Page 29 of Biker's Enemy

You get a heightened sense of danger when you’re in prison. I can smell a fight based on the noise levels at breakfast. I could always sense when to keep my shoes close.

I can tell something bad happened here. Bad shit happens here on a regular basis. The doors and windows are all latched, but I find a weakness in an unlatched basement window. It would be much easier for Hunter to fit through than me…

I did everything in my power to keep bulky muscle on my body in prison. Without guns, without my family, I needed my body to be my primary source of protection. I left with only three scars from fights. One long scar on the left side of my torso, one on my right leg, and another on the back of my neck.

The scars don’t bother me because they just add another way I’m different from Hunter. We would always fight over who was tougher and usually, Hunter would win. After prison, that has most likely changed. I might even be the quiet one now… at least when I’m not drunk off my ass.

I have to suck my belly in and scrape my shoulder to slide into the Midnight SS clubhouse basement. I land in something sticky and have to stop myself from letting out a very unmanly yelp…

Something ain’t right here.

I almost swear, but I just stabilize myself against the wall instead because… I’m pretty fucking sure I’m hearing something. It’s dark. Too dark for me to see now that I’m blocked from the moonlight outside. I hold my breath. The noise gets louder. It’s not just rats running around the basement, although I hear the familiar sound of their nasty fucking paws…

I hear breathing.

Slow. Human breathing.

I grab my pistol. Adrenaline courses through me so fucking fast, my night vision improves almost instantly. I can at least see movement. Three small figures that must be rats or mice running across the basement floor and then a large lump. The source of the human breathing.

Did you even load the pistol, you stupid motherfucker?

I can taste blood on the back of my tongue.

I don’t like this.

“Put your hands up, or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” I growl with false confidence.

Fifteen

CASH

Ialmost cum in my pants watching Quin eat, making it very difficult to handle her anger with me throughout the rest of dinner. I have no desire to accept this so-called truth about Avery. My point about red hair stands. Lots of folks have red hair or at least carry the recessive gene. This has to be some plot.

I know exactly where I’ve put every load of cum I’ve ever shot.

Since this baby showed up on my doorstep, I have thought very carefully. She can’t be mine. It’s just not possible.

Not like it was some exciting revelation how long it’s been for me.

But it’s been a long time. Long enough that watching Quin accidentally drip barbecue sauce on the side of her face gets me rock hard. I love her cheeks. Her softness. The way her pink tongue looks when it slides out of her mouth and she licks up that barbecue sauce. I want to feel that sexy ass tongue sliding all over my dick. I’m losing my patience.

We barely make conversation throughout the rest of dinner and she won’t let her disapproval of me slide. She won’t stop drawing the conversation back to Avery, as if that baby is the most interesting thing in the world. The only thing she cares about is Avery, and she doesn’t understand why I refuse to allow that child into my life.

The thing with attachments like that is people can use them against you. I don’t know why anyone would want to do something like that, but I can guarantee their intentions are no good. I need my mind clear and spending all day with that baby won’t keep my mind clear. Aunt Deb has the same opinion as Quin, but you can’t run around letting women tell you what to do.

Our drive home is equally quiet. I relieve Aunt Deb of Avery, ensuring that she never sets eyes on Quin before she leaves. Once she drives away, I open the truck door. Quin hops out with her face set in a glare. Avery lights up and reaches for her and I don’t hesitate to hand the baby off. Quin’s face softens when she looks at Avery and my jealousy is heavy and immediate.

I know how pathetic it is to feel that kind of jealousy of a baby. She doesn’t belong to Quin either. It doesn’t matter how much dramatic cooing she does. Quin walks straight past me into the house, whispering sweet nothings to Avery. This isn’t how I thought dinner would go. I thought she would look at me with stars in her eyes… not pure loathing.

She’s human and presumably heterosexual, so she must be attracted to me physically. It’s just that she can’t stand to look me in the eye. I have a bit of a problem with that since half of what I want out here is companionship and somehow… I screwed that up.

I walk off to my office and leave Quin to her own devices. At least she enjoyed her dinner, even if she didn’t enjoy me.

Reluctantly, I get started on accounting work. I studied business in college, although I really studied football and drinking with a minor in business. Accounting wasn’t too hard to get a handle of, honestly.

I find the spreadsheets soothing.

But tonight, resizing and moving the numbers around does nothing to calm my mind.

---