If there was a God, that’d ever looked down on him with any sort of fondness…what he’d just done to Delainey would not bite her in the ass later.
Maybe if not for him, but for Delainey’s sake.
***
He came inside her.
A moment of pure panic seized her. What if she got pregnant? A baby! Oh God. She sat up and stared at Bronx who was still recovering. When he slowly opened his eyes, she must’ve looked freaked out because he sat up and immediately started to do damage control. “The odds are against us that my swimmers just found your egg, okay? One time isn’t—“
She hit him with a disbelieving look. “You aren’t going to try and say that one time isn’t going to get someone pregnant, right? Do I look like some dumb girl who never took a health class? There’s millions of swimmers in one, um, you know, and judging by the mess…there’s probably about two million in that one!”
He laughed, gathering her in his arms. “Yeah, that was a big one. What can I say, you’re one sexy woman. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Yeah, well, if I get pregnant—“
“We’ll deal with it,” he promised, brushing a sweet kiss across her lips, silencing her. “But I swear, from here on out…glove or no love.”
“Damn right,” she grumbled, but when he nuzzled her neck with his stubble she broke down and dissolved into fits of laughter. Happiness filled her chest as the warmth of the sun and the delight she found being with Bronx chased away her pregnancy scares and left her with simple joy. Bronx was right; the odds were not in their favor. She wasn’t even in the right spot in her ovulation to get pregnant so why worry? Plenty of people have unprotected sex and never get pregnant. No sense in ruining the day over a tiny lapse in judgment, right?
Delainey unpacked their sandwiches and drinks and they tucked into their lunch, grinning and sharing jokes, the mood unfettered by reality as they laughed, kissed, and finished up. Bellies full and hearts light, Bronx laid his head on Delainey’s lap and she played with his hair, lightly twisting the blonde mop between her fingers, loving everything about him in that moment — until she realized, she really didn’t know him at all.
“Tell me something about yourself,” she prompted, smoothing the hair from his eyes with a smile. “I mean, I don’t know anything about you and I feel like I should given our unique relationship.” The light in his eyes faded and she could almost feel him withdrawing. She framed his face with her hands and pleaded softly, sweetly. “Please? I told you my deepest, most darkest moment from my childhood…can you give me something of yourself, too?”
He held her gaze and when he exhaled a deep, labored breath she half expected him to flat out refuse but he grudgingly started to speak. “I had a shit childhood, babe. My mother is a drug addict who cares more about her next fix — if she’s still alive, that is — than her own kid and I haven’t seen the bitch since I was ten years old.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, not that she was surprised. There’d always been a suspicion in her mind that whatever Bronx’ story was, it wasn’t pretty. “Were your foster parents nice?”
He snorted in derision. “Nice? No. I was a paycheck to most, a plaything to others.”
“A plaything?” She held her breath. Good God, surely he didn’t mean? But even as she hoped she was wrong, the way Bronx’s gaze glittered with the memory, she knew she wasn’t. “I’m sorry,” she said, bending to brush a tender kiss across his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” She nodded, prepared to let that one go but Bronx suddenly started talking, even surprising himself, it seemed. “It wasn’t always the guy either. There were some twisted fucks, male and female, that seemed to always want a piece of me. Sometimes I think the women were worse. At first they tricked you into thinking you were special and they wanted to love you like a mom should and then when no one was looking…they showed you what they really wanted.”
“That’s horrific,” Delainey said with distaste, hating those people from Bronx’s past even though they’d never met. “Did you tell anyone?”
“Who? I didn’t have no one who would believe me. I was just another number in an already bloated system. I figured out real quick that the best way to get help was to make enough problems that my case worker would have to move me out to another foster home. It worked until I got old enough to take care of myself.”
“That’s awful,” she said, wishing she could take away his pain. “No one should do that to a child.”
He made a sound of agreement but it was a dark, sad little sound that broke her heart. Bronx sat up and grabbed his left-over beer, finishing it in a swallow. “I was just one of many. There are more kids than you can imagine trapped in that fucked up system. One of the worst houses, God, it was so bad. It should’ve been called the House of Terrors for little kids. On the outside, it wasn’t too bad, even had a nice, white fence and a bright green lawn whereas most of the houses were kinda shitty inside and out. When I first got there, I thought, damn, maybe they finally sent me someplace where I can live like a normal person but hell no, walking through those front doors was like walking through the gates of hell.”
“How so?”
He bit down on a bitter sigh. “Fuck. That house.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe they got away with that shit. The first night seemed chill. By the third night I actually started to let down my guard. But then when the weekend came…” Bronx paused as if he wasn’t ready to tell the whole of it and she held her breath. “Yeah, so the weekend came, and you see, you almost always have a roommate in these places, and my roommate Gage — fuck, I can’t believe I remember his name — he was a year younger than me at the time, he and I were sleeping one night and then the foster dad came in and scooped Gage out of the bed. I was a real light sleeper on account of my history and my eyes popped open the minute he came into the room but I played like I was still sleeping.”
Delainey felt sick. “Where’d they take him?”
