Inked Fighter: Complete Collection (MMA MC New Adult Romance) (10 page)

Chapter Five: Damien

After Claire left my apartment, I went for a long workout at the gym. I’d had to hide the fact that I was hard almost the entire time she had been there. I thought I might lose it when she took her shirt off.

As I lifted weights, I could feel my strength returning. It would take a while to get back in fighting form, but not too long. When I was fit enough, I planned to enter a regional MMA competition. Even though I kept my routine mostly for the discipline, competing gave it a payoff.

When I finished my workout, I checked the messages on my cell phone. There was a voice mail from Martel asking me to come by the clubhouse. That was the last place I wanted to be, but I owed him. I was in his debt whether I liked it or not.

If I wanted to stay in this town, with Claire, and run the shop, I had to go through Martel and his gang. With my hair still damp from my shower at the gym, I put on my helmet.

When I arrived at the clubhouse, it was quiet. The only people there were the officers — Bill, Martel, and Mike. They sat around the living room with serious looks on their faces. I set my helmet on the coffee table and took a seat in a recliner.

“What’s up guys?”

“We’ve had a vote, and we’ve voted you into the club,” said Martel.

“Wait a minute. I never asked to be in the club. How can you possibly vote me in?”

“You didn’t have to ask. You’re family. Plus, you’re running a club-owned business now. You have to be in the club to run a club business.”

I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. I knew this was coming, but being part of the club was not on my agenda.

“What if I turn you down?”

“You can leave town, leave that little girl you’re so fond of,” said Martel.

“I need to know more about what you boys do before I can join your gang.”

“This is a motorcycle club, Cruz. We are a collective of business owners who watch each other’s backs and watch out for this town.”

“And there’s nothing illegal happening here?”

“Define illegal.”

I sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Fact is, kid. We need your help. We’re down an officer. Our sergeant-at-arms got into a bad wreck before you came up here. He won’t be riding a motorcycle again, let alone keeping peace in the club. You’re the best candidate for that position, considering your size and strength.”

“Let me get this straight. You are not only inducting me into this club, but you’re also giving me an officer’s role?”

“Just shut up and take it,” said Bill.

I shot him a dirty look. Martel handed me a patch with the Black Blades logo and the sergeant-at-arms insignia.

“Shouldn’t I give a shit about this club before you give me all this responsibility?”

“You will,” said Martel. “You’re your father’s kid. You’re more like him than you know. You’re loyal. You pay your debts. You work hard.”

“My father was a criminal and a jackass.”

“You didn’t know him at all, son.”

Martel turned away, and I picked up the patch. What the fuck was I supposed to do with this? I wouldn’t wear it. I didn’t want Claire to know I was associated with this mess. What would she think of me? I had to take it if I wanted to be with her.

“All right, I accept. But let’s be clear, I consider this to be on a trial basis.” I picked up the patch and shoved it in my pocket. “What are my duties?”

Martel turned around and gave me a long steady stare. “You keep the peace in the clubhouse. Kick out assholes making a mess around here. We’ve had a lot of freeloaders lately since Rick got hurt. There’s a few other things we’ll talk about later as they come up.”

“Fine. I’ll be around on Friday and Saturday nights to get rid of the riffraff. If there’s nothing else, I’ve got stuff to take care of.”

I turned out the door, and got on my Harley. The change in tone around the clubhouse made me nervous. I knew I owed Martel, but it didn’t mean I trusted him. He’d sent his boys to blackmail me and ruin my life. I knew there was something he still wasn’t saying. I could just feel it.

I rode home and continued cleaning up the shop. When I was done, I went upstairs, ate dinner, and took a quick shower. I wrapped myself in a towel and wiped off the mirror. Water dripped from my hair, down my neck and over my chest. I’d been thinking of Claire the whole time I was in the shower, and my cock strained against my damp towel. I could have gone over to the club and found a girl to suck me off, but that wasn’t what I wanted.

Girls like that didn’t do anything for me anymore. The last time I let one go down on me, I felt a dull sense of disgust about it for days afterward. No. I wanted something real. Even if Claire backed away every time I tried to get close to her, she was all I could think about.

I went to my room and lay down on my bed. My body was still damp from the shower, and I ran my hand down my abs and stroked myself. My eyes squeezed shut, and I thought about pushing Claire down on my bed and sinking my head between her plump breasts. I’d lose myself in her flesh. I thought of pushing inside her while she moaned. I erupted more quickly than I’d expected, my body shuddering from release.

I stood, wiped myself off, and pulled on a pair of sweat pants. My cell phone sat on my bedside table. I picked it up and looked at her contact information. Before I could stop myself, I dialed her number.

“Hello?”

“It’s Damien.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you want to hang out tomorrow?”

“I have work to do.”

“I could come over and watch Rose.”

“You’re going to babysit my kid?”

“Why not?”

“Musclebound tattoo guys don’t tend to be babysitters.”

“Don’t stereotype. I took home ec in high school.”

“You did not.”

“I didn’t. But I can cook, and I love kids.”

“Fine. You can come over if you cook for me, watch my kid, and clean the bathroom. I have so much to do tomorrow. Zoe set up a business website for me and I have all kinds of dresses to make for Dream Weavers. I’m seriously swamped.”

“Count on it. I’ll be over in the morning with some groceries.”

“You don’t really have to cook.”

“I want to.”

“Sure, fine. How about eleven? Rose usually wakes up from her morning nap around then.”

In the morning, I woke early and went to the health food store for groceries. I didn’t want to make anything too extravagant for lunch, so I bought bread and lunch meat for sandwiches and fresh fruit for a fruit salad.

