Chapter Two
P ulling up outside the rundown bar thirty minutes from her apartment, Liz parked, gripped the wheel of her rusty yet trusty hatchback like it was a lifesaver in a stormy sea, and let out a slow, shallow breath.
The bar, Tipped, was the current hangout and unofficial MC clubhouse for Erik and his army buddies, who’d gotten out of the military, joined up, and started an MC together. His commanding officer in the Army Rangers was their official leader—even off the battlefield—and he’d taken on the title and position of club president. It meant that Erik was the VP of the newly formed Savage Raiders MC, and that was intimidating, honestly. Yeah, when they’d gotten together, he’d told her his plans, making sure she wouldn’t have a problem with being with a man who was a biker. Liz didn’t give a shit if the man was a garbage collector or an ex-con, she only cared that he was a good man, a man of morals and unseen strength. And he was hot as fuck in bed. He spent more and more time with the club at the bar, but she’d been studying more and more, too, so she had no reason to complain. However…was a man who’d just started a new chapter of his life as an MC VP going to be happy with being a dad on top of everything else?
And she wasn’t an idiot, she’d heard of MCs before, she knew they weren’t riding clubs full of wannabes and amateurs. She knew that Erik—Trouble, the “road name” he’d been gifted by his comrade and commander for reasons Erik had yet to share—and Odin and their brotherhood weren’t men looking to swap war stories and drink like old men at a pub. These men were skirting the law, building businesses that catered to the underbelly of Vegas. Already, she’d had to patch Erik up after he got in a knife fight with an asshole looking to sell drugs in their bar. And don’t get her started on the number of shady conversations she overheard between Erik and Odin, the club prez and Erik’s Army commander.
Obviously, she was curious, so she’d ask what was going on. His response?
“Club business.” From his tone, she knew he would not explain, and she needn’t ask again. And she so didn’t, despite all the late nights out when he came home looking rough, with bruises and scrapes on his face, body, and knuckles.
The Savage Raiders MC definitely weren’t weekend warriors. They were the real fucking deal…and Erik was at the heart of them.
God, how was she going to tell him about the baby? They hadn’t been together long, but she loved him…and she was sure he loved her, too. He hadn’t said the words, but in his actions, in the way he’d always thought of her, proving that with multiple texts a day checking in on her, he’d told her that what he felt was more than just sex and convenience. He always made sure she had something to eat after work, and he knew all of her friends because he wanted to know them. He wanted to make sure they were people worthy of her time and attention. He never, not once, told her who she couldn’t hang with, but he was vocal about what he felt and thought about pretty much everything. He didn’t hide his feelings, per se, but he was a grown man who’d known war like an intimate lover. Even before that, from his utter disdain when she’d asked about his past in Texas, she knew he hadn’t come from a happy family history. They shared in that experience, because she sure as shit hadn’t been that happy a kid in the foster system.
Taking out her phone, she checked the time, then checked her texts.
An hour ago, Erik had texted her about stopping by the bar. No reason given, though. Not that she needed one, right? She’d spent many a night in the bar with him, chilling with him and Stellan—Odin—the president, and a few guys looking to join up with the club. They were all nice guys, if a little rough around the edges. It was the women Liz had a problem with, especially the ones who thought that since Liz looked nothing like them, that her man was fair game. Like somehow Liz having extra curves in all the wrong places was a good reason to try and seduce her man. Thankfully—and for the good of his dick, since she’d remove it from his body—Erik hadn’t shown interest in other women.
Not that it still didn’t grate on her already wonky self-confidence and self-image. There were many times over their thirteen months together that Liz wondered why the hell a man like Erik even looked twice at her. But then he’d strip her naked, worship her body, and remind her he was with her because he wanted to be. That he found her attractive, that his cock got hard just thinking about her.
Smirking at that thought, Liz climbed from her car and headed toward the door to the bar. The man standing outside, his fresh leather vest reading HELL HOUND on his breast, gave her a sideways look, and pulled his cell from his pocket, his thumbs moving over the screen. He glanced at her one last time, his gaze flickering with something she didn’t have time to decipher, but he didn’t say anything as she strode by and pushed the door open. The door hinges squeaked, and pieces of orange paint flaked off on her hand.
God, she couldn’t wait until the club got enough money to buy an actual clubhouse building. Erik said they were looking into a piece of property outside the city that would do them just fine…but they needed all the money upfront. That meant that they needed to make all that money first. How did they make that money?
Club business.
Allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim, smoky interior of the bar-cum-clubhouse, Liz tried not to breathe in the secondhand pot fumes. Once her eyes were able to focus, she wished she hadn’t. Two naked women were grinding on men in the farthest corner of the bar. She didn’t recognize the two men, but she hadn’t yet met everyone. The club was actively recruiting, so she never knew how many men would be at Tipped at any given time.