“I followed them real quiet and watched them take Gage into a room that we were never allowed in — supposed to be the foster dad’s office or whatever — but I peeked into that room when they didn’t close the door all the way.”
“Oh God.” Delainey covered her eyes, afraid of what was coming next. “Please tell me they weren’t—“
Bronx’s short laugh was bitter as he nodded. “Oh yeah. Even worse than that, they were filming that shit. The mom and dad were both into it. They had Gage’s mouth gagged so he couldn’t make no noise but I could see the tears running down his little face as he tried to endure that fucking torture. Some nights, I still see Gage’s face in my dreams.”
“What did you do after that?”
“I bugged the fuck out of there. I knew it was just a matter of time before I was trussed up like a Christmas turkey taking it up the ass, too. So I bailed. I wanted to take Gage with me, but what the hell was I going to do with a nine-year-old kid on my heels? It wasn’t like I had any way of taking care of myself much less him, too. So I left him there.” He drew a halting breath and the next part came out with so much pain that Delainey nearly felt it herself. “The thing was…Gage never made it out of that fucking house. He died. They made it sound like an accident but…I know it was them. They did something to him because he was going to rat them out or something. I had no way of proving it, though and who was going to believe the word of a known troublemaker like me? Fuck…fucking Gage…I didn’t even know the kid but his face is one I see every night.”
“Oh my God,” Delainey breathed, pulling Bronx to her and kissing him sweetly, conveying all the warmth she felt in her heart into her kiss. “I’m sorry. That’s all I know how to say without sounding trite or ridiculous because I’ve never lived through something so awful but please know that what I feel is honest and true. If I could take that pain away…I would.”
He refused to look at her until she gently guided his gaze to her. In his beautiful, soulful eyes she saw the pain
of a child still trying to make sense of something so terrible yet trapped in the body of a man who was just trying to stay one step ahead of the nightmares and she wanted so badly to make it all go away for him. “I’m a lot of things,” he said to her in earnest, as if it meant something that she believe him. “But I don’t hurt kids. Ever. And I don’t let anyone on my crew hurt kids either. Not in that way. And if I ever found out that someone was doing that…I’d fucking end their world.”
Raw and brutal truth resonated within his statement and she had no reason to disbelieve him. The thing was, she agreed with his vicious promise. Anyone who would hurt a child like that…they fucking deserved whatever they got.
-8-
The following day Delainey had errands to run so while she was out and about, Bronx took the opportunity to try and get his bike. He knew it was reckless but he was going crazy without his ride and feeling closed in a cage in Delainey’s apartment.
He caught a cab to his neighborhood but had the cabbie drop him off a mile from his place so he could walk in without being noticed.
All around him he saw threats lurking in the shadows. He’d never been so jumpy in his life. He popped onto the back porch of his place and let himself in the back door quietly. The house was empty but it looked as if it hadn’t been last night. In fact, it looked as if a rager of a party had happened there. He grimaced at the stale smell of smoke and spilled beer, so turned off by the difference between his place and Delainey’s. Her house smelled like pumpkin pie and cookies — thanks to an obsession with scented candles he’d discovered — whereas his place smelled like a dirty asshole after too many spicy burritos. “Fucking awesome,” he muttered, moving past the kitchen and into his bedroom where he kept a spare key. He pulled up short when he saw a bleached blonde with her roots showing in his bed and he swore under his breath. “Monica.”
The woman opened her eyes and stared blearily his way. Her small tits — a nice handful by most standards but not by his now that he’d sampled Delainey’s fabulous rack — were out on display as was everything else because Monica always slept naked. “Baby, is that you? Oh my God, I thought you were dead,” she said, slurring her words. Great, she was doped up. Maybe that would work in his favor.
“Hey Monica, I need your help, baby,” he said, going to the side of the bed to rummage through his nightstand. “Can you help me?”
“Sure, honey,” she agreed, trying to sober up. She grinned hazily as she squeezed her tits and giggled. “I know exactly how I can help you.”
He smothered the wrinkle in his upper lip that threatened as he tried to act as if everything was the same as it ever was. He forced himself to pinch her nipple and smile. “That’s my girl. But I need you to pay attention right now.”
She pouted but quickly clamored to her feet — damn, she wasn’t as doped up as he’d hoped if she could move that fast — and suddenly she was pulling him to the bed to rip at his pants. “I’ve missed this cock,” she purred, yanking at his fly while going down on her knees. “So yummy…”
Fuck. If she put his cock in her mouth…he might puke. “Monica, wait…”
“I can’t wait, I’m so happy you’re alive, baby. Let me show you how much you mean to me,” she whined like a little girl and he wanted to roll his eyes.
