A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (8 page)

“Y’all are dismissed.” Croak waves a hand. Tables and chairs scrape on the floor as men stand up, muttering to themselves about the unpleasant news.

“This shit ain’t good,” I hear one junior Angel say to a prospect. Others around me are saying the same kind of thing. I have to agree. Without the races, we lose our main pipeline for cash, not to mention a huge market for the drugs we bring in through the Galveston port. Putting them on hiatus does not bode well for the club.

Everyone disperses out the front door. I go to try to talk to Croak, but the door to his office is closed and locked. No one responds to my knocking. I sigh and turn to walk away. On my way out, I bump into Vince.

“This is some crazy shit, man, isn’t it?” he says to me.

“It’s not good,” I agree.

Vince looks around warily. “Look, man, I don’t want to alarm you or anything…”

I squint my eyes at him. Something’s up. “What’s the deal?”

“You didn’t hear this from me, okay? But some of the guys have mentioned that you might be involved with this shit with Grady.”

I decide to play dumb. It’s better to know what people are saying than to be blissfully ignorant. “How so?”

“I’m not saying it was you for sure, don’t get me wrong. But some people said they saw you taking off with his wife after the wedding. She hasn’t been seen since.”

It’s even harder to keep my face under wraps. Vince is a good friend, and I know he’s just looking out for me. But I need to come up with a plan, and quickly, before something happens that I can’t control.

I settle my hand on Vince’s shoulder. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, man.” I hate lying to him, but I don’t have a choice right now. I need to buy myself some time. “It’s no secret that I’m not Grady’s biggest fan, but it isn’t my kind of move to steal a chick away from her husband on their wedding day.”

Vince nods. I can tell he’s relieved.

“Besides,” I say, “Grady’s a sack of shit. Who’s to say she didn’t run away from him on her own?”

Vince laughs. “Well, whoever took her away, they better be ready for war. Grady Freeman is one angry son of a bitch.”

I grit my teeth. If that motherfucker lays one hand on Kendra, it’ll be the last thing he ever does.

Chapter 5

Kendra

How the hell did I end up in this situation?

I’m pacing back and forth in Mortar’s empty house, trying to get a grip on the whirlwind sequence of events that has taken me from a normal, if abusive, night out with Grady, to being locked inside a stranger’s home, deciding whether or not to accept his protection in exchange for letting him impregnate me.

Step by step, everything made sense when I was deciding, but now that I’m looking at the big picture, I still can barely wrap my head around the circumstances. One minute, I’m strapped down on a one-way train to a life of misery. The next, I’m at the entrance of a rabbit hole that leads to God only knows where.

This is crazy. I try the words out loud, “This is crazy.” For some reason, hearing my own voice speak my thoughts help make them clearer.

“I can’t take the deal.” There, now I’ve said it. It’s out there and spoken and final and there’s no going back.

Or is there? Really, what are my other options? I’ve got a murderously angry husband lurking around the city ready to kill me for running from him. He’s a cop who can do anything he wants and get away with it. I know what he’s capable of; I’ve seen it.

On the other hand, I’ve got this lunatic outlaw babbling crazy ideas about using me to breed his children. It’s true that he made me feel things in bed that I’ve never even come close to experiencing before, but since when is that enough to serve as the basis for starting a family? That’s not how this kind of thing works. Saying yes to Mortar would be insane.

I’m at a fork in the road, and both options feel impossible.

I stalk around the house, opening drawers, peeking in closets, anything to distract myself from the dilemma at hand. As much as I think Mortar is out of his mind, there’s a part of me that has an insatiable curiosity about him. It feels strange to be here, amongst his things, running my hands over his clothes and watching silly daytime talk shows on his television. In its own way, it feels like I’m getting to know him, even though he isn’t here.

After hours of impatient waiting, I would’ve thought that the sound of the key in the door would be like manna from heaven. I can’t deny that part of me—namely, the part between my legs—is excited that Mortar is home. But the sense of dread that his return inspires in me is more pressing right now. As much as I want to feel his lips on mine, I force myself to stay rooted to the couch.

He comes in, tosses his keys on the coffee table, and sits in the armchair across from me. He sighs as he props his boots up on the table.

