Still Standing: Wild West MC Series Read online

Though I was surprised.

  Doing the mental math that made him thirty-eight (almost thirty-nine) years old.

  He didn’t look thirty-eight years old.

  And he definitely didn’t have sex like he was thirty-eight years old.

  I’d have pegged him around thirty-two.

  Thirty-three at most.

  Though I’d never had sex with a thirty-eight-year-old man, so I wouldn’t know.

  But Rogan was thirty-six, and he didn’t come close to Buck.

  “Um…” I hesitated then braved, “Is Kristy their mom?”

  “Unfortunately, yeah,” he answered without hesitation.

  “She isn’t a good mom?”

  “She’s a bitch, babe,” he replied and moved back, his arm coming from around me so he could indicate the scar on his lower, left abs with the other tattoo of Never again over it. “She gave me that.”

  I felt my body get tight at this news.

  “Pardon?” I whispered.

  “Bitch stuck me with a blade,” he said.

  My tight body froze, and Buck put his arm back around me but at my upper back. He did this at the same time he laid back against the pillows, carefully taking me with him so I was bent over, my chest resting lightly on his.

  This wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable, so I shifted my legs as he pulled me up over his body which meant I was lying full-body on him and not on my injured hip.

  Now, this was comfortable.

  Hmm.

  Lovely.

  When he got me in this position, I rested on my bent arms with hands flat on his chest and he carried on.

  “Judge was fucked. Not a fan of bikers. Can’t say I lived a clean life, have a rap sheet, nothin’ big, nothin’ like stickin’ my wife with a blade. Still, the asshole gave my kids to her. She got ’em and took off. Like a shot, just to fuck with me. Went to Flagstaff. Fought that, lost it too. It took about a week before she got herself hooked to an asshole. She thinks his shit don’t stink. My kids hate him, mainly because he’s a dick. The minute Gear got his license, I gave him a car and they come down as often as they can to get away from that shit.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” I noted.

  “It isn’t,” Buck agreed.

  I lifted a hand and rested it on his cheek. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

  His hand drifted up my back and into my wet hair. “Thanks, Toots, but it ain’t as bad as it was before. I was supposed to have them every other weekend. She jacked me around, found ways to keep them from me. Sometimes I’d show and they’d be gone. I’d wait for hours, I’d search, no sign, no warning, no explanation. I’d drive two hours and come back without my kids. It was a pain in my ass and the kids suffered. They like bein’ with their old man. Now, they can get in a car and come when they want. They’re here nearly every weekend. They’ve been with me all summer, just went back for school, but they’ll be back Friday night.”

  I found this both heartening and concerning.

  I didn’t want to meet his kids, not looking like I did, and Friday was only two days away, so I didn’t figure I would look a lot better when they got to their dad’s.

  But I also didn’t want to meet the children he obviously loved while living the life I was living. And I was getting the hint that he intended to be a part of that life which came with meeting his kids.

  Still, I was glad he got to spend time with his children.

  “That must be hard for them, being here every weekend when their friends at school are at home,” I noted.

  “Sometimes they bring their friends with them. Sometimes they miss a weekend because they’re hangin’ all weekend with their friends at their houses. One way or another, they escape home. Both of them are funny, make friends easy. They got as many friends here as they do at home.” He gave me a gentle squeeze. “They’re survivors, darlin’. Gear is nearly free, and he’ll break for it. It won’t be long before Tatie can too.”

  “Well, that’s good,” I mumbled.

  He grinned up at me as he said, “Yeah.”

  Then, frighteningly, he kept talking.

  “Gear’ll like you, babe. My boy’s been a flirt since he could focus his eyes. The prettier the target, the more effort he gives it, which means he’ll put a fair amount of effort into it with you. Tatie’ll be harder to win over. She’s her dad’s girl. She doesn’t warm up quick to women around me.”

  Oh dear.

  This did not sound good.

  “Um…Buck, we should talk about that,” I told him.

  In response to this pronouncement, he twisted his hand around my hair and lifted his head to give me another lip brush.

  Once he was done doing this, he curled up, taking me with him, moving me in his arms while he threw his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and put me on my feet.

  When I was looking up at him, he stated, “Yeah, Toots, we got a lot to talk about. But we’ll do it over coffee and breakfast.”

  Okay.

  That sounded like a plan,

  I nodded.

  He grinned, lifted a hand to tug a lock of my damp hair and then he moved away, going toward the bathroom.

  I stood still, watching him.

  This was because he was naked, and my life might be uncertain and a little scary, but what wasn’t uncertain was the fact that West “Buck” Hardy looked really, really good naked.

  It was also because I saw that his back was tattooed too, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, spanning his ribs and down his spine. It looked like an emblem and included snakes, flames, chains, motorcycle wheels and a poker hand.

  And across his upper back, with flourishes (masculine ones, and those existed, trust me), in a kick-butt font, it said, simply, Aces High.

  I had never been cool, never in my whole life.

  Growing up, I tried to be invisible and I’d always been thought of by my peers as a quiet, dorky, geeky brain, even as an adult.

  But that didn’t mean I didn’t know cool.

  And that tattoo on Buck’s back was not cool, it was super cool.

