Chapter 6
Jasper
I’m still sitting on Tessa’s porch when a fuckin’ white Lexus rolls up slow and smooth.
The engine is too damn quiet. There’s a man’s form visible behind the wheel.
I don’t have to be half smart to know this is the rich bastard who wants her to get rid of my child to make room for his own.
I hate him without ever seeing his face.
The mere fact that he’s driven his fancy fuckin’ car all the way to the run-down part of town like this tells me we’re gonna have a problem on our hands. Both him and that overbearing wife of his are on my shit list. And it looks like today I get a chance to set him straight on the new deal.
When Tessa sees him pull up, she goes ramrod straight on the stoop.
Her lips press into a thin line as her head turns towards the driveway.
From the looks of things, she’s bracing for a shit storm.
She glances at me but doesn’t say anything.
I’ve seen enough bad situations walking around in expensive, polished dress shoes to recognize the warning signs when he gets out and straightens his jacket.
Everything about him screams money and entitlement.
He moves like he’s expecting the rest of us to be impressed with his shit.
I get a better look at him when he walks up.
His cufflinks glitter in the sunlight. His navy jacket is pulled over a thousand-dollar shirt.
I can almost bet this man hasn’t done an honest day’s work in his entire life.
He strolls along like he owns the sidewalk.
He’s the kind of man who thinks the rules only apply to other people.
When his eyes land on me, his expression morphs into one of disgust, like breathing the same air as me is offensive.
“Did you get lost? The wine bar is three streets over,” I tell him, gesturing in a useless direction because I lied about the wine bar in the first place.
“What the hell is he doing here?” he barks, marching up the steps like he owns them.
I reach out, grab him by the back of the neck, and haul him back off her steps.
Poor fucker is startled as shit. “Get your hands off me, you thug!”
I casually toss him back onto the sidewalk, with a warning, “Ask before you encroach onto someone’s personal property.”
Tessa shoots to her feet. “What are you doing here? I told you that I needed time to think and would call when I’d made a decision.”
He pulls on the cuffs of his jacket, shooting me an annoyed look, before turning back to Tessa. I don’t like the way his expression turns admiring. “I’m here to enhance our offer. I’m authorized to double our standing offer if you remain our surrogate.”
The implication is clear. Although he doesn’t say it out loud, that offer is contingent on terminating her current pregnancy.
“I’ve been thinking about this situation and have decided that since no money has traded hands, I’m voiding the contract.”
“In favor of him? Is this the donor or man you’re wasting your life with at the moment.” he states condescendingly.
“Yes, it’s me,” I say giving him a lopsided smile.
He makes a disgruntled sound, his face contorting into an expression of revulsion. “Look at him. This sperm donor is lacking in almost every imaginable way. And you want to bear his child? Tessa, I thought you were smarter than this.”
My jaw tightens. Not because the insult stings, but because I’m calculating how many seconds it’ll take me to knock that smug look off his face.
“Careful,” I say calmly. The kind of calm that usually comes right before a fight. “You’re real close to gettin’ a lesson in keeping your fuckin’ pie hole closed.”
He spins around to face me, his face supremely aggravated with being forced to talk to someone he sees as many rungs beneath him on the social ladder.
He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it.
I don’t know for sure what’s causing him to hesitate.
Maybe it’s the bruises on my cheek, the patch on my cut, or the way I’m standing.
Finally, he takes a step back. “You don’t get to insert yourself into this,” he snaps. “You’re not part of the contract.”
“There is no contract,” Tessa says, voice quiet but clear. “I just voided it.”
His head snaps towards her. “That doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”
“That’s exactly what that means,” I tell him in no uncertain terms. “And since she’s carrying my child, I’m already involved.
” I take a step closer to him. He tries to hold eye contact, but I see that flicker of acknowledgement on his face.
The one that says he just figured out he ain’t in charge anymore.
“Let me make this real simple,” I say, stepping closer to him. “She don’t wanna talk to you. I don’t wanna hear you talk. And if you approach this house again without being invited, I’ll slam you in the dirt so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
He swallows thickly and his mouth opens and closes. No words come out though, and I consider that a fuckin’ win.
