private dance too. Was all over me. This was a man I’d known since I was five years old. I’d thought of him as an uncle. The way he was so eager to get me alone was beyond creepy. I couldn’t take a hot enough shower to wash the filth off me after that night.”

“Jesus.” Although her story doesn’t surprise me all that much. Seen plenty of similar situations at Crystal Ball. It’s one of the reasons we’re careful about having adequate security working the floor every night.

“It reinforced my idea that men were disgusting, and relationships were to be avoided.” Her mouth curves into a sad smile.

“I’m not perfect, Lilly. You know that. But I’m not some pervy fucking creep either.”

/>   “I’ve never thought that about you, Z,” she says quietly. “You were always sweet to me.”

“Sweet, huh?” I glance over. “Were? I’m not sweet anymore?”

“You are,” she whispers. “And all things considered, I appreciate it.”

I reach over and squeeze her leg. “Don’t let word spread. I have a rep to maintain.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Nineteen

Lilly

Trainwreck was putting it mildly. I’d brought exactly one boy home to meet my parents back in high school. It hadn’t gone smoothly, but it certainly hadn’t exploded the way things did tonight.

That boy took off running and never spoke to me again.

Baring my soul to Z is terrifying but, in a strange way, also comforting. He doesn’t think I’m a rotten, ungrateful daughter. He skips the useless “they’re your parents, suck it up” advice. He’s on my side.

He pulls the truck right up to my porch steps and shuts off the engine. Glancing behind us, he smiles. “He’s still asleep.”

I reach over and squeeze Z’s bicep. “Thank goodness you’re here. He’s getting heavy.” I meant it to be playful, but by the way Z’s eyes widen and focus on where I’m touching him, I’m not so sure. Quickly, I snatch my hand back.

The air inside the truck crackles with electricity as our eyes meet.

“Touch me whenever you want,” he rasps. “I like your hands on me, pretty girl.”

My body responds to his deep voice with heat flaring between my legs. I shift, breaking eye-contact, and open my door.

“We’re home, little buddy.” Z’s hushed greeting rides the light breeze as he opens the back door and wrangles a sleepy Chance out of his seat.

Chance rubs his eyes and stares up at Z. “Where’s Mommy?”

“Right here,” I call out.

Still drowsy, Chance nods and rests his head on Z’s shoulder.

Together, we help Chance get ready for bed and I leave Z to read a quick story.

A few minutes later, Z strolls into the living room, toes off his boots by the door, and slips his jacket off. “You all right?” he asks, walking into the kitchen.