Possessive Daddies (Venom Vultures MC #7)

Chapter 1 Carmen

CARMEN

Normally after working late at the grocery store, I leave with a coffee so I’m awake for the drive back.

But tonight I won’t be doing that, because I drop the coffee when I jump out of my skin.

“Miss?”

I’ll get back to him later. Right now, I’m feeling too distraught about the spilled coffee to register the voice. Iced lattes cost a fortune these days.

And it’s this fucker’s fault for creeping up on me.

I tear myself away from the coffee before I get too attached. This man owes me six bucks for making me drop the one thing I can’t drive home late at night without.

But I don’t see him anywhere.

“I get it. Now you’re too scared to show yourself, seeing as you’ve made a cranky woman drop her coffee. You owe me.”

“A person who gets angry over losing a few bucks is a person who is broke,” says the voice, with an Irish lilt.

“Excuse me?”

This probably isn’t the right setting to be confronting a strange man. A shopping mall? Sure. But challenging a stranger in a dark parking lot is risky. The fog this time of night is so thick that I can’t even locate my car and salvage a quick escape.

But I am carrying a weapon—steel-toe boots are deadly if you can kick a person’s face hard enough.

“Kindly fuck off and leave me alone.”

“You might want to use your manners.” A dark figure emerges from the fog, taking the shape of a man. One with iron-gray hair and eyes that are almost as black as the night.

It’s nice to finally put a face to a name.

Not.

“Kindly fuck off and leave me alone, please.”

“That attitude is exactly why you will always work in a grocery store.”

I fold my arms over my chest and regard the man. He’s not much taller than me. If I didn’t have a little boy at home relying on me, I’d take this bastard out and happily sit in jail for assault.

It’d be well worth my time to put this man in his place.

“Did you leave your good side back in Ireland? What is wrong with you?” I go to shoulder past him, but he grabs my arm instead and pushes me back.

At least he has the courtesy to do that gently.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“At”—I consult my watch—“precisely ten past midnight? I think I’m good.”

Of course, the man doesn’t take my word for it. He looks me up and down like I’m wearing a gown that costs more than my annual rent.

Is he not seeing the deadbeat grocery store uniform?

“Women like you are supposed to grace much bigger rooms than grocery stores.”

Where the fuck is he going with this?

I turn over my shoulder and look at my workplace that’s now all closed up for the night. “I don’t know about that. There’s one hundred and fifty-two aisles inside, all of which have a width of about six feet.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Are we looking at the same person here? Eight hours ago, I threw my hair up into a bun without even looking in the mirror. God knows what state it’s in now.

Also, I might understand this gentleman’s comment if any cleavage was on show.

But it’s not.

And hasn’t been for two years.

“Here.” The man digs into his pocket and produces a card. “Take this.”

I do as he says. At the end of the day, the more annoyed I get, the longer I draw this out. And I can’t afford to argue when the nanny who’s watching over Otis charges what feels like a hundred bucks a minute.

I shove the card into my pocket and retry my escape.

“Wait.”

Wasting time isn’t a luxury that single moms have.

“I’ll look at it later. I promise.”

“It’s an auction.”

“Antiques aren’t really my kinda thing.”

“Not that kind of auction.” The Irishman grabs me by the wrist and steers me back toward him. “Let’s just say it’s the kind of auction where you could go for a lot of money…”

“And who gets to keep the money? Assholes like you who make women drop their iced lattes in the dead of night?”

“No. You keep the money. Every last cent of it.” He extends his gaze to the grocery store behind me. “You could quit next week.”

“I’ll consider it.”

A lie.

“You’ll never need to work a day in your life again.”

I let out an exasperated sigh and let the man give me his marketing pitch, so he can end it and let me get out of here. “What are you talking about?”

“The auction connects beautiful women like you to men with money. Men with lots of money. The majority of my patrons are millionaires.”

I stopped wasting my time with millionaires two years ago when one rudely walked out of my apartment the next morning and never said goodbye. Everything that came out Carter Trescott’s mouth was curated to get him laid.

