Page 67 of One Night with the Biker

“How many times did you fuck her?”

“I was with her only one night. It only takes one fucking time, Prez.”

“That kid isn’t yours. It can’t be. That little cunt is up to something. Roman Mac put her up to this.”

“The baby’s mine,” I said flatly.

“You can’t be fucking sure.”

I was sure thanks to Louisiana. I knew Ainsley hadn’t been with anyone else. But since Louisiana was such a motherfuckingsneak and liar, fucking around with Nova for whatever goddamn reason without clueing in Razor, I couldn’t admit the truth.

“I think it is mine,” I said evenly. “And Roman Mac didn’t put her up to anything. His level of anger when she talked to him about the baby couldn’t be faked.”

“Get to the fucking club, motherfucker.”

“Ainsley hasn’t been well, Prez. Let me look after her tonight and come to the club first thing in the morning.”

“What do your colors mean to you?” he growled.

“They’re everything,” I said without hesitation. “But Ainsley’s all alone in the world right now. Roman Mac cut her off. I’m dropping her off at his house so she can get her car. After that, I’m not even sure she’ll be allowed back there.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting that little twat stays in your room at the club?”

I gritted my teeth, hating the fucking names he called her.

“If you are, then you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

As president, it was his call to make. Attempting to change his mind would only make shit worse and put me under further suspicion. My next words couldn’t be helped if I wanted Ainsley safe from my club members’ retribution. “Ainsley’s mine, Razor,” I said fiercely. “That baby is mine. I claim it and her. She’s off-limits to anyone who thinks she’s a Scorpion spy. She’smine.”

I couldn’t have been any plainer.

“I can demand you choose between that cunt and our club.” Based on his tone, Razor intended to beat the fuck out of me just as I suspected. “Are you a Royal Bastard or a Scorpion wannabe?”

“I resent that,” I snarled, jumping to my feet. “You know I’ve dedicated my fucking life to our club.” The water abruptly stopped and I drew a deep breath. Ainsley would be out soon.She didn’t need to hear this. “I wanted to do the right thing and tell you what was going on, Prez. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before he responded, I disconnected. Things couldn’t get any more fucked up between us and my future was no longer guaranteed.

Not wanting to consider what I might face at the club tomorrow, I went to the kitchen just as the bathroom door opened. The distinctive scent of a woman, of Ainsley, wafted to me. A steamy combination of her body wash and her shampoo that hardened my cock.

Our disagreements were brushed aside, not settled. I wasn’t sure how she’d respond if I approached her. Maybe later, when I was calmer, and she was fed.

For now, I focused on the soup and shoved everything else to the back burner. Reality would intrude soon enough.

Reese’s chicken soup would win first place in a cooking competition. Thick and hearty with chunks of chicken, diced potatoes and onions, and sliced carrots and celery, it was thebest I ever tasted. It soothed my belly and filled me up, aided by soda crackers and ginger ale.

I wanted to call Roman again, though I knew it was a bad idea. Reese’s steady conversation about football, one of my favorite topics, my work, and comparing our different recipes for several dishes, kept my heartache at bay and distracted me.

Tomorrow morning, I’d know if Roman had forgiven me. If he called as usual, then it was a yes. If he didn’t, I knew what that meant, too.

“Ready for dessert?” Reese asked, breaking into my thoughts.

“You bake, too?”

“You’re either a baker or a cook. Not both. If you excel at one, you’re shit at the other.”

“That isn’t true,” I protested. “My mom was excellent at both. Of course, she was a New Orleans girl. She was born knowing how to make good food.”

“Bullshit. You learn tocookgood food,” he said, subtly correcting me.

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