Cease (Bayonet Scars Book 7) (7 page)

Like the time he told me he's never seen an ass fill out jeans the way mine does.

Or when he told me watching me clean makes his dick hard.

Or the time he wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my head and thanked me for being good to his boy. That almost killed me. It was quick and a small gesture, but it was so gentle and out of character from the man I'm used to seeing that I've carried it with me as a sign that Jim Stone is worth trusting my heart with.

But he's not, and this whole situation is proof of that fact.

So when he takes another step forward, I take another one back. We repeat this again and again until I'm moving so fast that I'm almost running backward as he stomps forward.

"What is your fucking problem?"

"Don't touch me like that!"

"Before that!" Now he's the one snapping and ill-tempered. Not that I can blame him. If I were him, I'd be pissed, too.

"What?" Now I'm confused and upset and afraid. I'm a whole mix of emotions that I can't really place or explain. None of what I'm feeling makes much sense aside from the gnawing disappointment that's suffocating me.

"You banged on the door. You were pissed. Why?"

And in an instant, I'm back to being pissed about the whole thing at the school. Jim has this uncanny way of bringing me back to the present.

"You told the school I'd deal with Ryan."

"Yeah."

He cannot be fucking serious right now. That's his entire response? Yeah? No. No, that's not good enough.

Asshole.

"You put me in a really shitty position. Do you even know what the boys got in trouble for?"

"No, but I bet you're going to tell me."

My brain is about to implode from his lack of concern over his own kid. What is wrong with this man? The signs have been there for months, but I've been brushing them aside and trying to explain them away. Of all Jim's faults, this is the one I can't forgive.

"You put me in a bad position today, Jim! Ryan bullied Ian. Tell me how in the hell I'm supposed to handle that? I'm not Ryan's parent. You want me punishing him? Because that's not fucking fair. I should have been there to comfort my own kid, but instead I spent most of my time sitting in front of that goddamn principal defending both you and your son."

Jim's jaw ticks. His eyes darken. Every inch of him tenses. If I thought he was pissed about being kneed, I was wrong. No, now he's pissed.

"He did what?"

"You heard me," I say, throwing my hands up in the air and walking away. He doesn't seem to be up for parenting today, not that he ever seems up for the job, but I'm fucking done trying to force him to deal with this shit. I'll just take Ian home and find out from him what happened. We'll work out a way to deal with this on our own. I can't do anything about Ryan if his own father won't step up.

I'm well into the main room by the time Jim comes rounding the corner behind me. He's shouting Ryan's name at the top of his lungs. I jump out of the way and let Jim pass. My hands shake at the sudden change in demeanor. Holy crap. Maybe Mrs. Marsh was right and Ryan's had a problem with bullying in the past. Maybe this is the straw that's breaking the camel's back of Jim's temper, because that's the only thing that can explain this sudden investment in a kid he largely ignores. For the millionth time since I've met the boy, I feel for him. Every kid needs a soft place to land, even if that soft place is a little screwed up. My heart breaks knowing that Ryan's softest place is with his grandmother, who isn't really that gentle with him.

As Jim disappears into the game room, I rush behind his increasing pace and do my best to ignore the men who now clutter up the main room. Even Rage, Jim's dad and the club's president, is in there. Rage doesn't like me, but he doesn't seem to dislike me, either. I'm half-convinced the only person on this planet he does like is his wife, and even that is tentative.

"You like picking on people smaller than you?" Jim shouts from the game room. I nearly fall over my own feet running after him. Once I'm able to tear my attention away from the curious onlookers, I'm thankful to find that Jim's at least slipped on a pair of loose fitted jeans so he's not exposing himself to everyone, including my poor kid.

Ian's wide brown eyes meet mine from across the room. They're filled with tears, and when he looks away, I gasp at what holds his attention. Jim's clutching Ryan, who's about a third his size, tightly on the back of his neck. Ryan's eyes are filled with tears, and he sucks in a pathetic little sob.