“Get in your shiny car,” I continue, lowering my tone. “And drive your ass back to whatever gated palace you crawled out of before I change my fuckin’ mind about being polite.”
He looks at Tessa like she’s supposed to save him. She doesn’t. Instead, she just crosses her arms, stares at the porch floorboards, clearly waiting for him to leave.
He mutters something I don’t care enough to catch, turns on his heel, adjusts his cuffs, and walks to his car. Once he’s inside, the car peels out fast, tires whining like a spoiled kid not getting what he wants.
When it’s quiet again, Tessa stays standing, arms still wrapped around herself. Her face has gone pale.
“I’m worried that he’s not gonna let this go,” she says softly.
“No,” I agree. “He’s not.”
She looks up at me. “Why is he like this?”
“He got attached,” I tell her. “Not to the baby but to you carryin’ it.”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t even know me.”
“He doesn’t have to. Some men get a picture in their heads. Once it’s in there, they’ll break the whole damn world tryin’ to get the outcome they want.”
She hugs herself tighter. It looks for all the world like a protective gesture for the child inside her belly. “This just got a lot more complicated.”
“Yeah,” I say, watching his taillights fade over the hill. “But it also got real damn clear.”
We stand there, face to face, neither of us speaking. I’m waiting for her to speak, to tell me what she wants to do. She doesn’t speak right away. Just stares at the porch railing like she’s trying to find the words to tell me something important.
I sit down on the top step, twisting the cap back onto my half-empty water bottle. Sweat drips down my back, but I stay quiet, giving her a chance to think.
Eventually, she lowers herself beside me, slow and stiff. Any fool can see she’s stressed out and this asshole just made it ten times worse for her.
“He wasn’t always like this,” she says finally. “Back when we first started meeting. He was cold, but it was more like he was being professionally distant.”
I try to explain what I think is going on.
“Men like Whitmore are used to keeping shit to themselves. He probably felt like this all along. He just dropped his mask when he thought you were slipping his grasp because he had nothing to lose. Rich men are used to getting what they want from people—especially women.”
She nods her agreement. “Yeah, I’m getting the feeling you’re right about him.”
“He’s dangerous,” I warn her. “Not in the gun-in-the-glovebox way. In the way that makes people feel like they owe him something. You’re not obligated to him in any way. Don’t let him gaslight you into thinking you are.”
She looks over at me, wrapping her arms more tightly around her waist. “You think he’s gonna come back here?”
“I know he is. That’s why I’m gonna assign two prospects to keep an eye on the street tonight.
They’re trained to be quiet and unobtrusive.
You won’t even know they’re here. They answer to me, so they won’t try to come into your house or try anything out of pocket, ‘cause they know I’ll beat their ass if they even think about harassing or inconveniencing you in any way.
Think of them as private duty security guards. ”
She turns to face me, brows shooting up in alarm. “What? I can’t afford one security guard, much less two.”
“Prospects don’t get paid for prospecting. They’re men interested in joining our club. They’re in their proving stage and will do what I say, ‘cause I’m their VP. I’m not taking chances with you or our kid.”
Her mouth opens, but no words come out. A multitude of expressions move across her face—confusion, reluctance, gratitude, and even relief.
I speak softly. “You said you needed time. I meant it when I said that I ain’t here to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.
But you chose me and my baby over the Whitmores.
That means that anything you need—baby related or not—I’ll get for you.
I’m all in. Consider me your protector moving forward. ”
Her breath catches. “I don’t know what to say. You’re doing too much.”
“I’m not, trust me on that. You agreeing to be my surrogate means I’m gonna be a dad.
I take that shit very seriously. My whole family does.
I’ll pay what they promised. Hell, I’ll double it if that’s what it takes.
And I don’t need no fuckin’ contract because I can see that you’re an honest woman.
I plan to deal fairly with you because you’re the mother of my child.
If you really think we need it in writing, I’ll get my club attorney to draw a contract up.
I just want to make sure you’re safe, and the kid gets born without any kind of trouble comin’ your way. ”
The more I talk, the larger her eyes get. I can tell she’s getting emotional. Just watches me like she’s trying to read between the lines to see what I really mean.