A man, who smelled of sour beer and sweat, approached her. This man she recognized, and she immediately stiffened. Most of the club brothers were okay guys, if a little rough and nasty around the edges, but there were a few like Tosser and his brother, Trucker, who made her skin crawl.
“Tosser,” she muttered, attempting to move around him.
Where the hell was Erik?
As if reading her thoughts, the man spoke. “He’s in the office, doll,” Tosser offered, smirking. “Bonnie is… helping him with…some club business.” Snorting a laugh, the grimy asshole tossed back an amber liquid from a tumbler and trundled away, swaying like he’d already tossed too many shots as he made his way across the sticky floor to the corner booth, where the two other club brothers and their naked sluts were staring at her, their expressions a mixture of wariness…and pity? The women, however, were smirking.
Bonnie? God, she hated that bitch. The top skank of the bar skanks, she’d slunk into the bar one night, latched on to Erik like a slutty barnacle, and batted her fake as hell eyelashes at him. Erik hadn’t taken the bait…at least not in front of her. Despite not landing Erik, she’d caught the attention of several of the other brothers, and had been inducted into the club as their first official club slut.
Liz refused to consider exactly how that induction process worked.
Why was Bonnie helping Erik with club business? According to Erik, women had nothing to do with club business. Something heaved in her belly, her nerves pinging an uncomfortable forewarning. Swallowing down the ball of apprehension forming in her throat, she gave the men a chin lift and the women a glare, forcing a nonchalance she certainly didn’t feel, and headed toward the back of the bar where the bathrooms, storeroom, and office were located.
She never should have gotten out of the car.
The hallway was well lit for such a dump, but knowing Odin and the need for security an MC would have, it made sense. Liz passed the doorway to the women’s then men’s bathrooms, the storage room, then finally stopped in front of the door with the peeling letters to the word OFFICE on an opaque window set into a steel door.
Taking a deep breath, knowing that what she and Erik were about to discuss was going to be difficult, she placed her hand on the knob to turn it.
What she heard made her hand and her heart stop.
“Fuck yeah, bitch, take that cock!”
Her heart started beating again, this time at ramming speed.
“Shit, Trouble! Fuck! Your cock is so fucking big!”
Again, her heart stopped.
She recognized those voices.
Bonnie. The whore.
And Erik.
Her Erik.
And she knew what they were doing. But that couldn’t be right.
Erik wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t cheat on her. He loved her!
Grunts and the sounds of flesh slapping on flesh filled the hallway outside the office door. There was no hiding what they were doing in there, even if the hallway wasn’t lit up like a fucking football stadium.
“Fuck, Trouble, baby, I’ve missed this,” Bonnie purred, the sound of her voice sucking the marrow from Liz’s bones. She couldn’t be saying what Liz thought she was saying. From what Liz knew, Bonnie hadn’t even come into the club until after Erik and Liz had gotten together. If she could “miss” Erik…that meant she’d had something of him to miss.
No. That can’t be right. I’m hearing things wrong.
Yeah, like you aren’t hearing the sounds of them fucking, her own voice snarled back at her. Can’t mistake that, cupcake.
“It’s not like you weren’t on my dick last night, Bonnie.”
More grunting, more slapping…then one last loud grunt.
She knew that grunt. He was finishing.
Inside another woman.
She didn’t understand. He’d known she was coming to the bar. He’d fucking texted her to be there. And she was there.
Listening. Hearing. Knowing .
She sucked in a breath, her chest burning, her thoughts spinning—just like the contents of her stomach.
He’d known she was coming.
He’d known she would find him fucking another woman.
Liz thought back to the look Hell Hound had given her at the door on her way in. Then the looks from the men and the sluts in the booth. The pity.
Then she remembered Tosser…and how fucking gleeful he was, telling her exactly where Trouble and Bonnie were.
All of them had known what was happening.
And they hadn’t given a shit.
Her whole body shaking, Liz took a step back, dropping her hand from the knob like it had turned into a snake.
On the other side of the door, there was a long silence. She could she shadows moving behind the frosted glass. She knew she would leave, that she should get the hell out of there and never come back….
Her hand slipped to her still flat belly. Well…as flat as it could be when she was forty pounds overweight.
No matter what the asshole had done…or had been doing…he was still going to be a father. She still had the responsibility of telling him. After that, he could do whatever the hell he wanted with his life. She wanted nothing from him.
Ever.
“What’re you gonna do about that fat bitch?” Bonnie’s voice carried, almost as if she meant for everyone in the fucking bar to hear. “She’s been all over you like white on rice.”
Liz sneered. She’d been in a fucking relationship with him! They’d practically lived together! He came to her place most nights—she’d never gone to his. He came to her, called her, texted her. She’d never asked him for anything—he’d given it all! And stupid fucking Liz believed it meant they were in a committed relationship. What the hell did the whore expect?
What did you expect? You should have known a man like Erik Skaarsen would never settle down with a woman like you. Fat. Unlovable. An inexperienced loser.
Each word slashed at her already shredded, bleeding insides.
