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“This was club business, Loco. That comes first. Always. You know this. As you mentioned, we’ve done business for a long time.”
“All right. Just got twitchy when I heard you all was visiting the Demons.”
“You fuckin’ kidding me?” This time I get in his face, backing him up against the wall. “Keeping tabs on my club isn’t healthy for this relationship, Loco.”
Feels good to finally get that off my chest.
Loco’s gaze strays to Malik, who doesn’t budge. Z also remains still.
“I don’t owe you an explanation for where I go or who I visit,” I continue. “You need to get that through your head.”
“As long as you’re not promising my supply to anyone else.”
The balls on this motherfucker.
“What are you really worried about, Loco? You know I’m not selling to anyone but you. No fucking way am I risking my guys driving this large a quantity that far on a regular basis. Not the way the feds are cracking down on it lately. So what’s really bothering you?”
“You know they’re connected to mafia, right?”
“Fuck yes. Everyone knows that.”
“Those kind of connections can bring a lot of trouble and complications we don’t need.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I heave out a breath and take a step back, trying to muster up some respect. “I realize you’ve been in the game a long time, Loco. But I still got a few years on you. I know exactly what those connections are capable of. I’m not crawling into bed with DeLova anytime soon.”
He sucks in a deep breath at the mention of the Russian mob leader’s name. “Word is, he’s looking for someone to move stuff for him and your club’s name came up.”
“Not my club. Sway’s.”
“That piece of shit,” he mutters.
Can’t say I disagree at the moment, but I won’t speak badly of a brother to someone outside the club.
“What’s the problem, Loco?” Z asks. “It’s supposed to be a one-shot deal.”
“It’s never a one-off with those guys.”
“Now, Loco, it’s not nice to stereotype,” Malik says with a straight face.
Loco shoots a glare at him and I barely restrain my laughter.
“Stop acting like DeLova’s normal,” Loco says. “We all know he ain’t.”
“He’s got one foot in the fucking grave,” Z answers in a bored tone.
“Like fuck he does. And even when he goes. Who’s getting that business? Someone worse. That’s who.”
“Not my problem.”
“You say that now, Rock. But in a few years it might be another story. They are ruthless, soulless fucks who’ll start spilling blood if they think it gets them a foothold somewhere. We need to stick together.”
He’s not wrong. Part of why I worked so hard to extract my club from working with an organization very similar to DeLova’s when I took over as president.
It’s why even though Loco annoys the shit out of me on a regular basis—like every fucking time I see him—I’d still rather work with him over DeLova. “My ties to the Demons go back to when you were probably in diapers.”
“You ain’t that much older than me, Rock.”
“Loco, our crews are tighter than any other business dealing I have. MC or not. You need to get over this.”
Malik shifts on his feet. “What I think Rock’s trying to say, is you’re acting like that jealous girlfriend you wanna keep fucking, ’cept she keeps snooping in your phone and reading all your texts and shit.”
Loco glares back at him. “Don’t take his side.”
“I’m not taking any side. I’m telling you as an impartial witness to both sides.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Loco snaps. “You work for me.”
Malik lets out a low, threatening growl before turning and walking away.
Z grins Loco’s way. “See, Wrath woulda just knocked your teeth down your throat.”
“Shut up, pretty boy.”
“Enough,” I bark, holding up my hands. “We done here? I got a van that needs unloading and other shit to attend to.”
Loco takes a second to compose himself. “Just promise me you’ll give me a heads-up if you’re gonna work with DeLova.”
“I assure you I have no interest working with DeLova. My crew isn’t about that. Hasn’t been for a long time. But I got no control over what Sway does.” I cock my head at him. “Besides, aren’t you the one he’d give that business to?”
Loco puffs up his chest. “DeLova don’t work with color well. Don’t wanna be on that motherfucker’s radar and have his crew thinking they can roll on in here and take over my territory.”
“Your “territory” is inside Lost Kings territory. He ain’t gonna mess with that,” Z reminds him.
I finally realize what’s bothering Loco. “I don’t want any piece of your action.” I’m mildly offended he thinks I’d pair up with DeLova to get rid of him.
“DeLova’s soldiers would love to start running girls in the capital region. All those deep-pocketed politicians. Lotta power running through this area. Only they won’t be as nice about it as I am.”
“They ain’t gonna be doing it in Empire or Ironworks,” Z assures him.
The back door slams open. “You done trying to cuddle-fuck my prez or should I stand around and wait some more?” Wrath shouts.
Surprisingly, Loco laughs. “Yeah, we done.” He holds out his hand, which I’m not inclined to shake at the moment, but I do. “How was your trip?” he asks as if his jealous meltdown never happened.
“Fine. Good riding weather. Too fucking hot down south, though.”
“Fuck yeah,” Loco agrees. “Bunch of racist motherfuckers too.”
“Now, Loco, you know we got those up here too,” Z says.
Loco shifts his don’t-tell-me-shit-I-already-know expression Z’s way. “Fucking heat seems to make ’em multiply.”
“Any other grievances you need to air out?” I ask.
He grins up at me. “I’ll let you know.”
“Fantastic. Can’t wait.”
At some point during the night, the bed dips behind me and Rock’s body warms my back. His lips ghost over my shoulder.
“I’m home, baby doll,” he whispers.
“Love you,” I mumble.
“You too.” He presses a kiss against my back and settles down, resting his hand on my hip.
Unaware of the time, I drift back to sleep.
Seconds or hours—I can’t be sure—later, a heavy queasiness wakes me and I moan. My hand slides down to rest over my stomach as my sleepy mind tries to figure out if I need to rush to the bathroom or if it will pass.
Please let it pass. I don’t want to be sick n
ow when I risk waking Rock up and making him worry.
The second I have the thought about him, he slides his hand over my hip to my thigh.
I hold my breath. His roaming hands frequently explore my body in the middle of the night. Most of the time his explorations lead to some pretty fantastic dreamy-half-awake sex.
Right now I can’t think of anything worse.
My stomach lurches again. Oddly, the upset stomach ignites a spark of hope inside me.
Rock’s sleepy fingers trail up over my ribs, stopping below my breast.
“Not now,” I murmur, hoping he’s asleep.
Instead, he buries his face in my hair, kissing my neck. Any other time, I’d turn over and be thrilled to indulge in some sleepy-middle-of-the-night-sex with my husband.
“Stop,” I say a little louder.
He jerks back, then kisses my shoulder.
“Rock, not now.”
My stomach rolls again. Nope. It’s not going to pass.
Wriggling out of Rock’s grasp, I throw the covers back and run to the bathroom.
Nothing comes up, but I wait on the floor for a few minutes, before standing and splashing some water on my pale, sweaty face.
I’m so freaking scared.
Deep breath.
The last time I didn’t have any symptoms. Getting sick should be a good sign, right?
Maybe if I say it a couple hundred more times, I’ll convince myself.
I slip back into bed as quietly as possible but realize Rock’s not there. Figuring he went across the hall to use the other bathroom, I allow sleep to pull me under.
A few hours later, I wake again and Rock’s side of the bed is still cold. I throw back the covers and grab my robe. The room across from ours is small. I use it as a reading room and there’s a couch in there.
For the first time I realize it will make a perfect nursery.
That’s where I find Rock.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, gently touching his arm. “Are you mad at me?”
He blinks up at me, his mouth curving into a warm smile. “Can’t keep my hands off you. Didn’t want to keep bugging you when you don’t feel well.”