“And what happens after?” she asks.
“After what?”
“After the baby’s born.”
I nod slowly, unsure why she’s askin’ me that same question all over again. It feels like she just wants to verify the after piece because it’s causing her tremendous anxiety.
“That’s a fair question, but I already answered it.
Remember, I said you could stay involved if you want or walk away with no strings attached.
It’s not my job to tell you what to do. It’s your job to tell me how involved you want to be.
Trust me, I can take care of my child, all by myself if that’s what you want. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Her eyes start to shine with unshed tears. She’s not one bit dramatic. She’s just quiet, grateful, and probably exhausted from all the worrying.
We sit there in the quiet of early evening, two strangers who’ve already shared too much. I don’t reach for her. Don’t touch her hand or lean in close because I mean to see this through. Offending her ain’t the right way to earn her trust.
When we part ways and I get back to my bike, the sun’s sitting behind the tree line. Crickets are already tuning up and the neighborhood kids have gone home to dinner.
I glance back at the porch. She’s still there. Sitting with her knees drawn up with her arms draped around them. She’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite name. It’s not fear but not quite trust either. Maybe it’s something between the two—and that’s good enough for me.
I jerk my chin at her. My way of saying goodbye, and I’m rewarded with a faint smile. When she gets up to go inside, she doesn’t wave. I don’t expect her to.
I fire up the engine, but I don’t ride off just yet. Instead, I pull out my phone and hit Slate’s number. He answers on the second ring.
“Yeah?”
“You got newbies with clean faces and quiet mouths?” I ask.
“Prospects? Maybe. Why?”
“Assign ‘em to Harper Street. They need to be on a quiet watch for this assignment.”
He pauses. “You settin’ up a civilian babysitting service these days, Jasper?”
“It ain’t babysitting. She’s carrying my kid. The guy who wanted her to carry his instead is losing his mind, and I don’t like the look in his eyes.”
Suddenly my brother’s voice is alert and cooperative. “Fuckin’ hell. You got a kid on the way? Better tell Queenie ASAP.”
“I’ll deal with Ma in due time. I want ‘em on house 227 round the clock. Tell them to contact me directly if anything pops off.”
“Copy that. I assume you want ‘em on rotation?”
“Yeah, I sure the fuck do. And tell ‘em if she sees ‘em and tells ‘em to go, they go. But until then? I want eyes on that place.”
“Done.”
I hang up and tuck the phone back into my cut.
Then I let the engine idle and take one more look at the house.
It’s in worse shape than I originally thought.
The siding’s pulling loose near the roof.
Paint’s peeling on the porch as well as the house.
The gutter’s hanging by one rusted bracket, and the steps creak even when Tessa is the only one stepping on them.
The front door looks water damaged. It’s soft enough for a toddler to kick the damn thing in with no messing around.
The bottom line is it ain’t safe.
Not for her, her grandmother, and not for anyone carrying my baby.
I have an unreasonably strong need to keep the woman risking everything just to keep her grandma breathing and my baby growing in her belly safe. No one is gonna get hurt if I can help it. Not on my fuckin’ watch.
I make a mental list of supplies to buy. I’m gonna need paint, lumber, a new lock for the front door, a proper porch light, something to reinforce that stair rail so she doesn’t go tumbling off the porch.
She doesn’t need to know I’m coming back. I’ll show up when she’s gone to work or sleeping. Do what needs doing the most. I’m good at fixing what’s broken.
She doesn’t need to be aware of all I’m spending to fix up her place, because it’s not about impressing her.
It’s about building something safe under her feet before the next asshole tries to knock her down in life.
She deserves all the safety and security I can give her, no matter whether she stays after the baby comes or not.
I rev the throttle once and peel off slow, dust kicking up behind me, thoughts already spinning on which of the guys I can borrow tools from and how I’m gonna haul two-by-fours on a cruiser without looking like a damn cartoon.
I’ll have to borrow my old man’s truck. He’ll want to know why, and that’ll open up a whole new can of worms, because he doesn’t keep anything from my mom.
But I’ll figure it out. I always do.