Page 7 of Daddy Issues

Best to get the fuck out of here. One of the hardest things to get used to when wearing the patch was how people in Dry Valley—even at The Black Cat—moved differently when we pushed through. Cautious, almost afraid of the big bad bikers. As we cleared the VIP section, everyone moved down the steps and through the club’s main floor.

“Time to roll.” Jester went out the back door, skipping the last three steps with a long-legged hop. “I’ll call you when Kenna calms down, and I decide we need an audience.”

I followed him to where we left the bikes parked. Merc was already leaving, having handed over the cash for the next drop. Jester was off before I could crank my bike. I could follow, or I could wait and make sure she was okay. See if she wore that sexy little pink shit home and remind her she had other options.

Of lovers or jobs, I wasn’t sure.

It was a bad idea, but Eli was at my mom’s for the night. I sat sideways on the seat, pulled out my phone, and stretched my legs out.

Kenna came out the back door, and I steeled myself for a fight that never came.

Out here beneath the harsh LED lights, she looked tired. I hadn’t noticed that inside. She’d swept her dark hair up in a messy bun so that the purple ends sprouted out like a peacock tail. She wore a pair of dark red leggings that hugged her hips and ass, and a pink, cropped sweatshirt that showed a flash of pierced navel.

I fought to keep from adjusting my half hard cock.

“They sent me home early, because of your shit.” But there wasn’t any heat to her words. Like she wanted to be mad but couldn’t drum up the energy. I knew that feeling.

“How early?” I took my time sliding my phone into the inside pocket of my cut. I had her, to myself, for the first time in months. The worry that had tightened in my gut whenever I’d thought about her slowly loosened.

As much as I couldn’t rid myself of the desire to do nasty things to her, I needed to know she was okay. Aside from David’s new woman bitching about her.

“A few hours.” She toed at some of the loose pavement at her feet. She’d ditched the fuck-me boots and wore a pair of white canvas sneakers.Damn. I’d really liked the boots.

She wasn’t going to her truck, instead lingered just close enough I could smell the fruity body spray she had a fondness for. “Several hundred dollars in tips on a busy night like tonight.”

When I went for my wallet, she snapped her gaze to mine. The movement was so fast it jerked her chin up, defiant, but her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t want your money.”

“Kenna.” I sighed, feeling more tired than I should at twenty-seven years old. I reached for the box in my pocket instead, shook out a joint, lit it, and took a long drag before handing it to her. “It was my fault.”

“You’re right, it was.” She moved slowly toward me, a half step every few words, then took the joint and hit it.

The smoke hovered between us, turning the scent of the desert air from dusty to green in a few puffs. When she tried to hand it right back to me, I shook my head. She needed the calming effects of cannabis more than I did.

Out here, just the two of us, her guard slid down piece by piece. The bright, fake smile, and bubbly energy deflated. She was vulnerable like this. I’d seen it before, a few times, and each time it fucked me up. I was a sick bastard, torn between wanting to wrap her up and protect her, or throw her to the asphalt and fuck her until she had road rash and my cum running down her thigh.

“If it’s my shit, I own it.”

“Is that what I am, your shit?” There was a tinge of something harsh in her words. “That why you waited around? Going to tell me how working here is a bad idea, how I shouldn’t be showing off my body, all the same shit Ghost said to me before I got drugged and almost raped after Desert Lights?”

I wanted to. Look where that had got her. But the pain in her voice reached down inside me and twisted me all up. This time I took the joint, hit it, and thought about my answer. “You’re a lot of things, Kenna, but shit isn’t one of them.”

“Sure.” But she looked away, wrapping her arms around herself.

“This why you’ve been hiding? Afraid of what we’d think of you?”

She backed up two steps, closing her eyes tight, before I leaned out and jerked her toward me. She stumbled and grabbed the front of my leather vest for balance.

“Answer me. Ashamed? Angry? Or just not ready to own your own shit?” I took a hit, held it, then let the smoke roll out on a breath before putting it to her lips. She hit it, her small fingers trembling against mine as she took the joint from me.

I held her against my side, her body tense, and waited for the answer. Unlike Jester and some others, I could be patient when it was necessary.

Kenna was almost eye level to me here. I could kiss her if I tilted her chin up a hair.

“I fucked up. You don’t have to remind me.”

But I had to remember. Every fucking day. I’d kicked that door in, pounded some faces, and found her…half naked and out of it. She’d weighed next to nothing when I picked her up, barely moved in my arms when I’d carried her out.

She’d been so small, so breakable, so alone.

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