"Stop crying and tell me what you did."

"I, I--" Ryan stutters but doesn't actually make it past that before Jim squeezes his neck tighter.

I motion for Ian to come to me, but he's frozen in place, his eyes glued to the horrific scene before us. My feet and hands itch to pull Ryan away from his father. Jim's angry, angrier than I can explain, and definitely in no place to be talking to much less touching his kid.

"I'm fucking sick of you bullying other kids."

I can't pretend to know Ryan's history or what's causing Jim to snap like this, but it feels so extreme and way too intense. Ian doesn't have any bruises on his body, and he's walking fine. I'm upset that my boy's had a rough day, and I hate to think about Ryan treating my boy badly, but even I wasn't angry enough to be screaming at him. And it's my kid he was mean to.

"Jim, stop." I say.

He doesn't hear me, or he's effectively tuning me out, but either way, he keeps pinching Ryan's neck. Tears continue to stream down the boy's face, and Jim is in full-on bully mode. Watching the way he deals with his son's poor behavior gives me a damn good idea of where Ryan learned to bully people from. Christ, Jim can't expect Ryan to learn to peacefully resolve his issues if his father's first response to everything is to be a bully himself. I have to do something. I won't stand by and watch this boy be treated like this, and I don't care how much trouble it gets me in.

I rush forward and push Jim off of Ryan. Jim stumbles backward half a step, before righting himself. He's right on me, his chest pressing to mine. I have Ryan shoved behind my body. The boy buries his face in my back and uses my shirt as a tissue to dry his eyes.

Jim blinks in confusion as he stares down at me. He's not exactly scowling or glaring. The arch of his brows and parting of his lips is something else entirely. I just can't put my finger on what it is. He's still all wild and angry and frustrated. I don't know what to do with him right now, so I tread carefully.

"You were hurting him," I say in defense. "And you're scaring Ian."

Jim's eyes slide over to Ian, but the movement is uneven, like his brain is giving his body orders it can't quite follow. When his eyes come back to me, I signal for Ian to come to me, and this time, without Jim's angry eyes on him, he does. Ryan scoots over a few inches, and Ian joins him behind me. They're both so tall and yet so young at the same time. I can tell the difference between Ian's sure grip on the waistband of my jeans and Ryan's tentative one.

"You're high," I hiss.

"And you're beautiful." He reaches up and cups my chin in the palm of his hand. I keep myself still under his touch, refusing to lean into him. A couple years ago I might have been desperate or stupid enough to fall for his shit, but not now.

"Did you hear? They're making me VP, babe."

"Yeah, I know," I say. This is not the conversation I want to have. I want to yell at him for pawning his parental responsibilities off on me. I want to draw a line in the sand, telling him that I have my own shit to deal with. I don't need his, too. But this isn't the conversation we're having. He's seen to that.

"Then why are you mad?"

He's slowly slipping into madness. I've never seen Jim like this before, but he's taken something, and it's screwing with him big time. When I first got here, he was extra aggressive and pushy, and then he flew into that insane rage. Now he's slow to respond, and he doesn't even seem to remember why I'm angry with him. If I had the energy, I could strangle his stupid ass right now.

"The boys shouldn't see you like this," I say and take a step back. "I'm taking Ryan with me tonight. Get yourself cleaned up and be a fucking parent."

Still pressed against me, he doesn't move until I order him to. His unfocused eyes fight to make sense of what's going on around him, but when they can't, he takes a few steps back and stares at me in bewilderment.

I turn around to find Ryan with wide eyes, staring up at me like he can't believe I talked to his dad like that. I get the impression that no woman really talks to Jim like that. Well, maybe Sylvia should have taken a firmer hand with him before he was taller than her. If Ian grows up to be like that, so help me . . .