“So?” he asks.

My eyes narrow. “So what?”

“So do you accept the deal?”

Is he serious? Does he know the kind of day I’ve had? Does he even realize the impact of this decision on my life? This isn’t like picking what I’m going to eat for dinner. This is a baby! All of these thoughts run through my head at once, but the only thing I manage to splutter out is, “Are you insane?”

“You’ve had all day to think. You need to decide whether or not you agree.”

“This is an impossible decision!”

“It’s not. You can either accept my terms, or you can go. It’s pretty simple, actually.”

I have no words. I’m angry and turned on and confused all at the same time. “Are you even aware of what this would mean?
If
I say yes—and that’s a big if—that would mean there’d be a baby to think about. Grady already wants to kill me. A child would just be another target for him.”

Mortar dismisses my concerns with a careless wave of his hand. “I’m not worried about Grady.”

“You should be!” I explode.

He leans forward on his elbows and fixes me with a hard stare. “How many times do I have to say this before you believe me?” he asks. “I will protect you. I made you a promise, and I don’t break promises.”

It’s hard, no, impossible, to deny the confidence in his voice. He’s so sure, not just of this, but of everything. It’s an intoxicating strength of his. I feel surer in his presence. Just by hearing his voice, my fears of Grady ebb, if only the tiniest bit.
Mortar will protect me.
I can’t believe that will be enough.

“I just don’t know,” I finally say.

Mortar doesn’t blink. “When you left with me, you believed that I would do what I promised you. This is your end of the deal. Hold up yours, and I will hold up mine. Give me a baby and you will be safe in my protection forever. You’re mine now, and Grady doesn’t touch what’s mine. Nobody does.” His eyes are so steady. I can’t doubt them. They won’t let me.

He sees my hesitation. He knows I’m teetering. I don’t know whether to cry or scream or kiss him, or everything at once. But Mortar takes the decision away from me when he grabs my face in his hands and kisses me as hard as he can.

His tongue probes my mouth and runs along the edge of my teeth. I’m too swept up even to notice his hand slipping up the baggy t-shirt of his that I found in a dresser drawer. He cups my breast in his palm and pinches my nipple easily.

The fork in the road is this: Mortar or Grady. I trust that Mortar can keep me safe, despite how much Grady’s anger terrifies me. I think back on last night and remember what Mortar did to my body, how he made it ring and clench so hard, so good. The memory alone is enough to get me wet again. And then I consider the final piece in the puzzle: the studio.

I pull back. “You’ll help me keep the studio?”

He nods fiercely, my chin resting between his fingers. “Whatever it takes. I’ll pay the rest of the loan to Grady, and then it’ll be yours for good. No more worrying about it.”

It all clicks into place.

“Do you accept?” he asks me.

I’m fighting through all the whirling elements: the sex, the studio, Grady, the races, the Inked Angels, a baby,
a baby!
and this man in front of me. But burning through it all is his hand, now down between my thighs, searching and teasing for the heart of me. When my hips buck into his touch of their own accord, Mortar grins. He knows I have no choice but to agree. The balance is swinging his way.

I’m his.

I give him a tight nod. Before I can say a word, he picks me up in his arms like I weigh nothing. He’s kissing me as he carries me into his bedroom, throws me on his bed, and then sprawls on top. His weight on me is perfect, exactly the pressure I need to block out this whole situation and just focus on his touch, the one made for my body, the one that sends heat burning along my thighs and between my legs. I run my hands along his biceps. He’s strong, shaped by years of hard living. I think about Grady’s fleshy, sweaty bulk, and I can’t imagine him putting up any kind of resistance to a man as chiseled as this. I feel safe.

I let myself be taken by him, opening my mouth up to his tongue and my legs to his grinding hips. I can feel his stiffening erection through his jeans. The friction on my mound feels good, but it’s not enough, not even close.

He lifts the edge of the shirt I’m wearing over my breasts as he slides his hands to grip them. I let out an easy sigh as he kneads them in his hands, rubbing each nipple between thumb and forefinger. A soft sensation wafts through my body, like a breeze before an oncoming hurricane. I sit up slightly and help him pull the shirt the rest of the way off. I push his over his head, too, and toss it to the floor on the side of the bed.

