Chapter 2 LEO
LEO
“Fuck,” I clipped, picking up speed as I rode away from the coffee shop. My coffee had been left behind, forgotten on the table, and damn it, I needed that coffee. I was hungover and hadn’t slept for shit.
Nothing good came from waking up before ten.
The wind whipped across my face as I headed toward the highway. Without caffeine, there was only one thing that might stop the pounding in my head.
A long, fast ride.
The moment my tires hit the highway, I raced, willing my lungs to open up with each mile. I hadn’t been able to breathe since the barbeque yesterday. Since Cass.
Fuck, but I wanted to deny it. I wanted to forget about her because this pregnancy scare was total bullshit. Probably a trap. But Presley had been right. Cass wasn’t like the women I normally hooked up with.
That was what had drawn me to her in the first place.
She’d sat at that stool at The Betsy and for a minute, I’d thought she was too young. Too sweet. Too shy.
Except she hadn’t been shy. Just . . . out of her element.
We’d started talking and there’d been a spark in her eyes that had drawn me in for more. She was smart. Sexy without flaunting it. Witty. A firecracker.
And that’s how I’d remembered her.
Firecracker.
Not Cassandra or Cass. Firecracker. I might have forgotten her name, but I hadn’t forgotten her face.
Yesterday at the barbeque, it had taken me a minute to put it together because she’d been out of place.
But I’d know that hair anywhere and when the pieces had come together—that she was the one who’d been kidnapped with Scarlett—I’d been speechless.
Then she’d steeled her spine and announced that she was pregnant.
Boom. One shot fired, close range to the chest. I was dead on arrival.
What a fucking disaster.
I always used a condom. A girl wanted to fuck, I suited up. No exceptions. And yesterday, last night, this morning, I would have told Cass just that. But then she’d thrown my own goddamn words in my face.
I can’t wait.
You’re so beautiful, let me go bare.
Just a few strokes.
What the fuck? I knew better. I’d known better since high school when my best friend had been caught in a pregnancy scare.
We’d been seventeen, both reckless and pissed off at the world. His girl had come up to his locker, announced she was pregnant and wasn’t sure who the father was. He’d turned his back on her and walked away. One week later, she’d returned and said she’d gone to a clinic to get an abortion.
That kid would have been fifteen. Not a lot younger than when I’d started hanging out at the Tin King clubhouse.
After that and seeing how it had scared the shit out of him, I’d vowed no more inexperienced women, which hadn’t been a problem at the clubhouse.
I might have been young, but I’d had a strong body and the women hadn’t minded my age.
The guys never kicked me out, even though I was just a kid, so it worked.
Unlimited access to booze and women. What more could a seventeen-year-old want?
That I even finished high school was a miracle, but Draven threatened that if I didn’t get my diploma, he’d toss me out. The minute I graduated, I prospected the club.
And life. Got. Good.
There was nothing I wanted more than to be a Tin King. To be a part of the brotherhood and defend it with my life. I did whatever was necessary for the club. Without question. Without hesitation.
Then everything turned to shit and . . . it ended. To this day, I couldn’t believe it. Disbanding the club sure as hell wasn’t what I wanted, but my wishes didn’t matter. And when it was time to vote, I did what was best for my brothers.
I stood beside them. Draven. Dash. Emmett. I voted the way they’d asked me to vote because we might not wear the patches, but they’d always have my loyalty.
Other members left to join different clubs. Some scattered to the wind, starting over in new towns and new states.
Should I have left Clifton Forge? It wasn’t the first time I’d doubted my decision to stay. My brothers had moved on. And I was trapped, longing for the past.
Draven was dead. Dash had a wife and kids. Emmett might not have settled down, but he had business interests to keep him occupied and not once had he mentioned how much he missed the club life.
If not for the shit with the Arrowhead Warriors these last few years, there wouldn’t even be a semblance of our club left.
After the kidnapping, the feds had shut the Warriors down and most of their members were facing prison time.
Their president, Tucker Talbot, was on trial for a laundry list of charges and if there was any justice in our country’s legal system, that son of a bitch wouldn’t see beyond the walls of a prison cell for the rest of his miserable life.
How fucked up was it that a part of me hoped he’d get out?
Really fucked up.
The Warriors had killed my brothers. They’d killed Draven. They’d murdered Emmett’s dad. They’d hurt my friends. They’d kidnapped Scarlett and Cass.
