Man of the House: A Dark Bad Boy Romance(125)

What are you waiting for? Spread those legs. Give me what I want.

Chills ran down my spine, and that was exactly what I did.





1





Janine





I owed my life to Larkin Yates.

Not in one of those metaphorical ways, either. Some people said they owed their life to someone when that person just did something nice for them.

No, not in this case. Larkin Yates saved my life in a very real way. Without him, I’d be dead, sure as anything in this world.

I was just a little girl when I first met him. Larkin was one of my daddy’s friends, one of the tough men who smiled tender at me while they rode their loud bikes around the city. Larkin and my daddy, they went way back. They knew each other as kids and were as close as could be.

Which was why it took Larkin so long to put a bullet in Daddy’s head.

I still remembered that night and always would. I was ten years old. Ever since I could remember, Daddy was a violent man, a drinker. He had a temper and was famous for it. Daddy got in fights all over town, but nobody thought twice about that. If you were a biker, you were practically expected to drink too much and to get in a fight or two.

But Daddy took it all too far; he always did. He started hitting my mom when I was around six or seven. I could still vaguely remember the sounds they’d make, the yelling and the screaming, and eventually the crying as Daddy went too far and beat mom down to a pulp.

It went on like that for a few years, getting worse and worse. At the height of it all, before Larkin saved me, I’d wake up wondering how long I had before Daddy got drunk enough to smack me around.

Usually, that was before noon.

I’d never forget the night Larkin came and changed everything. Daddy was getting drunk as usual, but he had some work to do in the backyard, something to do with the shed. I couldn’t remember exactly what, but it kept him busy. Kept his hands off Mom and me.

But it also pissed him off. He was working himself into a rage back there, unable to fix whatever needed patching, drinking more and more whisky, getting louder, harder, scarier.

Until around four in the afternoon, when he came inside. Mom said one thing, probably asked if he was hungry or something like that, and he started beating on her.

He didn’t stop beating on her. She screamed and tried to get away, but Daddy wouldn’t stop. I’d seen him mad, seen him hit and smack, but never like this.

Daddy was out of his mind.

I hid in my bedroom, and eventually Mom stopped making noise.

That was when he came for me with this look in his eyes and blood on his hands. He slipped the belt from his jeans and just looked at me, blood dropping onto the carpet. I couldn’t breathe.

I had no clue when Larkin decided to come over. But Larkin, he must have heard me screaming as Daddy beat me with his belt over and over, leaving deep welts along my back, bloody scars I carried to this day.

I didn’t know what he thought when he found Mom’s body beaten to death in the kitchen. I didn’t know how fast he got upstairs.

But I remembered the door getting kicked open.

“Frank,” Larkin said, “what did you do?”

Larkin held a gun leveled at Daddy’s head. I could barely understand what was happening.

“Mind yourself, Larkin,” he snapped.

“Drop the belt, Frank. Come with me.”

“Fuck you.” He hit me again.

“Don’t hit the girl again,” Larkin said, cold as he could be.

Daddy just laughed and laughed. “Stop me.” He hit me again and again.

And Larkin put a bullet into his skull.

One second Daddy was hitting me, and the next there was a loud roar in the room and Daddy collapsed onto the floor, red spilling from his face.

Larkin swooped me up in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Janine. I got you.”

He carried me outside, put me on the back of his bike, and took me far away.

I never went home after that. There was talk of finding me a foster home, but Larkin decided to raise me himself. I never understood why a single man running one of the most violent motorcycle gangs in the country wanted a little daughter for his own, but Larkin took me in and kept me safe.

He gave me a life, gave me a home. In return, I gave him and the Demons Motorcycle Club my full and unwavering loyalty.

I grew up in the club. I was Larkin’s little girl, though most guys knew the real story. As far as they were concerned though, I was off-limits. I wasn’t just another club whore, although sometimes I tried to pretend like I was.

Because maybe it was safer that way, if I was just another normal girl.

Living with the Demons MC taught me one important lesson, though: Nothing was safe, not ever, and you better learn to take care of yourself.





2





Clutch





You didn’t become a top enforcer for the biggest motorcycle club in the whole Austin, Texas area without cracking a few f*cking skulls.

To put it f*cking mildly.

I came from nothing. My momma named me Jonathan but I earned the name Clutch. Even as a little boy, I loved all things with a motor, especially bikes. I got my nickname when some * neighbor kid said that I worked on motorcycles so much I was becoming a clutch.