And it worked.

To be honest, he didn’t even need to use his words for me to sleep with him. That man must be one of the hottest millionaires in history. I was on the Vegas strip when I met him. He blinked and I was soaked.

“I’ll think about it.”

Another lie.

“Make sure you do. One night with the right man could change your life.”

Haven’t I heard all of that before?

But I suppose this could actually change my life. Since he’s talking mostly about money—not sex.

“One night?” I call back, finally on route to my car.

“With the right man you could retire at the age of twenty-five.”

That’s much better than the “beautiful” complement, because I’m twenty-eight.

“Give me a call. The auction is on Friday, two days from now.”

“Sure!” I shout, popping my car door and jumping into the driver’s seat. I start the engine immediately, shaking off what feels like an even bigger fever dream than the night I spent with Carter Trescott.

I turn around to check the rearview mirror, and I can no longer see the man.

It wouldn’t surprise me if this was all just a figment of my imagination. Times are desperate. When I’m not trying to balance two jobs, I’m pulling out teeth trying to get Otis to eat his vegetables.

Newborns make life hard.

Toddlers make it impossible.

I make a right at the end of the road and head back to the city. Of course, Otis and I aren’t rich enough to live in the heart of it all. The suburbs are fine, even though I often question our safety.

I feel like I’m being watched, but maybe that’s just maternal paranoia kicking in. I never thought I’d say this, but Carter Trescott was the best thing that ever happened to me. He gave me his sperm and helped me produce the most beautiful baby boy that this world has ever seen.

And this is a fact—strangers approach me in the street just to say how gorgeous he is.

I have his father to thank for that.

A father that doesn’t even know Otis exists.

But it’s better this way. Simpler.

If Carter was involved in his life, I have no doubt he’d be teaching the two-year-old about the stock market, signing him up to online courses that promise a “head start” in life.

And yes, money is important, but it doesn’t need to be a person’s entire personality. I don’t want my baby boy turning out like Carter Trescott Jr. (the name Carter probably would’ve given our son if he had been involved).

Otis doesn’t need a millionaire dad who would’ve probably ended up disappearing later down the line anyway. What he needs is stability.

He has more of a chance in life with one parent instead of two.

Arriving home, I shift the gear stick into neutral and activate the parking brake. The car is due a service, but I’m enjoying seeing how many miles I can drive before the cops eventually pull me over.

A girl needs a little bit of adrenaline in her life to keep her on her toes.

I unlock the door and wince as soon as I hear movement. Sadie greets me at the door and I place the cash in her palm, plus forty for the extra hour.

“I’m so sorry. I got caught up at work.”

Sadie stifles a yawn and turns it into a smile. “No stress. Otis has been fast asleep for hours.”

“Thanks.”

“I also need to make you aware that my hourly rate is going up.”

This might be worse than the spilled coffee.

I nod and hope that my “okay” doesn’t sound too morbid.

Of course, this isn’t Sadie’s fault. The girl is simply trying to make a living, and I applaud her for that. Living is hard and it breaks the bank.

And guess who benefits?

Selfish bastards like Carter Trescott.

They have it all. The face, the house, the money, the likability. It would be generous if people like him could share their wealth with the rest of us.

But that’s the whole point—people like Carter stay at the top so that people are constantly looking up at them.

“I’m sorry,” Sadie says. “I know this isn’t what you wanna hear at this time…or any time. But it’s—”

“No explanation needed. It’s no stress. Now get yourself home and text me when you make it back, okay?”

Sadie nods, grabs her things and hugs me goodbye.

She shuts the door behind her, but it feels more like a slam, shuddering my body. How the fuck am I supposed to fork out extra money?

Answer: The illegal auction happening Friday.

I don’t like the thought of entertaining men who make me drop expensive coffee, but desperate times and all…

What other fucking choice do I have?

Begrudgingly, I take out the card and stare at it. Conrad O’Neill. He sounds like even more of an ass than Otis’s father.