My boy's got his head bowed again, so instead of checking his mood, I just scoop him up in my arms and offer my hand to Ryan. He doesn't take it, though. Instead, the boy who's not really mine takes my pinky and gives it a squeeze. My heart clenches at the small but intimate gesture. He must have seen Ian holding my pinky like that at some point. It's not something he does often, but every now and then my boy opts for wrapping his entire hand around my pinky finger. I can't remember why he started doing it or when, but he does it when he needs a little extra care.

With my boys in tow, I walk us out of the clubhouse, completely ignoring the curious gazes from the looky loos at the bar.

CHAPTER 8

"Okay," I say and lean forward conspiratorially. "So what happened at school today?"

The easy, light conversation falls away immediately, and I find myself the only party interested in this conversation. It has to happen, though. Ian's never been one to just come out with something that's been bugging him, so I'm not terribly surprised by the scowl he's giving the old wooden table that takes up the majority of our kitchenette.

"Well, dude. Out with it." My attention is now focused on Ryan, who's doing everything he can to avoid meeting my eyes. With Ian, this is all it takes to get him to open up. At least a little bit. He's not one to hold out when I ask him questions, so I'm not real used to sitting and waiting this long, but I do.

When I can come up with something to say to Ryan that might make him feel comfortable enough to talk to me, I break the silence and scoot closer to him. It dawns on me far too late that Ryan's probably used to being yelled at rather than spoken to, so I keep that in mind as I broach the subject again.

"Hey, you can talk to me. You're not in trouble, kid. But you do have to tell me what happened between you two."

"Nothing happened," Ryan says. It's way too quick for me to believe him, but I don't press. Instead, I wait it out and turn to my son, who's practically worn a hole in our table with his level on concentration. It's commendable how committed they are to keeping their silence, but I'm going to break them. If I can't break a couple of kids, I don't stand a chance when Ian's a teenager.

"Have it your way," I say and scoot my chair back. Just as I stand up, there's a loud, impatient knock on the front door. Both Ryan and Ian's eyes shoot up to the door. I give them a reassuring smile and cross the small room. Our apartment isn't much more than a kitchenette, bathroom, and a combination living and sleeping area. It might not be very big, but it's enough for us.

I press my eye to the peephole, surprised to find Sylvia Stone on the other side. Pulling the door open and moving aside, I dare not speak. I didn't really abduct her grandson, but I did leave with him. I already know she doesn't like me much, and after the scene in the clubhouse this afternoon, there's no telling where I stand with the club.

"Grandma!" Ryan shouts for his grandma and waves his arms in the air to get her attention. She gives him a smile and saunters into my apartment. Her eyes scan the room, her head bobs up and down, and she tosses her oversized purse on the couch. Sylvia's not a very tall woman, but she takes up space in a way I've never seen another woman do before.

"What are you boys up to?"

Neither of them answer Sylvia's question. Most likely because they're still keeping mum about what happened at school today. Which is what's important here. I do my best to ignore Sylvia's commanding presence in my small, private space, and I go back to what I was doing before she knocked on my front door.

"Do you like ice cream?" I open the freezer and cast Sylvia a sideways glance. She brushes her dark hair back from her eyes and nods once. Everything about this woman is so militant. She does what she has to and only says what the situation requires and nothing else. I try to follow her lead and do the same as I pull out two bowls and scoop some chocolate ice cream into each. I hand a bowl to Sylvia and grab spoons for each of us. She sits in the empty chair between the two boys and takes a bite of her ice cream while they stare up at her.

"Hey, I want ice cream, too," Ian says. Ryan pipes up complaining, but I ignore them as I take a few bites of my ice cream.

"I have something you want, and you have something I want. Think we can make a deal?"

Ryan's gray eyes narrow, and he folds his arms over his chest as he stares me down. Very slowly, I take another bite and smile down at the irate boy.

"Grandma, I want ice cream." With his attention now focused on his grandmother, his voice softens and his eyes are wide. Oh, well done, kid. He's trying to play her, but her lack of response tells me she's not buying it. I would have been surprised if she did, actually. I try to hide the smile on my face as she takes a bite of her ice cream and murmurs sounds of appreciation as she licks her spoon.