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Chapter 1
Over One Year Later
Willow
The row of bikes glistens in the late afternoon sun. Standing just outside the building door, I begin taking deep breaths. A guy as big as a linebacker is hovering behind me, getting agitated that I've not moved through the door, prospect etched on his cut.
"Is there a problem?" he grunts.
Blowing out an exaggerated puff of air, I open the door that squeaks on its hinges. The room is dim.
There are loitering bodies in different poses around the large space. A few standby the pool table and stop playing as soon as they notice me.
I feel eyes boring into me as I move slowly. The linebacker moves around me toward a guy sitting on the couch; a girl with blond hair and pink highlights is bobbing her head as she sucks him off. I can't help but gasp a little at the outrageous display, but I quickly school my features.
Jamison Walker is 6'2 with a solid, muscular frame wearing a black t-shirt that hugs his body like a second skin. His piercing blue eyes watch me. This bastard has a beautiful face, which is currently smirking at my discomfort.
At no time does he tell the girl to stop what she's doing. I clear my throat to speak, and he grunts his pleasure, tipping his head back, his brown hair falling away from his face. The girl looks around, wiping her finger across her lips, smiling wickedly at me.
She stands, barely lowering her thigh hugging mini skirt. The heels she wears make her a bit unsteady on her feet at first.
"Do you need anything else, Prez," she drips the words like honey.
"Nah," Jamison smacks her ass as she moves out of range. He ever so slowly puts himself away, zipping his dark jeans.
Jamison's eyes take me in, slowly lowering up and down my body as I involuntarily shiver from the blatant attention. I cross my arms over my t-shirt and begin tapping my foot.
"Do you need a written invitation, sweetbutt?" Jamison asks.
"Don't call me that," I cringe.
"You have another second to tell me why the fuck you're in my club," Jamison's tone is harsh as he stands up, towering over me. He is within inches, but I stand my ground. Jamison has always been an asshole.
"You know why I'm here," I say simply.
"Yeah, well, your gravy train has stopped, vixen! You and your cunt sister aren't getting any more money out of this club," Jamison growls.
"Stop calling her that, you prick," I am seething. It's not the first time we've argued over child support.
"Yo Ares," someone calls from across the room. When you’ve finished with this one, can I have her?"
The room erupts in laughter. Jamison gives the voice a look, and the room goes silent.
When his eyes focus back on me, I see disdain, "get the fuck out of here and don't come back!"
"You can't ignore this forever. Your father wanted his child taken care of, and you know it."
"I never believed it was the old man's kid. You can't honestly expect me to believe your sister was only with him," Jamison has not moved an inch from me since he stood up. I feel a chill run down my spine, and I want desperately to move back, but I know this bully will eat up any weakness.
"Why do you just assume that? You barely know my sister. Your father didn't care about a paternity test, and that's why one didn't get done," I say, trying to keep my voice level.
"He wasn't thinking with the right head!" Jamison smirks as if he's so smart.
"It's not for us. It's for Cody, your brother!"
I step back, already knowing the audience is all too engaged in our discussion.
"Jamison, do you want us to get a lawyer?" I ask.
