Biker Daddy Page 2

  The low-lit bar brightened a moment as the door opened and slapped shut. When Trevor’s eyes widened from their usual half-lidded state and he smoothed his beard and black t-shirt, Drew knew someone had walked in when Layla left and that someone was female. Drew had the urge to look with Trevor’s reaction, but not even Julia-fucking-Roberts would interest him that day. Then some dick playing pool smashed his cue across the table, and Trevor rushed his leather-clad ass to the trouble. He was burly, muscled, and broke men in half without breaking a sweat. He needed no help, even if Drew was edgy and could use the distraction. Besides, all Trevor had to do was remind the unruly patron he was destroying Iron Code property and things would end quietly.

  Drew glanced at the stool beside him as it was gently moved aside so someone could lean against the bar. An expensive female scent wafted up his nostrils. Why was it he couldn’t go to a fucking bar in the middle of the day to get shit-faced and get some goddamn peace? There was ten feet of bar, but the woman chose the part closest to him.

  He glanced to the side, his gaze scanning the woman from the bottom up and not making it to her face as she was looking toward Trevor and the ruckus. She was short, and wore a flowered skirt, cream blouse, and wide-brimmed hat that was only suitable for a fancy-ass garden party or visit with the damn queen of England. She wasn’t someone who belonged in a biker bar, let alone one that was affiliated with an MC.

  “Can you tell me how to get to Tonalonka Camp?” she asked, her voice honeyed but with a velvety tone that was nothing like the kind of sickly sweet voice Layla used to get a man’s face between her thighs. He curled his lip.

  Big city stink, prissy-ass clothes, and a sweet voice meant to lure someone into a false sense of security. It had to be that fucking reporter who’d been hounding him.

  “How many times do I need tell you, lady? I’m not going to talk to you and if you set one high-heeled shoe on the property, I’ll toss you off it onto your city-girl ass.” Drew chugged the final swallow of whiskey and stood, the stool scraping back loud enough to be heard over the scuffle at the pool tables. His six-foot-four frame towered over the woman. She took several steps back and gasped, but he ignored her and walked out of the bar.

  He scared people all the time. He was tall, inked with most people’s nightmares and pierced, and had perfected a scowl he used to keep people at a distance, particularly women. Only women like Layla braved it, and as if on cue, she was touching him again before the bar door slapped shut behind him.

  “Sure you don’t want some company?”

  A snort was his only reply. Why he’d ever put his dick in that… his thought halted. He knew why he’d fucked her. He deserved nothing better than Layla, the whore of Last Resort. Men like him made their beds and needed to shut the hell up and lie in them.

  Then again, Trevor seemed to have a thing for her, so maybe Drew was missing something.

  “Come on, Fitz, I’m horny.”

  “Go flirt with Gunner, Layla. You two seemed to have some long overdue business by the look of things.”

  “Pfft, whatever. Gunner’s a prick.”

  Drew’s long legs straddled his hog, and he revved it until his jaw vibrated. He didn’t look back as he peeled out of the lot, not even to see if the bitch from the big-city paper had followed him. She’d never keep up anyway.

  As the scenery flew by, Drew tortured himself further by finishing the sequence of events in his mind that he didn’t get to see when he woke too soon from his nightmare.

  “This your drawing, Drew?” His teacher held Drew’s sketchbook open to the picture of the river he’d been working on several weeks ago. The one he’d dropped in the alley. It had a tire mark across the top. Drew stared so hard at the paper in his teacher’s hands, his eyes blurred.

  He swallowed hard and looked back at Mr. Marks, noting his thick brown mustache twitched anxiously. Drew’s gaze swung to the tall man in the brown suit beside him. The suit’s eyes were hard, eager, and greedy.

  “You a cop?”

  The man’s brow rose and his lips pressed slightly. “Yeah. Detective Dick Brighton.” He shoved back his suit jacket and set his hands on his hips, as if daring Drew to remark on his name.