“I’m only with her because she’s easy. No emotions. Tight pussy. And she lets me do whatever the fuck I want.”
Liz swallowed down the bile threatening to rise and meet the floor at her feet. He couldn’t be saying that. All those nights together, wrapped around each other. He’d been so…gentle. Adoring. He’d kissed her as though he’d loved her. And she’d loved him back. She thought that the macho biker badass just couldn’t say the words, that he showed them with every touch, every brush of his lips against her temple or forehead. That he hadn’t spoken them with his mouth, but he’d whispered “I love you” with his body, his intense attention, his thoughtfulness.
How could it have all been fake?
Bonnie’s laugh was like a screwdriver against a glass bowl. “Still, I doubt she’d be happy to know you just fucked me like you hated me.”
Liz flinched, the reality of Bonnie’s words slicing deep. She’d heard them in there together, had instinctively known what they were doing, but to actually hear the words , the acknowledgement—clear and fatal to her heart…. She shuddered, her blood turning to ice, yet her skin feeling aflame. Humiliation licked at her, burning through her.
How could she have been so damn stupid?
“Whatever the fuck, Bonnie.”
There were the sounds of shuffling movement, the shadows moving closer to the door. They were coming. They would open the door and see her standing there. Would they be shocked? Would they try to act like they hadn’t been fucking in the office? Or would they sneer? Laugh in her face? Would Trouble look her in the eye and tell her it had all been a lie? Would he snatch the last bit of her pride and actually admit that what they had was just him pity fucking her for over a year?
Despite the fear of discovery and even more humiliation coming, Liz couldn’t get her feet to move. She was paralyzed. Her body and heart stalled.
“Come on, Trouble, I’ll take care of that condom for you. Don’t wanna leave a mess in the prez’s office.”
If Liz wasn’t having an out of body experience, she’d laugh. She’d seen the bar; Odin didn’t give a fuck about messes.
“Fuck that, Bonnie. I don’t trust whores.”
There was a snort, then, “And you trust that fat bitch not to trap you with a fat baby? I’ve seen her. She knows she’s in over her head. She knows she can’t keep you. I know the type. She’ll trap you with a baby and you’ll have to claim her as your ol’ lady. You’ll be stuck fucking the ugly bitch for the rest of your life.”
Liz’s hand froze right over her lower belly, where her baby was growing. Erik’s baby.
There was a growl, then a humorless chuckle. “Fuck that. If she ever got pregnant, I’d make her get rid of it. No kids. Never. Especially not with a piece I’ve been lookin’ to scrape off for weeks.”
No.
That wasn’t right.
He’d been with her just that morning.
He’d held her as they slept, his bigger body curled around hers as if to protect her.
They’d made love, then they’d chatted about the coming weekend. About how he was going to work on the loose water hose in her car. They’d made plans. They’d kissed. They’d laughed and cuddled. He fucking looked her in the eyes and smiled at her…all the while knowing he was going to blow up her fucking life.
The ice in her veins bloomed outward, a chill wind along arctic waters, incapsulating everything in a freezing, cold tomb of frost.
She straightened, the blood draining from her face as she pushed back the fear, the pain, the hurt…and she let the anger flow. An ice-cold rage swallowed up all the soft, fleshy emotions that had once driven her. That had once chosen Erik Skaarsen.
Fuck Erik Skaarsen.
Fuck Trouble, Savage Raiders’ VP. Fuck him. “Trouble” was right.
He was trouble, just as she knew he would be, it had just taken thirteen months to see it. And she didn’t need trouble in her life. She had someone else to think about. Someone who would depend on her. Someone who would never know the ugliness of a father who didn’t give a shit about them.
Dropping her hand from her belly, Liz pulled her shoulders back, and turned on her heel.
Each step away from Trouble was jarring, her bones like freeze dried spaghetti. But she walked, passing the sneering men in leather vests, passing the smirking whores in less than nothing, and finally passing right out the door of the bar.
She didn’t stop moving until she was in her car, the bar and the ruins of her relationship in the rearview.
She didn’t stop breathing until she was home and curled up in her bed. Alone. Where the brokenness of her sobs set her chest on fire, stealing the air from her lungs.
She didn’t stop crying until two days later, when the phone calls stopped. When he finally gave up on trying to reach her. No doubt to make sure she’d seen and heard all he’d wanted her to. And not once had he stopped by. Not. Once.
She didn’t stop bleeding for weeks, until she saw that first little glimpse of the child that was now her priority. Her reason for living. She’d taped the sonogram picture to her fridge where she could see it every morning right before heading out to grind another day.
She didn’t stop aching until she sat down in her new one-bedroom apartment in Mission Hills, excited for the first day of classes the next morning. The specter of the man she loved, left behind in the flashing lights of the big city.
She didn’t stop pushing until she was walking across the stage for her diploma, her baby girl babbling happily at her from a friend’s lap in the audience.
She didn’t stop.