“Later, babe,” he promised her, trying to get her off his dick but Monica was like a beast on a bone —literally — and before he could stop her, that big, pouty mouth was sucking him down her throat like a wide-mouth bass on a june bug and all he could do was not shout and push her away like something diseased. Holy hell, he used to gleefully fuck Monica without a second thought, now he couldn’t even imagine. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that Monica had a mouth that could suck the chrome from a ball hitch, he would’ve lost his erection. But getting a blow job, even by someone you thought was disgusting, was still a blow job, right? He closed his eyes and let Monica do her thing until he was, finally — thank God — ready to come. He pictured Delainey and tried to forget that it was Monica and not his beautiful, sweet girl that was pleasuring him just so he could get it over with. He grunted as a meager, pathetic spurt burst into her mouth and before Monica even had a chance to swallow, he’d yanked his cock out and tucked it away, wanting to shower and scrub with bleach but he’d come for a reason; his bike and information. Monica wiped her mouth and smiled, looking very pleased with herself and he forced an easy, satisfied smile for her benefit. “I’ve missed you. Where you been?” Monica asked, rising to walk to the adjoining bathroom. “I knew you weren’t dead. Ain’t no one got the balls to put you down but Randy is out there running his mouth acting like he was the one who’s got what it takes to take your spot.” She turned and held up her pinky finger with another laugh. “As if.”
Ugh. She’d fucked Randy. Not surprised but disgusted. “What’s Randy saying?” he asked.
“Oh, stupid shit,” Monica said, frowning. “Like you were the one who set up Charlie in the bust that went down.”
“He’s lying,” he told Monica easily, the lie tripping from his mouth without a hitch. He had set up Charlie because Charlie was a no-good piece of shit who’d bungled a major deal Bronx had brokered with the Mexican cartel for a gun shipment that somehow had ended up in The Kings’ fucking hands. Now Jax and Hunter were living large on what was supposed to be his fucking dime. So yeah, Charlie had to pay somehow and tipping off the cops had been an easy fix. Besides, Charlie was a waste of oxygen on most days. He’d done the world a fucking favor. But if Randy was out telling people that he was responsible…that could explain why someone wanted him dead. A Dog didn’t suffer a traitor…of any kind. “You believe him?”
Monica laughed and the sound of the toilet flushing followed as she exited the bathroom to climb back on the bed, coming straight for him. He forced himself to remain relaxed when in fact, he wanted to get out of there. Monica looped her arms around him, her tits pressing against his shoulder as she whispered with stale morning breath in his ear, “Are you ready for some real fun? I primed the engine but it’s time to hit the throttle, baby.”
“Tempting but I’ve got some rumors to crush,” he told her, rising and leaving her on the bed. He grabbed his keys and a wad of cash he had stashed under the nightstand and said, “Don’t tell anyone I was here. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen me.”
“You’re leaving again?” she said, clearly unhappy. “Take me with you. It’s so lonely without you, baby.”
“You’ll be fine. It’ll just be a few days, I promise.”
Mollified for a half-second, she queried with open suspicion, “You fucking with someone else? Where are you staying? You better not be shacking up with LuLu, that whore. I’ll fucking rip every hair from her nasty-ass head and cut your dick off if you are.”
“Watch your fucking mouth when you talk to me, woman,” he shot back, a flash of color giving his tone a mean edge. Monica backed down, knowing he meant business but there was a glint in her eye that told him she was going to be trouble. Good grief, why the hell did he ever start messing around with her? Bad judgment on his part. For the sake of appearances, he jerked her to him and cupped her cunt possessively, squeezing hard. “Stop being such a jealous bitch, it’s unattractive, baby.”
She looped her arm around his neck, pressing herself against him, her gaze narrowing. “Well, don’t give me a reason, you beautiful whore,” she retorted sweetly before sealing her mouth to his, sticking her tongue in his mouth. She forced his hand to rub her pubic mound and groaned against his lips. “God, you’re a fucking tease. Are you sure you don’t have time for a quickie?”
He should just fuck her to quell any suspicion she might have brewing in her jealous brain but he’d rather stick his dick in a meat grinder. For all her faults, Monica was an exciting lay. She was wild — dangerous even — in bed and that usually turned him on. She scratched and clawed, hell, Monica was known to bite on occasion but somehow it felt like a betrayal to Delainey if he went there. But why? You a
ren’t in some kind of relationship with the woman — you’re using her, that shitty little voice in the back of his head mocked his reluctance with scorn. If he gave Monica what she wanted, he’d buy himself a little more time because a happy Monica was a silent Monica.
“C’mon, baby,” she crooned, pulling him toward the bed as she dropped to her hands and knees, presenting her skinny ass for him. “No one fucks me like you do.” She reached between her legs and began rubbing herself. She groaned, undulating her hips as she pleasured herself. “Do it, baby. Stick it in, fuck me hard! C’mon, I need you!”
Jesus. He couldn’t fuck her if he wanted to. His dick was as limp and useless as an overcooked noodle. Sweat beaded his brow. Well, he was in a fucking tight spot, wasn’t he? He had no interest in fucking Monica but if he didn’t, she’d tell anyone and everyone he was alive, just out of spite, because she was that kind of woman. His hand strayed to his fly but stopped short of popping the button. He couldn’t do it. Fuck me, what was happening to him? When had he ever passed up the opportunity to dip his wick? Never. But the thought of sinking into that drippy, overused hole, made him want to vomit. His jaw firming, he slapped Monica’s ass hard and when she squealed and flipped around he reminded her that she wasn’t in charge. “When I’m interested in fucking you, I’ll let you know, babe. In the meantime, chill out and keep your mouth shut, you hear me?”