  Drew nodded slowly. He wouldn’t lie. Not about this. He’d seen the news. The dead man had been an off-duty cop and his young son had been so traumatized he was left mute. Drew also knew the police had his prints. His bloody hand had left them on the kid’s arm.

  “It’s mine, Dick.” Drew narrowed his eyes at the detective, playing the part of badass so well even his dad would be proud. “How’d you find me?”

  “The sketchbook is from our school board.” His teacher’s voice was higher than usual and it shook, forcing Drew’s eyes back on him. “And I saw you working on this drawing in class a few weeks ago.”

  “You’re going to have to come with me, Andrew Trigger.”

  “Detective Brighton, he’s a good kid. He really is,” Mr. Marks said pleadingly. The detective snorted.

  “He’s just another punk kid vying for a place with the Skull Grinders.” He shoved Drew forward as Drew looked back at his teacher, and the place that had made him feel normal, for the last time.

  “Actually, Dick, I’m the future president.” He wasn’t bragging, although it probably sounded that way. Maybe if he was in jail for the rest of his life he’d never have to pull a trigger himself.

  Drew glanced at his wrist where the Skull Grinders ink used to be as he idled at a stop light. The scar was ugly, always a reminder of where he’d come from and who he was. He may be a good-looking son-of-a-bitch, or so he’d been told, but in his soul, he was as ugly as that scar. The rest of the tatts that covered his arms like sleeves were his way of owning his inner demons.

  He revved the bike and sped ahead to cut off a pretentious-looking guy in a BMW eyeing him scornfully. Drew gave him the one-finger salute while driving off. He just wanted to ride, get Ray off his mind, and take in the fresh air. But no amount of riding could rid him of the thought that sat just beneath the surface. Addianna would be coming. His Addi, probably still wearing pigtail braids and cutoffs.

  Addi would come for her uncle Ray. And for better or worse she’d stay—at least the rest of the summer.

  Ray’s letter, fresh in his mind, made Drew open the throttle and fly down the highway. The wind burned his eyes, the speedometer made his heart soar, but his promise to Ray anchored him to Fell County, even when instinct told him to get as far away as possible.

  Chapter Two

  Addi

  Addi drove up the winding campground lane, flicked off the air conditioner in her rental, and rolled down the windows. A small rush of humid air filled the car with the scent of evergreens, damp earth, and wood smoke. She felt the tension she’d had since pulling into the Last Resort Bar and Grill ease.

  It was lucky the bartender had given her directions, otherwise she’d still be in that bar stewing over the rude, dark-haired biker with the bearded, square jaw, set so tight she was sure it might crack at any moment.

  He’d obviously mistaken her for someone else. Someone who hadn’t needed to talk herself into entering the biker bar in the first place—who hadn’t been hyperventilating like a ‘fraidy-cat over thoughts of being made a drug mule, or getting stabbed or dragged into the bathroom and defiled. She shivered.

  Addi wrinkled her forehead in thought. Who had the biker thought she was? An aggressive woman with a thing for bad boy bikers? Maybe that’s why the blonde biker chick had sneered at her. Perhaps she thought Addi was encroaching on her territory.

  Uh, no way in hell, lady. You can have him and all the other scary bikers! Note to self: no biker bars from now on—not even if you’re desperately lost and starving. She smiled to herself as she imagined what her write-up on Last Resort Bar and Grill would be.

  Last Resort Bar and Grill has charm only a masochistic, leather-clad hillbilly with a fetish for pain, abuse, and bad whiskey would appreciate. Ambience you need only exper
ience if you stopped for chili cheese dogs at the roadside food truck two towns back and needed to use the facilities or ruin the seats of your brand-new Mercedes. And if for a second you’re fooled by a brooding, unbelievably rugged, gorgeous man—run. His anti-charm will peel the good-naturedness right from your DNA. The name says it all—only go in as a Last Resort.

  She chuckled, reminding herself she had a real article to write for Charm & Adventure Magazine and the bar didn’t fit either category. Although it certainly was an adventure for her. Her phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced down.

  Dear old Dad.

