AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) (164 page)

Chapter 11: Razor

I’ve been known to keep several girls around for the purpose of entertainment. Sometimes, I’d invite two or three of them to come join me for a long weekend. I wasn’t any slouch when it came to attracting plenty of hotties. Most of them liked to get pretty wild, and I’d gotten myself into situations that were well beyond what your typical, middle-class dude gets himself into, or even what he might watch in a hardcore porn video. I was surprised, however, that Kelly had made such a strong impression on me.

Unlike most of the other girls, she was quick-witted and bright. She was raunchy, don’t get me wrong, but there was another side to her that seemed sort of pure. Well, okay, pure is stretching it a little, because some of the things that she did to me over the next couple of weeks were far from pure. Maybe it’s better to say that she didn’t really fit into to the mold of your typical biker groupie.

I had, for the most part, stopped inviting the other girls over or even going out for a booty call, which was a rare thing for me anyway. I could usually make a call and have several hotties clamoring to come over. But I started spending more of my time with Kelly and getting to know her. I’d found out that she had been with a biker before, evidently a pretty badass one. She told me a little bit about some of the stuff that he was into, but never gave any details as to where or when. I didn’t ask.

Anyway, one of the things that was special about Kelly was that she actually wanted to make something of herself. She had escaped that old world and had started working at a pretty classy place while she was starting up her cosmetology classes. I could tell just by her attitude that she was going to stick to it and become the best at it, too. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of me. How could I not admire that?

“You an’ Sunshine seem to be getting pretty serious,” Pepper pointed out one afternoon when it was just the two of us and Jake, tending bar, in the Panhead. Pepper was Julio “Pepper” Chavez, and he was not only a brother SB, but also a brother SEAL. Though he was several years older than me and had rotated out about the time that I was finishing BUD/S, there was that unspoken comradery that was shared between warriors who knew what it was like to spit in the devil’s eye and live to tell about it. It was there with some of the other SEALs, Rangers, Recon and, surprisingly enough, with the Air Force Pukes too, but with Pepper and me it went deeper.

“Ehhh,” I shrugged. “She’s alright.”

“You’re so full of shit, Razor,” he chuckled. “She’s gotta be more than alright. I’ve been having to tend to your other girls for the last couple of weeks. They’re none too happy about being abandoned.”

“Damn, Pepper, I’m sorry that you’re having to fuck my rejects,” I laughed. I knew it wasn’t really bothering him. There were some damned hot bitches in that bunch and they could do things that would make a bald man grow hair.

“Seriously, dude,” Pepper said, after taking a long draw on his beer and then fiddling with the label for a couple of minutes. “Are you getting in too deep or is she just one hell of a lay?”

“She is that,” I agreed. I wasn’t sure what to tell him. I had been afraid that I was going a little bit soft lately and starting to have some feelings that I’d pretty much blocked out after Burn and my folks had died. I’d become cold and cynical and had locked the doors to keep out any sort of sentiment with other people.

Nobody, including Pepper, had any inkling of my connection with one of the Godfather’s enforcers and nobody ever would know. If it was advertised to even one other person, then my effectiveness would become zero. I didn’t talk about it, hint at it or even act like I was anything other than a guy who loved Harleys and liked to do woodworking. I was your ordinary Joe hanging out at the local bar, except for the fact that even among the badasses in the Silent Brotherhood, I was considered
the
badass. The fact that there was any sort of chink in that armor for Pepper to recognize told me that some of those new feelings that I was having for Kelly were coming to the surface. I’d have to work on covering them up better.

“Alright,” Pepper said, downing the rest of the beer in his bottle and holding it up for Jake, to  signal that he was ready for another one. He held up two fingers after noticing that I was tipping mine back for a final swig as well. “I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t going soft on us.”

“Shit, Pepper!” I laughed. “My soft is still more than you’ve got when you’re getting a blow job and about to shoot your wad.”

“That’s not what Ally said,” he countered.

“Ally is a lying bitch,” I replied.

We laughed for a few moments and then sat in silence. A lot of men felt the need to talk every few minutes when they were together, but one of the great things about Pepper, probably because he was a former SEAL, was that he could sit for hours without feeling the need to say a single word ,or even grunt.

“She’s pretty fucking sharp, you know?” I said after almost fifteen minutes and most of another beer had passed by. It was my turn to hold up my bottle and two fingers.

“The little I’ve been around her,” he admitted, “she does seem to be. Doesn’t ask stupid questions or say stupid shit. She seems to get it. That’s rare, you know?”

“Yep.”

Jake had brought the two beers and returned back behind the bar to do whatever prep was necessary for when more of the guys started to come in.

“You know a lot of the guys are starting to call her ‘Razor’s
girl
.’” He raised an eyebrow, communicating the significance of their choice of the word “girl,” instead of using the common term for the groupies: “bitch.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

One thing that I had learned about most of the special ops guys that I knew, and consequently was unavoidably true among my fellow SBs, was that they could detect even the slightest change in a person’s demeanor and jump on it. Was I already showing my hand? Was I actually going soft? The very idea of it pissed me off. If the guys were starting to see it, then I needed to get my shit together. Maybe it was time I started to bring some of the other girls back in.

“Well, don’t you fuckers go and get me married off just yet,” I snapped. “I’m planning a party for me, Ally and Bethany for this weekend, since those two bitches are missing me so much.” Since I’d made the boast, I was going to have to carry it out. If I didn’t, they’d know that I was going soft for sure. The problem, however, was that I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to. That pissed me off even more.

Pepper only winked in response and then took a long draw on his beer.

I had only taken three or four sips out of the fresh beer that Jake had brought, but I chugged the remainder of it, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but the Panhead. I sat the bottle down, tossed a ten on the table and stood up. “I gotta get the fuck outta here.”

