A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (10 page)

I swivel my head around, trying to figure out where I am. “Wha…what happened?” I murmur, fighting off a nasty headache.

“You had a panic attack and passed out,” he tells me. “I brought you to the bathroom. Here, drink this.” He hands me a cup of water. I sip at it. The coolness down my throat is life-saving. I suck in a big breath, grateful for the air in my lungs.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah, I think so,” I reply. Then it hits me—Grady, face purple and mottled, fists curled, him screaming, “I own this bitch!”—and I feel the pressure sit down on my chest again. My throat starts to close back up. Air is in short supply; the blood in my forehead is pounding.

“Kendra, Kendra!” Mortar is yelling. “Stay with me! Kendra! Breathe!”

I’m fighting to listen to him.
Just breathe,
I tell myself,
all you have to do is breathe.
But I can’t. Grady is large in my mind’s eye, screaming and threatening, swinging a fist at me.

“Kendra! Listen to me right now. Breathe. Inhale. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” For whatever reason, this time Mortar’s voice breaks through. Grady’s image dissipates into a vapor of colored dots. I open my eyes, focusing on Mortar’s voice and face. A huge inhale swirls in my nostrils and down my throat, filling my lungs, fueling my starving blood.

“Stay here. Keep breathing.” My hands are scrabbling on Mortar’s chest, holding onto fistfuls of his jacket. I’m trying hard to listen and do what he says. “I’m here with you,” Mortar says. “He can’t hurt you. I’m here. I’m protecting you. You’re with me.”

“Say it again,” I gasp.

He holds my face in his hands. “You’re with me.”

I zero in on his mouth forming those words.

“You’re with me.”

Breath. Air, sweet, beautiful air. My heartbeat begins to slide back to a normal rhythm. Air is swishing in and out of my nose, bringing more relief every time. I settle into his arms, half-sobbing, needing to be held.

“You’re with me,” he keeps murmuring as he strokes my hair. “You’re with me.”

I feel his pulse against my face as he holds me. “You knew he would come,” I say after a while. “You did it on purpose.” I’m accusing him, and he knows it. He can sense my anger.

“You have to trust me,” he says. “We can’t run from him forever. This was the first step.”

I shake my head vigorously in his arms. “He’s going to kill me,” I say.

“No.” Mortar’s tone cuts through the last of the haze. He forces my head up so I can look at him. His eyes are fierce, stony. “No. No one can hurt you, Kendra. I need you to believe me when I say that. If you don’t trust me, none of this matters. None of this will work. You have to trust me.”

“I do,” I say, but even I don’t believe what I’m saying.

“No. Say it like you mean it. I need you to trust me. Do you?”

“I do.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“One more time.”

“I trust you, Mortar.”

He’s scrutinizing my face for any sign of hesitation. He won’t find it, though. I do trust him. There are so many reasons why, the biggest one of all being that I don’t have a choice. I burned every bridge I had when I climbed onto the back of his bike in my wedding dress and drove off.

But even if I did have a way out, I don’t think I would take it. I admit to myself for the first time that I’m falling for this man. This insane, cop-baiting, baby-breeding man has a grip on my heart that is intoxicating.

So when he asks me if I trust him, I can say honestly and openly that yes, I do. I trust him. I trust Mortar.

He presses me back against the wall of the stall we are in. Club music is still thrumming in the air, but the lights are low and still in here, casting long shadows over his face. He looks at me for a moment, then leans down and plants a crushing kiss on my lips. I open my mouth to accept his tongue while his hands find my hips and pull me into him. I wrap my arms around his neck and urge his kiss deeper.

Mortar’s hand slips up my knee and pushes the edge of the dress up roughly. I gasp as he rubs a firm finger over my slit. He inserts it slowly, in, out, in, out, pumping in long strokes. I lean my head back against the wall and let him keep going.