I put the groceries in my bike, rode north of town, and turned down the gravel road that led to her house. The sky above was gray with storm clouds. I couldn’t believe how much it rained in this part of California. I could smell the dampness in the air as I drove down Claire’s dusty driveway.

When I parked, the door burst open and the dog ran out wagging its tail. Claire held Rose on her hip, the baby dressed in one of those shirt things babies wore. Her chubby little legs were bare. Claire waved from the porch as the dog yelped at me from behind the rickety wooden gate. I pulled the groceries from my storage compartment and a drop of rain splashed on my cheek.

“Come on in. Don’t mind Bradly.”

She left the door open and disappeared inside. I managed to maneuver past the dog without letting him out, and shut the gate behind me. I jogged up the steps with the bags in my hands, and the dog ran off around the back of the house.

Inside, Claire sat on the couch, pulling cloth pants on the baby. She put her down, and the child immediately toddled toward the door. I closed it before she could escape. She looked up at me and squealed, covering her eyes with her hands. I watched her, not knowing what she wanted. Claire giggled. Rose pulled her hands away and had a surprised expression on her little face.

“Peekaboo!” said Claire.

“Peekaboo,” I mimicked, smiling down at the tiny human. I’d told Claire I knew how to babysit. That had been a complete lie. I’d never been around a baby in my life. It wasn’t the first lie I’d told her, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. I had no idea what I was doing. I was drawn to this innocent young woman who deserved so much better than me.

I couldn’t make myself stop wanting her, wanting to get inside her, to know what made her tick. I wanted to know how she did it, where her strength came from. I wanted to find that part of her and make it my own. I wanted her to teach me what it meant to be so real and true.

Guilt washed over me and I took the bags in the kitchen. Hand-dyed cloth covered her dining room table, already cut into pattern pieces. I put the food in the fridge and looked at her handiwork. The designs were interesting. They were organic and chaotic at the same time. It was the complete opposite of the way I worked. My designs were hard lines and purely representative.

“Your designs are so interesting. I’d love to see your technique.”

“It’s basically like batik but I fingerpaint the wax into the fabric.”

“You get such an organic effect. It’s quite a skill.”

“I wouldn’t call it that at all. I’d call it the opposite.” She stood up to look down at her fabric. “I can’t draw to save my life.”

“If you wanted, I could make you some original designs for your dresses.”

“I’ve thought of using templates. But I decided against it.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. I’d do something totally original for you.”

“You’ve already done enough.”

“Well, now I’m making lunch. You can do your thing.”

“So, those clients don’t mind you taking so much time off?” she said, moving back to her chair in front of an ancient-looking sewing machine.

“No. They insist. They’re great like that.” Lies kept piling up. I’d dug myself too deep to get out now. I didn’t know what the Black Blades were all about yet. If she found out I was mixed up with drug dealers, she’d never forgive me.

“What are you making?” she asked as she pressed her foot onto the pedal of the sewing machine. The needle bobbed through a line of fabric as the machine hummed. She pulled pins from the cloth as it was pulled along under the needle.

“Sandwiches and fruit salad. It isn’t fancy but it should be filling.”

Rose slapped her mother’s thigh and the buzz of the sewing machine stopped. Claire looked down at her daughter and then back at me. I was supposed to be babysitting. I’d forgotten. The only time I’d ever even held a baby in all my life was when I’d come over a few days before.

I rounded the table and bent to pick up the child. I put my hands under her arms and lifted, praying she wouldn’t break. I pulled her close to me and took her to the kitchen. She did the peekaboo thing again and burst into baby laughter. I laughed with her and glanced at Claire. Her head was down, concentrated on her task.

Outside the window over the sink, I could see that it had started to rain. It was coming down in thick silver torrents. The dog sprinted around in the yard, chasing birds. It would get really wet. I went to the front door and whistled for him. He ran in and shook violently.

“God damn it, Bradly!” Claire shouted.

“Where do you keep your towels?”

“There should be some in the bathroom.” She pointed down the hall under the stairs.

I put the baby in the playpen and went to the very outdated bathroom to find a towel. The dog followed me, but I could hear Rose crying from her playpen. I rubbed the dog’s fur and threw the towel in a hamper. When I came back, Claire held Rose in her arms.

“How do you manage all this?” I asked. I was already overwhelmed, and I’d only been there ten minutes.

“I have no idea.”

“Here, let me take her. Get back to work.”

Claire sat at her sewing. I took the kid in the kitchen again and wondered how to make sandwiches one-handed. The dog gorged on his food, smelling up the house with wet dog smell. I placed a cutting board on the counter and pulled sandwich rolls from the bag. Rose fussed to be let down, so I put her on the floor next to me.

She toddled off to play with refrigerator magnets. Relieved that she was occupied for a moment, I continued making the sandwiches. I had to move her to get in the fridge to get the rest of the ingredients for lunch, but she went right back to playing when I was done. I finished the sandwiches and cut up a bunch of apples, bananas, and strawberries for the fruit salad.

“Lunch is ready.” I said, placing everything on plates.

“Great. I’ll just move this stuff out of the way.”

She pushed her sewing to the end of the table, put Rose in her high chair, and we sat down to eat. Claire bit into her sandwich and I waited for her reaction. I’d bought a special pesto sauce that made my turkey sandwiches the bomb.

“This is so good. Thank you for doing this. I didn’t even say think you. I’m so distracted. I have all kinds of dress orders to finish.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Rose shoved bananas and strawberries in her mouth. She picked up an apple and threw it at my face. I ducked just in time. That baby could throw.

“Rose! No throwing. She’s in a throwing phase right now.”