  She ignored it for the moment to take in the scenery. It was his fourth call since she’d left home, and not a single one about how she was doing after the sudden death of her uncle. He’d already asked her where his blue sweater was, what channel his favorite show was on, and if she knew how to fix his printer remotely. Oh, and he’d ended each call asking if she thought she could wrap things up sooner and get home early.

  Another buzz made her growl and she glanced down even though she secretly hated herself for it. Thankfully, it was Daniel this time.

  “Have you made it?” Her editor and best friend’s voice sounded slightly panicked. He was a bit of a worrier. But at least he was worrying about her and not about himself.

  “Hey, Danny, I’m just pulling up the drive. I had a little trouble getting directions. I’ll call you back and tell you about it when I’ve got a minute.”

  “I just needed to know you arrived safe. Take your time, okay? And call me if you need anything. Even if it’s just to complain about mosquitoes, snakes, bears, or any sexy country boys.”

  “Thanks, Danny.” She chuckled. “Especially the sexy boys part, I’m sure.” Her chest filled with warmth for her friend and she almost, almost, got emotional.

  “Talk to you later, hon.”

  Daniel and his husband, Steven, were Addi’s closest friends. Steven owned the magazine she wrote for but he also wrote some of the adventure articles. And although Addi had done many an interview for Steven on his adventure pieces, she only wrote the charm stuff. There wasn’t an adventurous bone in her body.

  Steven had written a piece on Uncle Ray’s camp five years ago when it changed from a sleepaway summer camp for boys to a family campground.

  She had only stayed at Tonalonka for one summer when she was sixteen. It was supposed to be one of the last summers of carefree adolescence before she had to start worrying about university, but her mother had died that spring and she was plunged into a dark place. Addi thought of the tall dark-haired camp leader who’d let some light back in. Drew Trigger had been her first kiss. Addi’s teeth clenched, anger replacing the nostalgia. He’d ended up breaking her heart and wrecking the camp with his biker club though.

  Addi had been closed off from the world before camp; she’d gone to school, done her work, and come home. She’d made supper, cleaned the house, and done laundry because her dad was always buried in his office. And a broken heart only added to her need for solitude.

  Shaking off the memories, Addi concentrated on her surroundings. The driveway was more than a kilometer in length and through dense forest. It was also gravel and full of holes that jolted Addi around in her seat. Her empty stomach churned and she reached for her bottle of water.

  She hoped her uncle had something in his cupboards, otherwise she might not make it down this path again without ruining the interior of the shiny rental. She was only there to drop off her bags before heading to the funeral home.

  The forest canopy opened and Addi removed her foot completely from the gas pedal, letting the car idle into the clearing. As she rolled slowly, she got her first view of the camp in ten years. She drew in a breath. It was still beautiful, but nothing could have brought her back except the phone call from her uncle’s lawyer telling her he was dead.

  “I’m sorry, Addianna. Your uncle’s had a stroke.” The words had hung on the line as she’d fought for air.

  “I—is he okay?” She’d told herself not to panic until she’d heard everything but the fact that Uncle Ray’s lawyer was calling had her head spinning and heart plummeting.

  “No, hon, I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.”

  “Oh, God.” She sucked a rapid breath through her teeth. “Uncle Ray. I was—I just booked my holidays last week to come see him. He’d asked me to come. He wanted to talk to me about something.” Addi clenched her jaw to keep the howl of pain inside.

  They had always been close—he was more of a father than her blood one. Uncle Ray had been at her house for every holiday, special event, or just simply when she’d needed him, and they Skyped weekly, sometimes more. Now he was gone. She closed her eyes and buried the pain. There would be things to do. Arrangements to make, people to call, an obituary to write…

  “Yes, I know. He’d told me. I’m so sorry. Can you come earlier?”

  “Of course.”

  “Addi?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a man living at the camp. He’s been with your uncle for years. They were very close.”