I should feel like a slut. This isn’t something I’ve ever done before. Getting fingerfucked in a club bathroom is a dirty thing for dirty girls, and that’s not me. But for some reason, this doesn’t feel gross. It feels like we are snatching a moment for ourselves in the midst of everyone fighting to keep us apart. Mortar and I should never have even had a chance to get this far. But life conspired and made it happen, and it brought us here, and in this moment, this is the right thing to be doing. It fits.

I spread my thighs apart slightly and urge him on. He starts to go faster, adding another finger and swiping my clit with the breadth of his thumb on each pass. He puts his mouth next to my ear and whispers naughty words as he leads me towards a moaning climax.

“You’re mine, baby, all mine,” he says. “Your body wants me; it loves me.”

“Yes,” I whisper back. I can hear voices outside the door, unaware of what’s happening inside our stall. I like being alone and secret here with Mortar. I like knowing that I’m about to come and only he and I will know it.

“I want to make you feel so good, Kendra. I want to make you come for me. In fact, I want you to come for me right now. Are you ready?”

I am so close. “Yes, yes, I’m ready,” I say.

He slides one more finger into me. I’m stretched wide open for him. My cunt is wet and welcoming, and every nerve within me is groaning for release. Mortar reaches down with his other hand to work my clit as he pushes me over the brink. I come in racking waves, sinking my teeth into his shoulder to stop myself from crying out.

The waves subside, leaving me soft and ragged in Mortar’s arms. “Take me home, Mortar,” I say.

I want more.

Chapter 6

Mortar

Kendra rests her head on my shoulder the whole ride home. There’s a prospect driving us in one of the luxury sedans the club owns. I’m half-tempted to have my way with her right there in the back seat. Judging by the way she’s stroking my abs, I don’t think she’d object.

We manage to hold off until we get home. The prospect drops us off and pulls out down the road. But I can’t even get the door unlocked before she pounces on me. She wraps her legs around my back and shoves her tongue down my throat.

This is the girl who was just having a panic attack in the club. She went from not being able to breathe, to coming on my fingers, to attacking me like my dick’s the last drink of water on the planet. If I wasn’t just as eager to ravish her, I’d think she was insane.

I bump into the doorframe, fumbling with the keys and trying to get everything unlocked so we can go inside. I’m about to say fuck it all and just fuck her right on the front lawn, when I finally open the door and we stumble into the living room.

Our tongues are tangled together as we feel our way to the bedroom in back. We’re careening off furniture and not feeling an ounce of pain. All my attention is on this girl: her warm body, her tiny hands, the dripping heat of her pussy. My cock is straining to find its way to her. It wants a rough, animal pounding, not anything sweet or drawn out.

I can tell she feels the same. Every time our kiss breaks apart for even a moment, I catch sight of a fierce hunger in her face. Her mouth hangs open and her eyes sparkle. Even in the midst of the overwhelming heat, I still find myself looking at her and thinking the same thing I always do when I see Kendra:
Fuck, she’s beautiful.

We stagger through to the bedroom. There’s no time to waste; neither of us have any patience left for anything that isn’t banging our bodies together until we both come. I want to see her writhing on my dick, moaning, seizing furiously so that her eyes roll back into her head and her toes curl. Everything else is irrelevant.

I sling her lithe frame onto the bed. I’m just a split second behind her, shucking my shirt off as I fall behind her. My hands are rough on her hips. I flip her onto her hands and knees and yank her dress up over her ass.

Goddamn, it’s a piece of art. Her skin is black and smooth. I give her curves a rub and a gentle spank. She lets out a surprised cry, then looks back at me over her shoulder.

“Don’t make me wait, Mortar,” she says. Her voice is as dripping with desire, as her pussy is.

I slide a finger into her. She drops her elbows and presses her face against the pillows to stifle the moans. I feel her juices trickling past my knuckle as her walls tighten around my hand, drawing it further inwards. Instead, I fight back, withdrawing my finger and unbuckling my pants. I shove them past my knees and pull my member free from the fabric.

