Obsession (A Bad Boy's Secret Baby)(31)

“Hey there, Ness.” Mal cupped an arm behind my back and kissed me, long and sweet.

I would never get tired of that.

I still worked at Children's Hope and had taken over an event organizer position. It made me miss my kids, but the promotion was good for my career. I still popped in and took Ashley and the others out to Bounce and the movies every once in a while, though.

“It's been a year, when are you two going to knock off that young love nonsense?” Brendan protested jokingly; he was quickly backhanded in the shoulder by his wife. “Here. Let me show you how it's done.” He dramatically pulled her close and gave her a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek. Mariela squirmed away, laughing, but was caught in his embrace. When he was done, he looked at her seductively.

“I see they stole our baby again.” Mal shook his head, which was the appropriate response to most of Brendan's antics, and held his arms out. Mariela broke free from her husband and gave Sean to him. “Hey there, little guy.” Mal bounced Sean lightly in his arms. “Tell Auntie and Uncle that you're ours and that they need to make their own.”

Both my brother and his wife went uncharacteristically quiet at Mal's ribbing.

“Funny thing about that,” Brendan said with a half smile, scratching his head.

“No!” I gasped.

“Yes!” Mariela squeaked loudly, no longer able to contain her excitement, and threw her hands in the air. “Surprise!”

“Congratulations!” I shouted, hugging her. Mal shook Brendan's hand as well, patting him on the shoulder.

The cookout was wonderful and stretched late into the evening. We all had so much to be thankful for. It truly was amazing how much things had turned around in all of our lives. Occasionally, it was hard to get my head around it.

Later that night, I woke from a bad dream, one where neither Brendan nor Mal made it out of that apartment fire. It left me panting, shaking in cold sweat. Slowly, as I lay there, everything good that happened over the last year came back to me, calming my heart.

But part of me still wondered when the other shoe would drop. It all felt too perfect to be real. Would I wake up from this magical life, too?

Then Mal's big arms wrapped around me, and I knew that I was just being crazy. This was my life now, and it was okay to let my guard down and just be happy. It would be a struggle sometimes, but Mal would always be there for me.

And that was all that mattered.





END


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Prologue


Ronin

“What's your name, hon?”

The speaker—a bored Irish girl in a buttoned up leather halter top and tight, cut-off denim shorts—slipped into the seat next to me with practiced ease. She propped her head up to look at me, diluted emerald eyes fluttering. It was an expression that was just flirty enough, keeping this interaction from feeling too forced.

I knew immediately that she was an old lady—a girl claimed by one of the much older Road Devils club members sitting across the room. They'd sent her over to feel me out; to see if I was a cop, a part of a rival MC, or just some stupid fuck that had lost his way.

This charming dove was a warning shot. They wanted me to know they were watching and that I should vacate the bar while I still had use of my legs enough to walk out of here.

Otherwise, I'd end up leaving in a black body bag.

“Trouble, to most,” I said with an easy smile. A spark of interest flashed across her eyes. Maybe I was looking for a black bag my size. It would certainly explain my compulsion for shitty bars like these.

Nah, I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. Living, to me, wasn't the same as just being alive. It was why I chose the nomad MC lifestyle instead of falling in with any one chapter. Freedom within a free institution. Nowhere else on earth could I have what I had now.

“Buy me beer,” I said, reveling in the confusion that marred her fair features. The comment took her off guard. If I were a betting man, I'd say that this was the first time she'd ever been on the other side of such an instruction.

And I was sure as hell a betting man.

I disregarded her, calling out to the bartender. “Killians, if you have it.” Then I leaned in and breathed in the fruity satin tang of her cheap perfume. “What's your name, love?”

She eyed me cautiously. “Tash.” It was said with a bit of reluctance. She freed a pack of smokes from her small purse.

The surly bartender popped the bottle cap and poured the heady, dark auburn brew into the glass that he'd set down in front of me. “Four-fifty,” he said, eying me suspiciously.

“Put it on Tash's tab.” I shifted my gaze to the girl with a smirk, daring her to say otherwise. The bartender followed suit and looked at her, his brows furrowing.