Page 18 of Outlaws' Single Mom
“I… Does it matter?”
Stiff puts down his coffee and fixes me with a serious look. “Logan isn’t yours, is he?”
“Of course he is.” I lean in, staring right back. “I might not’ve carried him in my stomach, but I’ve raised that little boy since before he took his first steps. He’s mine in every way that counts and the only person on this planet that had any right to this discussion died on Friday.”
He nods, like he just found a missing puzzle piece. “Relax, I’m not here to challenge you. That kid’s fucking lucky to have someone that loves him enough to make him their whole fucking life. I just didn’t like the feeling that we were getting pulled into this situation without having all the information.”
“What do you mean?”
“That picture you sent. That was Georgia wasn’t it? With some guy at The Burnout?”
“Yeah. From five years ago maybe? I found it with Logan’s photos. Come here, I’ll show you.” I grab my mug and head to the living room, where Logan’s treasures are still spread out on the coffee table. I sit down on the couch with my leg under my butt and pick up the original.
Stiff takes it from me, sitting down close enough that our legs touch. He points at the man with Georgia. “This is Ice. He was in the Sons about that time, so it makes sense.”
Having a name to put to the face is exciting. “Is he still? Can I talk to him? When I saw the picture I thought that maybe that was why she told Logan to find your club. Or maybe the bar? If they were still in touch, he might?—”
“Ice died almost four years ago.”
“What? No…” The flicker of hope sputters in my chest. “How? What happened?”
I don’t even know if he notices himself doing it, but Stiff’s hand goes to the scar on his throat when I ask. His fingers rub over the ropy line where it dips beneath his collar. I reach out and put my hand on his arm, wanting to comfort him even if I don’t know exactly why.
His fingers close over mine before shaking free. “How much do you know about us? The Outlaw Sons?”
“Um, not a lot I guess? I know you’re a motorcycle club, and…” I cringe a little, not wanting to be rude, but I have to be honest. “You have kind of a violent reputation. People always want to think the worst, right? I’m sure it’s exaggerated.”
Stiff looks me dead in the eyes. “It’s not. I didn’t get this playing hopscotch.” His fingers flick to the scar that looks like it almost took his head off. “We’re not good men by the measure of your world, Dakota, but we fill a place in ours and we’re known for standing on business. Back when that picture was taken, the club was growing fast. We had a bunch of new members that were leftovers from a piece of shit club that the Screaming Eagles took out. General, our old president, should’ve seen the signs sooner, but that’s easy to say with fucking hindsight, you know?”
I nod like I have any idea what he’s talking about.
“They stirred up trouble and had General killed. It nearly started a whole fucking war, but we handled it. Lost a lot of brothers in the fight though, Ice was one of ‘em.” His jaw is so tense I’m surprised he hasn’t cracked a molar. I can tell there’s a lot he’s leaving out.
“Is that where you got hurt?” I ask, shifting a little closer.
A single nod.
Stiff is a bit of a mystery to me. Lash is constantly joking around, making himself the center of attention, and Jackal is more serious, stepping up to take charge, but Stiff seems to usually be content to hang back. Except he was the one to call and promise that Logan would be alright. He invited me to the Burnout, and he’s here tonight, bringing my baby his stuffed animal back, and sharing part of my sister’s history with me. He keeps his promises.
“I think if you meet the right woman, she’d be very lucky to have you.”
11
STIFF
She’s so fucking close,practically in my lap, wearing those ridiculous fucking pajamas that make her look like a rainbow colored dessert. It doesn’t take any effort at all to pull her the rest of the way. Dakota pulls in a surprised breath as she finds herself straddling my lap.
“Yes?” I ask.
From this close, I can see the specks of green and blue in her eyes. She hesitates, then nods.
I reach up, cupping her chin in my hands and tugging her mouth down to meet mine. Her eyes drift shut and her lips part. She tastes like coffee and cream. I can’t fucking remember the last time Iwanted someone like this. Because of who she was, not just what our bodies could do together.
Her kiss is shy at first, but she gains confidence quickly. My jacket’s open, and she presses her hands against my cut, sliding them up until I know she can feel my ruined skin. I’m not ashamed of my scars. I earned those marks, both the visible and the hidden ones, in the defense of the men I’ve sworn my life to.
But just because I’d do it all again doesn’t mean I don’t know what other people think. It’s easier for them to pretend this is all a fashion choice when the violence isn’t right out in the open.
Dakota doesn’t seem to mind. Her hips rock against mine as my tongue slides beside hers. She makes a needy little noise in her throat and I drop a hand to her waist, pushing it up beneath her loose top. She gasps when my fingers touch the soft, sensitive skin below her ribs, but she doesn’t pull away. My cock is trapped between us, straining against my zipper. I lean back to let up on the pressure, and she leans in, following. It lines her pussy up with the rock in my pants, and she groans.
