The Biker's Baby (Royal Bastards MC: Charleston, WV 10)

The sleek blacked out town car arrives at a beach house. I was expecting an estate with guard dogs and armed men patrolling the grounds. I’ve never been on a… I don’t know what to call tonight. Is it a date? A meeting? Whatever it is. I’ve never done this type of thing before. We pull into a garage. Guess he can’t have anyone see his negotiated booty for ransom call arriving.

The lock disengages and the goon who picked me up from Archer’s opens the back passenger door. I eye his designer suit wondering if it’s part of the job. A uniform of sorts.

“Boss is waiting for you. Go on in.”

“Right.” I step out of the car and into the garage. I glance around and wonder if it’s a safehouse or something. There’s nothing in here other than the goon, me, and the car.

If Archer sent me here to be murdered, I’m going to haunt him till his dying day.

I open the door that leads into a modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances and opens into the living room.

There he is leaned back in an armchair smoking a cigar.

Carlos Sanchez isn’t an ugly man. Dark tan skin. Even darker hair slicked back. Eyes so brown they appear black framed with thick lashes that should be illegal for any man to be gifted with. His face is smooth other than a mustache that would look pervy on any other man but suits him well. He’s not kind from what I know of him. I’m certain that pure ice runs through the man’s veins. His lips pucker around the cigar and he takes a hard puff before waving me over.

“Hello, Astrid. Do you mind if I call you Astrid?”

My stomach drops. He knows my real name. “Only my family uses that name.”

“Very well. Karma, is it?”

I lift my chin and take in my surroundings. Definitely a safehouse. There’s minimal furniture and no décor.

“I’m going to assume you know about Archer’s situation.”

“He informed me.”

“Let’s talk. Please sit.” He puts a hand to his thigh and pats it like one of those creepy Santa Claus weirdoes at the mall who wants you to be a good girl and tell him what you want for Christmas.

I move further into the room, leaning a hip against the granite breakfast bar. We are quite the poster for polar opposites. Him in his suit, no jacket, sleeves pushed up to show off his veiny forearms void of any ink, donning an expensive watch. Me with my leather jacket, Harley tee, ripped jeans, and black boots. I’m a biker bitch who drinks moonshine and smokes pot. He’s money and bourbon.

“I’m listening.”

“What’s a woman like you doing with a piece of shit like Archer?”

“How do you know what kind of woman I am? Maybe Archer is too good for me.” We both know that’s a lie, but I say it anyway.

“He fucked me over and I don’t take kindly to that.”

“I imagine not.”

“He’s got quite the habit and he’s not loyal. More trouble than he’s worth. Do you honestly think he’s worth the trouble? Do you think he actually cares for you? He’s willing to sell your skin to save his own ass. Did he tell you that this was his idea or that it was mine?”

His words freeze my blood. Willing to sell your skin. When I hear it put that way—he’s not wrong. Was it Archer’s idea?

I stare at the impassive expression Carlos wears. It’s almost grim. Is this man toying with me? Taunting me into submission.

“Is that the price of his freedom and Mona’s?”

“What’s Mona have to do with this?”

“Archer said…” I start but stop. “What exactly did Archer offer you in return for wiping his debt clean?”

“Your body. Said I could fuck you or sell you. My choice but either way you’d come to me willingly.”

Archer won’t have to worry about Carlos. I’m going to kill him myself.

“I don’t have to pay for pussy, but I confess that the thought of that fat fuck knowing that every time he looks at you after tonight, I’ve been deep inside you. That I came in your mouth and that he can no longer have you. This will be his punishment while he works off what he owes me. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“And you do?”

“That’s to be determined. However, I could think of a worse fate for you besides becoming my mistress and my eyes and ears with the Harlots. Asher isn’t the only one stealing from me. Someone’s been skimming. I need you to prove it.”

“Right.” I shrug off my jacket. “I’m done with this conversation. Let’s just get this over with.”

Carlos puts his cigar out in a glass that sits on the table next to his chair. “Follow me.”