But without them, without an enemy, who was I fighting?
Who was I?
Not a father, that was for damn sure.
I had no business having a child.
Too late.
Cass was telling the truth. She was pregnant and I was the father.
I was having a baby.
The truth slammed into me like being tossed from my bike to the pavement going ninety miles per hour.
My lungs squeezed, unable to get any air, and I took my hand off the accelerator, slowing the bike before I actually crashed my new Harley. Just two months ago, I’d finished the custom mods and added my own paint.
The orange and red suddenly reminded me of Cass’s hair. That color, like strands of copper and fire, was burned into my brain.
I pulled off the road, parked and ran my hands over my face. “Fuck.”
This wasn’t happening. No child deserved to have me as its father. The best thing for Cass would be to forget about me now. What kind of father would I make?
Probably one a lot like my own. And I wouldn’t do that to a kid.
I gave myself a minute, dragging in some air, then I turned around and rode toward town.
My head was still pounding. My lungs weren’t working right.
My arms and legs felt weak. For the first time in years, a ride hadn’t calmed my nerves.
The last time I’d had this kind of anxiety had been after Draven’s funeral.
So like I’d done that day, when nothing else would work, I aimed my tires at the Clifton Forge Garage.
It was a Sunday, meaning the place would be all mine. I’d lose myself in the paint booth for a while, hopefully long enough to get my head wrapped around this situation with Cass. It was a good plan until I pulled into the lot and spotted two bikes parked in front of an open bay door.
“Hell,” I muttered, parking beside Dash’s new Road King.
Not two seconds after I killed my engine, he came walking out of the garage with Emmett at his side. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I jerked up my chin and shoved my sunglasses off my face. “You guys working on something today?”
Emmett had a grease rag in his hand but he shook his head. “Figured you’d show up here eventually.”
“I’m that predictable, huh?” After years of friendship, Emmett seemed to have this sixth sense about where he could find me. Like last night, when he’d tracked me down to a bar about five miles out of town. I’d needed to get drunk but hadn’t wanted to go to The Betsy—the scene of the crime.
“Want a beer?” Dash asked.
“Yeah.” Maybe it would help me through this hangover. I followed Dash and Emmett into the garage, welcomed by the scent of metal and oil. After the club had disbanded, this garage had become a second home. It was all the real family I had left.
“I’ll grab ’em.” Dash strode through the shop, disappearing through the door that led to the office where we kept a fridge.
“Thanks for the ride last night,” I told Emmett.
“No problem.” He clapped one of his large hands on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
Dash returned with three bottles, and after twisting off the top and chugging a long swallow, he settled on one of the rolling stools.
I walked to the far wall, leaning against a tool bench. My first sip of beer tasted like piss, but that was to be expected given how much I’d had last night. After ten, I’d stopped counting.
Emmett had found me by that point. He hadn’t asked any questions about Cass. He’d simply stood by my side while I’d proceeded to get hammered.
“How’d you get my bike to my place?” I asked Emmett.
“The blonde. She drove my truck. I rode your bike.”
“Ah. Again, thanks.” I lifted my beer in a salute, then took another drink. “What are you guys up to today?”
“Talking,” Dash answered.
“About the Warriors?”
He shook his head. “About you.”
“Spare me a lecture today, all right, Dash?” I shoved off the workbench. Maybe the garage wasn’t the right spot for me today. I’d go home and find something to paint there instead.
“Wait.” He held up a hand.
I glanced at the open bay door but stayed put. As much as I didn’t want to hear this, it was either now or at work tomorrow. And if I waited until tomorrow, Presley would be here too. After the exchange at the coffee shop, she’d shred me to ribbons.
Her lectures about spending less time at The Betsy and avoiding hookups with randoms were getting old.
She didn’t realize that I’d slowed down with the women, not because of her lecturing but because meaningless sex had gotten old.
Not something I felt like explaining—she was like a sister and my sex life was none of her business.
Pres meant well, but that didn’t make her lectures less exhausting to hear. Especially since Dash seemed to take her side more often than not.
Did he forget that not too long ago, before he’d met Bryce, he’d been on the barstool next to mine? Who the hell was he to judge?
It hadn’t been a problem when we’d all been in the club. Grown men, older than me, had partied every night at the clubhouse. There had been more booze and more women too. Why was it an issue when it was at The Betsy?