His chest is thick with knotted muscle. I run my fingertips across it, tracing the curvature of his pecs and his abs, sliding my hands along the hard muscles of his back and arms. He is so solid to the touch, so unyielding. His body is a perfect reflection of who he is. I lean into it, molding myself against his heat and bulk.

I still don’t understand how he drives me so crazy with the simplest touch. Nothing like it has ever happened to me before, not with Grady or any of the other few men I’ve ever been with. With them, orgasms were few and far between, and their touch was more tolerated than anything else.

But every time Mortar kisses me or eases his fingers to where my thigh meets my hip, I feel my pulse quicken and my core heat up. Even if my mind is still unsure what to think of him, my body knows exactly what it wants, and it asks for it.

He lowers his head to my waist and starts to nibble and suck at the skin there. His tongue moves across my abdomen from hip to hip, then paints each thigh. Without the shirt, I’m naked save for the white panties I’d worn to the wedding. He dispatches those easily, tugging them down the length of my legs and casting them aside.

I expect him to run his tongue along my hot slit as he dances tantalizingly close. Instead, he undoes the buckle of his jeans with one hand and shoves them quickly off his body. He rubs softly at my clit with the other thumb, enough to keep me occupied while he frees himself from his boxers.

I’m wet enough for him to slide a finger tentatively inside me. I look down to see him fully naked and sitting back on his heels as he strokes himself to full hardness. Hungry to feel him, I lean forward and reach for his member, but he pushes me roughly onto my back. I notice the weight of the bed shift as he scoots forward and touches the head of his cock to my moist opening. He starts to move into me, but I sit up and put a hand on his chest.

“Mortar,” I interject. “What about a condom?”

“You accepted the deal, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Then there’s no sense in waiting. I want what we agreed to.”

I don’t know what to say. This is all happening too fast, too suddenly. My old life is already gone, and this new version of things is zooming into place without stopping to ask if I’m comfortable with the pace.

It wouldn’t be impossible to tell him to stop. I even think he’d listen, despite the devil may care attitude he embodies. But the truth is I don’t want him to stop. I want to feel him inside me with nothing between us, to feel his bare cock against the dripping wet walls of my cunt. I’m every bit as hungry for it as he is.

“I’m going to fuck my baby right into you,” he says, eyes fiery with desire and determination.

Shouldn’t I slap him for saying something like that? For reducing me to a vessel for his seed? I should, right?

But I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want to. I want to be full of him and his cum. I want to feel him explode inside me and know that he’s taking root in me on every level imaginable.

It’s a scary thought. But as I lean back and feel him press his hard length inch by agonizing inch into me, I know that it is the right one.

The sense of complete surrender is like a drug. I’ve never done this before. I always insisted on a condom, even with Grady. To let this stranger inside of me without even that as protection is the ultimate sign that I’m his in every way. I don’t have a choice, but there’s a demented part of me that wants things to be that way.

It feels right to belong to him.

The sex oscillates between painful and perfect as we increase the pace. Mortar slams into me, prying cries from somewhere deep in my chest as his cock penetrates to my very core. He’s almost too big for me to handle. I can feel my body stretching, yearning to accommodate him. Every slight change of angle takes a few painful strokes before I can ease into it and enjoy the sensations pulsating from inside me. I rub frantically at my clit, coaxing a train of small almost-orgasms to offset the rough fucking.

Our sweat mingles as Mortar wraps his hands behind my head and pulls me close to him. I’m straddling his lap and bouncing up and down with all my strength, pulling him into me and out of me at the fastest speed we can muster.

“Mortar,” I moan, “be gentle.” I don’t even know why I say that. It’s almost a test, in a way. I don’t want gentle; I don’t want soft. This needs to be hard and brutal. We need to seal the agreement with an animal fucking that makes my muscles sore and my jaw tired from screaming.

He drops my torso and slings my legs over his shoulders. I wince as my pussy adjusts to the new angle, but as soon as the motion is smooth, Mortar starts to pound fully into me, reaching a new depth. I can feel my climax building. I keep rubbing my clit.