  “Oh.” The emotional stupor that came from to-do list-making spread from her chest outward, sweeping away the torrent of grief that had been building inside her and allowing her to remain calm and reasonable. How hadn’t she known her uncle was gay? She’d been friends with Daniel and Steven for over five years and Uncle Ray knew that. Why hadn’t he told her? She could add ‘console Ray’s boyfriend’ to her to-do list. “Okay.”

  “I just didn’t want you to be startled.”

  “Of course, thank you.” Calm, cool, and apathetic.

  “Call me when you’re ready to set up a meeting to discuss the estate. There are things we need to deal with after you put him to rest. At your uncle’s request, I delivered a letter for you and one for his friend to the camp. You’ll find yours in the office desk. Please travel safe, Addi, and if you have any questions in the meantime…”

  “Yes, okay, fine. Thank you, Mr. Turner. I’ll leave right away.”

  And she did. Nothing could have stopped her. Not her fear of flying, not her article that was due on the quaint B&B in cottage country, not even her urge to curl in a ball and weep until she was an empty shell. Uncle Ray had always been there for her when she needed him and she’d be there for him now.

  Her chest fluttered and her eyes blurred before she blinked them clear. Oh, Uncle Ray. The flutter turned to pain and she kneaded a fist between her breasts to ease it.

  Addi glanced at the cabins scattered along the edge of the forest across from the clearing and the mess hall, office, and showers. There was one cabin in the front though, that her eyes stuck on longer than the others.

  It was painted a sunny yellow with blue gingerbread trim, and it had been built just for her. Addi’s special place, her uncle had called it. The purple and pink clematis still climbed up the side of the adorable little cabin, only now fuller and more mature.

  Uncle Ray had planted the climbing flowers her second day there. He’d wanted her to feel at home. Now, seeing all the work he’d done to make it a home away from home for her brought on more grief. He’d been the only one who ever did things for her.

  No siblings.

  A dead mother.

  A flake of a father.

  And now no Uncle Ray.

  She was completely alone in the world.

  Overwhelming loneliness crowded her lungs and she began hyperventilating.

  The roar of a motorcycle assaulted her ears and further increased her anxiety as she searched the car for the empty brown pastry bag she knew was somewhere. She’d hated motorcycles ever since Drew’s biker club had stormed the camp and left it a smoldering mess.

  Seeing the paper bag, she lunged for it, crinkled the end, and started breathing into it. In, out, in, out.

  In her rearview mirror, a bike kicked up dust along the driveway. It slowed but didn’t stop as it came up behind her. The rider, all in black, leaned to the side and went ar
ound her car. She watched the bearded man, wearing one of those half cap helmets with an airbrushed skeleton playing a guitar on the side, slide past her. His mirrored sunglasses covered his eyes, but his grim mouth, framed by a wild beard, said it all. He wasn’t a friendly man.

  How many unfriendly bikers were there in this town?

  Addi’s eyes narrowed. How dare he look at her with that flat, hard-lined mouth. She lowered the bag and pulled her car over to park in a spot with a sign that read Anglers Parking Only. Her uncle’s spot.

  The bearded man killed the engine on his bike right where he was.

  She tugged her coral-colored sun hat on her head and slid on her big sunglasses, but before she could unbuckle and open the door, the biker was at her window. His brow creased as he eyed her—not that she could see his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses, but she felt it. It was probably the cream silk blouse and flowered skirt that threw him off. He’d probably never seen a woman dressed in anything other than short-shorts and tank tops before.

  She flicked her long hair off her shoulder and narrowed her eyes right back at him. His mouth tightened further and his jaw clenched.

  “Goddammit, didn’t I already tell you? I’m not doing the fucking interview. Get the hell off this property.” His voice was low, deep, and raspy enough to send a shiver down her spine. She clicked the seatbelt open quickly and was about to climb out but as he pulled off his helmet, she froze.

  He was the same brooding, ruggedly handsome man from the bar. His scraggly beard begged for a trimmer, or at least a comb, but suited him more that way than she cared to admit. It only enhanced his sexiness.

  “Did you follow me?” she demanded when she found her voice.

  His head pulled back in shock. “What the hell are you talking about, lady? I live here.”