  It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen in my life, not just the tattoo but the smooth skin and muscled back it decorated.

  That tattoo was so cool, and Buck’s body was so hot, even in the state I was in, I felt it starting. My breasts swelled, my knees went weak and my feet really, really wanted to follow him to the bathroom.

  I forced them to take me to the kitchen.

  Ink had been right. Buck’s cupboards were far from bare. I had the feeling this was partially because he liked his food. It was also probably because he loved his kids and any good parent kept the kitchen stocked.

  This, too, defined him and it, too, said good things.

  Therefore, I smiled to myself as I made coffee and found some frosted cinnamon Pop-Tarts, my favorite kind. A definite treat.

  Thus, I was sitting at a stool in the kitchen facing a window with a cup of coffee and a plate of Pop-Tarts, nibbling and staring at the scenery, when Buck strode in wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans, his hair wet from his shower, his cell at his ear.

  That took no time at all.

  Confirmation: West Hardy was not a man who primped.

  His eyes came to me then dropped to my plate and the lines radiating from their sides deepened. I watched as he walked into the kitchen, and I twisted in my seat so my gaze could follow him.

  He talked as he walked.

  “You got a number?” he asked, pulling open a drawer and yanking a pad of paper out of it then going back to the drawer to dig around until he came out with a pen. He wrote something down and then said, “Right. Just go in, clear it all out. Yeah?” He paused then finished, “Later.”

  He disconnected, but was immediately clearly reengaging, his eyes on the paper, his thumb moving on the screen of his phone. When he put it to his ear, he moved to get himself a mug.

  He was pouring coffee when he spoke again.

  “This Dallas Hill?”

  I felt my l
ips part at the same time I felt my eyes get wide.

  Why was he talking to my landlord?

  Buck shoved the coffeepot into the coffeemaker and kept talking.

  “This is a friend of Clara Delaney. You padlock her apartment yesterday?”

  Oh God.

  I closed my eyes.

  I opened them again when Buck went on talking.

  “Right, asshole, that padlock is getting clipped in about five seconds, and seein’ as we don’t have her keys, we’ll need to be creative gettin’ into the apartment. Now, take this as friendly advice, as of today, you don’t know Clara Delaney. She’s no longer a tenant. Her stuff’ll be gone in an hour and she ceases to exist for you in any way. That clear?”

  I stared at him as he turned with his mug and walked to me.

  He stopped across from me, listening at the same time leaning a hip against the counter and sipping at his mug, casual, calm, at ease while my heart was beating so hard I could feel it.

  He put the mug down by mine, reached out, picked up one of my Pop-Tarts and was lifting it toward his mouth when he stopped lifting to speak again.

  “You don’t get me, Hill. I don’t care how much she owes you. What you need to know is, she got herself some good friends. These friends had a look at you, and we know more than you want us to know. You don’t want us usin’ that information, you move on with your life and Clara doesn’t hear from you again. Now, are we clear?”

  That was when he took a huge bite of my Pop-Tart (huge), and even though what he was saying was freaking me out, I contemplated toasting another duo of tarts because it had been so long since I had one, and I liked them so much, I didn’t want to miss out on a bite.

  He chewed, swallowed and stated, “Man, that is not a threat. Test me and see.”

  On that, he disconnected the call, dropped his phone on the counter and took another huge bite of my tart.

  There was a lot to talk about and a lot to say, but, as ever…priorities.

  “Do you want me to toast you some Pop-Tarts?”

  He looked down at me for a brief second before he threw his head back and laughed.

  Golly, he had a great laugh.

  I’d forgotten that too.

  When he was chuckling, just like Ink (except better), he reached out and swept my quickly drying hair off my shoulder, his fingers curled around the side of my neck and his thumb pressed up on my jaw. He then leaned over the counter, bent in, touched his mouth to mine and moved back a couple of inches.

  “I’m sensin’ my girl likes her food,” he muttered, his eyes, still smiling, looking into mine.

  My lungs started burning and not because my ribs were bruised.

  His girl?

  Was I his girl?

  When did that happen?

  And why did his saying that feel like I felt the first time Ink called me “Clary,” except loads better.

  Loads.

  He let me go, dropped the tart to my plate, moved to the cupboard and I watched mutely as he got out the box of Pop-Tarts and set another packet to toasting.

  He came back and grabbed his tart (or the one he’d made his which was actually mine).

  “Buck—” I started as he took a bite.

  “This is the gig,” he cut me off, his mouth full.

  He swallowed and spoke again.

  “I know your life has been shit and it bein’ that way, normally, I’d take it slow with you. We don’t have that luxury. Until I’m one hundred percent certain Esposito took my meaning yesterday, you need protection. I’m not farmin’ that out, I’m doin’ it myself. Which means you’re here with me and you got me or one of my boys with you until I know you can breathe easy. When that happens, we’ll talk about what’s to come. Until then, you’re in this house, and when you heal, you’re on my bike and in the office at Ace. The girl who managed the office served only one purpose, eye candy for the boys. She said she knew what she was doin’, but she took the job to land herself an old man. I fired her ass two weeks ago and I haven’t found anyone to fill the position. I need someone takin’ care of business. You want that job, it’s yours. You don’t, that’s cool. You just hang and find some way to entertain yourself. Now, is that cool with you?”