Kendra reaches between her legs and cups my balls as I line the head of my cock up against her and push forward. Her nimble fingers and the perfect fit of her pussy around me are heavenly. No drug on earth as good as pussy, and this is the best I’ve ever had.

“Fuck me, Mortar,” she says. “Make me forget him.”

That’s all the encouragement I need. At the mere suggestion of Grady, adrenaline surges through my muscles. I start to pound into Kendra. The headboard knocks against the wall with each harsh thrust. I would almost worry that I was hurting her if I didn’t hear the loud moan that accompanied every stroke. Her throat must be raw, screaming like that. I wonder how much is involuntary and how much of it is an attempt to block out the rest of the world. For Kendra, this isn’t just about fucking me. It’s about saying fuck you to Grady and everyone else who ever held her to less than what she could be. The screams aren’t just in response to the sex, though it is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s screaming at everything and everyone.

I slap each cheek of her ass and drive deeper into her. She keeps stroking my balls as I retreat and attack relentlessly. I seize a handful of her hair and pull towards me so that she arches her back.

“Don’t stifle those screams, baby,” I tell her. “I want everyone to hear you.”

Her moans are long and loud. I reach around and massage her breasts through her dress. I want to consume her whole body. I want to take this fragile, delicate girl to the breaking point.

She puts a hand on my thigh to keep me inside of her as I clench once, twice, and then let loose a torrent of cum deep within her pussy. It feels like sweet fire ripping through me as I empty a huge load into her. I start to pull out, but she digs her nails into my thigh and refuses to let me leave her until every last drop is gone.

Then she curls up next to me and we fall into a black, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When we wake up late the next morning, I look over at Kendra. She’s got her eyes screwed shut against the sun peeking through the curtains, like sheer willpower will make the night last longer. Eventually, she sighs and opens them, blinking away the remnants of sleep. She’s still in her dress from the night before. Looking down at it, she frowns, then rolls over.

“Help me unzip it,” she says. I tug the zipper down her body and hold onto the bottom edge while she wriggles out. Free from the garment, she settles back in next to me, naked and soft, and smiles.

My arm is wrapped around her. She rests her head on my bicep like it’s a pillow. Her free hand walks up and down my torso, feeling my muscles and tracing my tattoos like she always does. I’d be content to lay here like this forever.

The image of us doing this years from now hits me with a pang. I see the one element missing: a baby snoozing between us. An infant that looks like me, that carries my name and my blood. Well, in due time.

“I’m worried,” Kendra murmurs. She isn’t looking at my face.

“About what?”

“Grady. He was so angry. I think he’s going to do something crazy.”

I brush a loose lock of hair away from her face. “It doesn’t matter what he tries to do, Kendra. He can’t get near us.”

“He’s going to try to kill you, Mortar.” She looks up at me now. I see that her eyes are brimming with tears. One drop spills over. I rub it away from her cheek with my thumb.

“Not if I beat him to the punch,” I say with a heavy sigh.

Kendra bolts upright. “What?” she says in alarm.

I’ve been hesitant to talk to her about this, but there isn’t really another option that I can see. As long as Grady is alive, he’s a wild card, a threat to me, to Kendra, to the baby I’m working for. I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives looking over my shoulder for a loose cannon police officer with a chip on his shoulder. No, it’s better for everyone if Grady takes a long walk over a short cliff.

Grady Freeman needs to die.

The problem is, how do I explain this to Kendra? She’s no stranger to the life. She’s seen enough of Grady’s dirty business to know that when there’s this much money and contraband changing hands, sometimes it leads to people getting hurt. That’s just part of the game.

But that doesn’t mean she’s okay with it. No matter how familiar I may be with the pain and suffering that goes hand in hand with the games I play, it still doesn’t always sit so easy with me. And if I’m bothered by it even a little, even after all the shit I’ve seen and done, then it must be hell on a girl like Kendra, who’s only ever witnessed from the sidelines.

