Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(32)

“Hatch, please!” I flattened my hand against the wall, propping myself up so I wouldn't pass out. “I know what you'll do. I don't need another reminder.”

“Good. 'Cause if you f*ck us over, you little f*ckin' skank, what's coming ain't just talk. It's blood. You've got three days to drain him dry before we drain your skin in the nearest ditch.”

The line went dead. I closed the phone and angrily threw it down on my clothes, promising myself I wouldn't let him set off another chain reaction of ugly crying.

I couldn't fight this hellish noose he'd slipped over me. But I could control my own reactions. Getting upset about his sickening threats wouldn't do anything to keep Alex safe.

And that was the only reason I was here. After today, there was no other reason.



*

“Mama!” Little Alex sat on my lap with some stupid kid's show on the background, tugging at the bottle.

“Sorry, little man. Here you go.” I helped put the tiny juice bottle up to his lips, watching while he took it.

He sucked his sweet drink without a care in the world. For a second, I wished I'd brought along something a whole lot stronger for me to drink,, but that wouldn't do me any favors either.

You can't give up, I told myself quietly. Look at him. You're his mom, for Christ's sake. His everything. The only defense against these sick bastards he's got.

My baby slurped the apple drink, staring up at me the whole time, his eyes as big and bright as his father's used to be. They were the same color.

I wouldn't let that fire in his little eyes go out. I'd keep him safe, keep him alive, and I'd damned sure keep him happy. He was too young to see me killed over nothing, this biker nonsense.

Leaning down, I kissed his head, and thought about how I'd make good on the lofty promises in my heart. It didn't come to me until after midnight, when I sat awake in bed, watching him turn around in the tiny play pen I'd set up.

Everybody was restless tonight. I wondered where Joker was, and if he was just as upset in his own bed.

Then I instantly covered my face, hating myself for thinking it.

Today, he'd ripped away any reason left to ever sympathize with him. Hell, I hoped he was suffering somewhere tonight, torturing himself for the way he'd treated me.

Talk about wishful thinking. I shook my head, knowing I'd have another brutally early morning tomorrow. I had to be up and out near the clubhouse if I wanted a real chance to catch him.

God help me, I would. There wasn't another option.

I'd sell out the bastard who'd wiped his filth on me in a heartbeat. I'd do whatever it took to keep my son safe, even if it meant watching the monstrous killers threatening us put a bullet through his father instead.



*

The next day, I had Alex at the daycare as soon as it opened, before I took off in my rusted out car for the clubhouse. I parked just around the corner, careful to keep myself out of sight.

Hopefully, he'd take the opposite road heading for the highway when he came out of there.

If he came out, I meant. Nothing was guaranteed, but there wasn't a better option.

I'd decided to risk the entire day scoping out the only place I knew for sure where he'd come and go.

After three long hours in the car, I finally heard the motorcycle roar that got my hopes up.

“Shit,” I swore to myself, watching the scruffy brother who'd let me through the gate yesterday roar out instead.

Ten more minutes, I sulked, contemplating all the roads I could use to flee the south for my life if I couldn't get close to Joker again. Then there was another growl.

I stiffened in my seat, inhaling a sharp breath as I saw the unmistakable outline of the big, bold man I'd once loved drive through the gate. He was in his truck this time, and I swore I saw a massive dog at his side, heading for the highway.

My hand turned the key in the ignition before I could think. I counted to about ten and then took off.

I hoped I'd be able to hang behind him close, but not so close he'd spot me, and throw me off, or worse.

It worked. My heart pounded a little harder with every mile, heading down the short stretch of highway to a new exit, where he took a sharp turn. I almost lost it when he disappeared.

Soon, I saw his truck turn into a nearby parking lot, next to a squat building that looked like an old post office with flowers out front.

I pulled into the gas station across the street, keeping my eyes on him. No, I hadn't been mistaken before.

Joker went over to the passenger side and pulled out the biggest dog I'd ever seen on a leash.

What the hell? Seeing the animal didn't compute.

The cold, dead-eyed man who'd pushed me away didn't look like the type who had any room in his heart for a pet. I wondered if it could be a guard dog – but then, what was waiting inside the building if he felt like he needed to bring one along?

Whatever, I had to find out. When I was sure he'd entered the building, I darted across the street, parking behind the building.

STERNER PLUS RETIREMENT HOME, I read on the sign.

There wasn't time to stop and think about what that might mean. I grabbed my purse and headed inside, only to be stopped by a burly looking old woman at the front desk.

“Visitor sign in, ma'am,” she said. “Who are you here for?”