  In a perfect world, that would be cool with me.

  Beyond cool.

  Even dreamy.

  I’d never lived in a perfect world.

  “I…” I started, for some reason beginning to breathe heavily, “I don’t want to offend you but…” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s cool.”

  He knew what I was saying.

  “With that assclown ex of yours, you got taught a lesson, Toots,” he said softly. “But don’t let caution make you stupid.”

  “I—” I began.

  “You’re into me,” he proclaimed, and my head ticked.

  It couldn’t be denied I was.

  However.

  I tried again, “I—”

  “Don’t deny it, babe. It’s in your eyes. It’s in your voice. It’s in the way you touch me and it’s definitely in the way you light up when I touch you.”

  Again, I couldn’t deny that.

  “But—” I started.

  Buck interrupted me again. “I give you reason not to trust me?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “My boys?”

  I didn’t answer, just shook my head.

  “I told you last night, you don’t do us wrong, you don’t do me wrong, you got nothin’ to worry about.” He bent so his face was closer to mine. “No promises. I don’t know where we’re goin’, darlin’. What I do know is I want to find out. But if it doesn’t work, the break’ll be good.” His gaze grew intense when he promised, “I’ll see to that, baby. You have my word.”

  I had Rogan’s word and I trusted Rogan. I trusted him with my love and with my happiness.

  But Rogan had never beaten up anyone for me, putting himself out there.

  And Rogan may have babied me when I was sick, but he also put me in a position where I was eventually thrown from a moving vehicle. And when that happened, Buck had planted one of his boys to watch out for me.

  I was thirty-two years old.

  Was I prepared to cocoon myself for the rest of my days, existing through a terrible life?

  Or was I willing to live more?

  I thought I’d been making all the right moves.

  But had I?

  “Okay,” my mouth said before my brain processed it was going to say it.

  Buck dropped his head so his forehead rested against mine a second as his fingers gave me another squeeze. Then he lifted his head.

  The whole time he kept hold of my eyes.

  “You get safe, you need space, I’ll give it to you. But now, I want you close.”

  “Okay,” I repeated, but before I could stop myself, I asked, “Why?”

  “Why?” he asked back, straightening to his side of the counter.

  “Why are you doing this? Why do you want to find out where we’re going? You barely know me.”

  He grinned and took another huge bite of his, well, again, my Pop-Tart.

  After he swallowed, he laid it out.

  “Because you forget to be uptight when I got my hands and mouth on you. You totally lose control when I got my dick in you, going so far as to hang on so you don’t come and lose my cock. Then, when you let yourself come, you come harder than any woman I ever had. You don’t mind me knowin’ it and you give as good as you get.”

  Hmm.

  Well, it was nice he enjoyed me in bed as much as I enjoyed him.

  That said…

  He continued.

  “You don’t have any fuckin’ clue how to play games, because when you do, you’re really fuckin’ bad at it which means you won’t play me. You’re not hard to look at, even with a shiner and a busted lip. I like to make you smile. And it does somethin’ for me, knowin’, even with your life as fucked up as it’s been, that I can make you laugh.”
>
  He paused a beat and finished it with a question.

  “Is that enough for you?”

  With all he’d just said, it took me not a second to understand that was enough for me.

  I had nothing so even a little bit seemed like a lot.

  But that seemed like more than a lot.

  It seemed like a gift, especially the fact that he liked to make me smile.

  And laugh.

  In fact, it made me breathe a little heavy again, but this time for good reason.

  So he wouldn’t notice me semi-panting, I didn’t answer verbally.

  I nodded.

  His grin turned into a smile, deepening those lines by his eyes.

  Then the Pop-Tarts popped up.

  8

  I Took You On

  “Babe, get your ass in gear. They’re here,” Buck shouted from the front of the house.

  I was in his bedroom getting ready to go out shopping with the old ladies.

  Buck had some business to attend to and he’d decided it was time for me to enter the real world again.

  This meant he arranged for one of the MC’s “prospects,” or boys who had not yet been accepted into the Club and were now proving their salt to the members, to take Lorie, some of her girlfriends and me out shopping.

  I wasn’t certain how this would help the prospects prove their salt as rough and tumble members of a motorcycle club. But I was getting the impression that the recruits did whatever a member told them to do (no matter what it was) to demonstrate their dedication, loyalty and commitment to the Club.

  And this included taking a bunch of the members’ old ladies shopping.

  The prospect selected for this task was Driver, who I already decided I liked and who had been my bodyguard the last couple of days.

  I’d also already decided I liked Lorie.

  So that was good.

  The rest of it was bad.

  I didn’t make friends easily.

  When I was young, it was because insularity was key to survival. You didn’t want to form attachments when life was uncertain.

  I’d learned that the hard way.

  When I was older, it was out of habit.

  After Rogan got arrested, it was because no one wanted anything to do with me.

  It was Friday. Buck’s kids would be there that evening. Buck had talked to them and they’d told him they were leaving right after school. He told them he had company.