I open my mouth to explain, then hesitate. “Let’s talk about it later,” I say instead.

“No, I want to talk about it now.” She’s not playing around. Her hand on my arm is gripping strongly.

I sigh. If she’s gonna be a part of my life, she might as well get used to the kind of shit I deal with.

“He needs to go. I won’t have my family be threatened by some sadistic fuck.”

“So you just kill him and that’s it?”

“It’s not that easy. There are a couple hoops to jump through. He is a cop, after all.”

“What kind of hoops?”

“I need to talk to Croak and get it cleared with the club. Killing an officer, even a corrupt pig like Grady, will bring attention around. We’d have to get everything buttoned up before I could move.”

“Is Croak going to say yes?”

“We’ll see. I’m going to meet with him today.”

“Hm.” She’s deep in thought, eyebrows slanted down in brooding.

“What if he says yes? Then what happens?”

I lean back against the pillows, running a hand through my hair. “Then we figure out how and when to do it. Try to minimize attention. Maybe frame him. Everyone knows he’s got his finger in every illegal business operating in the city limits. It wouldn’t be hard to catch him somewhere that wouldn’t look too good in a front page obit.”

“And then he’d be dead.”

I can’t tell if this is a question or just Kendra coming to terms with the idea. I wonder how she feels about this whole thing. She spent a lot of time with him, after all. Did some feelings arise? A twisted kind of Stockholm Syndrome?

“You don’t care about him, do you?” I ask incredulously.

She fixes me with a cold glare. “I hate him. Gut the bastard.”

I feel a heavy sense of satisfaction in my chest as I think,
That’s my girl.

We get up, shower, and get dressed. Kendra puts on some of the clothes I’d bought for her when I got the black dress. I realize that it’s the first time I’ve seen her looking so, well, so normal. She’s only got on jeans and a simple white blouse, but on her, it looks incredible.

Just as I’m about to walk out the door on my way to the meeting with Croak, she grabs my arm and kisses me.

“Mortar,” she says, looking straight into my eyes as we stand framed in the doorway, “do what you have to do. But make sure you come back when you’re done.”

I don’t blink as I stare at her and say the truest words I’ve ever spoken, “I will. I promise.”

* * *

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume I heard you wrong, Mortar. Because if I heard what I think I just heard, then you are trying to unleash the shitstorm of all shitstorms on this town.”

I’m leaning back in the chair in Croak’s office, hands relaxed along the armrests, chest and head held up confidently. I knew my request wouldn’t sink in easily, so I’ve tried to massage the situation as best as I could. But even so, Croak is not taking it well. He’s rubbing his temples like he’s got the mother of all migraines coming on. To be fair, he’s probably not far from the truth.

“Look,” I tell him, “he’s become a liability. Freeman knows too much about our business. He knows what we do. He knows what we make from it. He knows who our guys are, where we operate, and he knows perfectly fucking well that the whole thing depends on him giving it his goddamn blessing, like he’s the motherfucking pope of Galveston. But, Croak,” I emphasize his name, hoping to draw him in, “he doesn’t run this town. We do.”

I realize I’ve stood up and I’m pounding a finger onto a pile of papers on Croak’s desk. “Mortar, sit down.” His voice is so weary. I almost feel bad for him. He’s spent so many years building this club up from nothing, and instead of him getting to reap the benefits of his hard work, things are looking shakier than ever.

“Do you realize what you’re asking me?” he says. “You’re trying to go after a cop. Killing a cop is a big thing, brother. It’s not easy, and it would bring a lot of attention that we just can’t afford right now. With the feds bearing down, eager as a fucking virgin in a whorehouse to get a peek at the things we’ve got going on around here, does it really seem like a good idea to have an officer’s body cooling off in the clubhouse?”

“You gotta understand, we—” I start, but Croak holds up a hand to cut me off.