Chapter 12: Kelly

The past few weeks with Anthony had been some of the best of my life. He not only kept me completely satisfied sexually, but I was growing used to the softer side that sometimes leaked out of his bold, arrogant exterior. In spite of the fact that he acted like he didn’t give a damn what I did one way or the other, I could already tell that he was starting to get hooked on me. That ought to have been a good thing, but it scared the shit out of me.

I was no fool when it came to knowing that a badass like Anthony, with the nickname Razor, who was very definitely a well-respected member of the Silent Brotherhood, was anything but an outlaw. I had been around the scene enough to know that these guys were into some hardcore shit. There reputation was well known and, to put it bluntly, you didn’t fuck with them.

Not only was I scared of the feelings that I was starting to see and the chemistry between the two of use, but I was also pissed off at myself for falling right back into the world that I’d fought so hard to get out of. So, I had stayed away from Anthony over the weekend. It wasn’t hard, because I had to work both Friday and Saturday nights, and Sunday afternoon as well.

My second week of classes at the community college were under way on Monday morning as well, so unless I made the actual effort to go by the Panhead later that afternoon, I was pretty much Anthony free and focusing on my new life. There was just one enormous problem. He wasn’t physically there during all of that time, but I couldn’t go more than ten minutes without thinking about him and wondering what he was doing.

I’d imagined him working on some of the beautiful woodworking pieces out in his shop, something that he’d shared with me, though in something of a guarded manner. The work was exquisite, and I had commented on the fact that he ought to set up a shop and go into business. He’d shoved my comment aside and muttered something unintelligible, and I’d left it alone. Picturing him in his woodshop didn’t help me try to push him out of my mind, however. I could only picture him in shorts, without a shirt, his muscles rippling while he worked.

Instead of the woodshop thing, I tried picturing him banging some other slut or even a couple of them to try and make myself jealous, but all that did was make me tingle all over and want to join those lucky bitches in my fantasy.
Stay focused, Kelly. You have to stay away from that shit.

Monday afternoon, after my classes finished, I found myself driving past the Panhead instead of to the apartment I shared with Destiny. I ought to have kept right on going once I went by and didn’t see his black Road King sitting there, but I didn’t, I flipped a U a couple of blocks later and pulled into the parking lot.

There were only three bikes, but it was still early. A lot of the guys had regular jobs or simply didn’t crawl out of their dens until later in the afternoon.
I’ll just hang out a few minutes. Have a drink or two and then head back to the house. No biggie.
That’s what I told myself as I pulled the doors open, stepped inside and waited a few seconds for my eyes to adjust.

“Hey, Jake,” I said, strolling up to the bar.

“Sunshine,” he replied. He was already reaching for the Crown Royal and a glass.

“Quiet this afternoon,” I commented.

He grunted in response, but did not say anything else. That was Jake’s form of communication. In fact, for a while, when I first started going in there, I wondered if he was a deaf-mute, because he didn’t speak and nobody seemed to place audible orders. I discovered later that he did speak, but just preferred not to.

The Panhead played classic rock mostly, you know, the good stuff, like Motley Crue, ZZ Top, Skynyrd, CCR, Ted Nugent, Ozzy, Van Halen and Guns. There was some of the newer stuff, the stuff that fit in, like Velvet Revolver, which of course was just Guns with a modern twist. They didn’t play it too loud or too soft; it was just about right, though in the evening time, when the party really got going, it always got cranked up until it made ice in the empty glasses start to bounce. All in all, it had a great atmosphere, and I would have enjoyed hanging out there even if I hadn’t met Anthony.

I was sipping my Crown and Coke and enjoying
Paradise City
when the door opened and I looked up in the mirror to see who had come in. It was Shovelhead. I wasn’t particularly fond of him, not from my own knowledge of him, but mostly because I knew that there was some bad blood between him and Anthony. There wasn’t really anywhere for me to go, and I didn’t think he would bother me much right out in front of everybody, so I sat tight and decided that I’d at least say hi.

“’Sup, Shovelhead?” I said as he started past me to the far end of the bar.

“Sunshine,” he said with a warm smile. The devil was behind his eyes, but I didn’t think much of it at first.

I turned back to my drink.

“I’ve been hearing a lot about you,” he said. “You seem to be pretty popular around town.”

I wasn’t sure what he was referring to. Had he been checking up on me and discovered that I had been Viktor’s bitch? Surely he wouldn’t have talked to anyone, right? Silent Brotherhood didn’t interact with Lost Disciples. “Well, I’m not exactly Lindsey Lohan,” I laughed, trying to make light of what he said instead of getting nervous.

He moved in closer so that only I could hear him. “I heard some things about you. Like, who you used to ride with. Does Razor know?”

I stared at him wide-eyed.

He chuckled. “Ah. He doesn’t know.”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Shovelhead, but I’m not buying it.”

“I’m thinking that Razor wouldn’t be too happy if he found out that his girl used to be ridin’ Sabre’s one-eyed snake. He might get suspicious about you.”

“You keep your mouth shut,” I snapped. “It’s none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business,” he grinned. “Of course, I could be persuaded to keep quiet.”

He ran a finger up my arm and I drew away from his touch.

“I got a question for you.”

I didn’t respond.

“Are you a real redhead?”

I tossed my drink in his face and swung a leg as hard as I could toward his nuts. It wasn’t easy to do from a bar stool, and I realized that I should have done it the other way around, because he drew back from the drink and I missed with my kick. I heard the door open and started to turn to see who it was, but I never got to look.

“You little bitch,” he roared and swung a backhand at my head, knocking me off the stool. The next thing I knew, I was looking up into Anthony’s eyes.

“You alright, babe?” he asked.

He’d never called me “babe” before.