Ruin My Life (Nasty Bastards MC Book 1) Page 2

  “Don’t. Date.”

  She blinks up at me, then she takes a step forward. “You just haven’t met the right girl. Maybe I’m her,” she purrs.

  The look in her eyes, it’s scheming. She is the worst kind of club girl, the worst kind of whore. This is someone who is going to try to manipulate her way into being claimed, into being on the back of someone’s bike.

  That someone ain’t me. I don’t like it. Not at all. I’m not her anything, and she’s nothing to me but a piece of ass. I figured since she’s been down at the club, fucked more than one brother that she knew the score. Fuck me, but I hate having to remind people of shit like this.

  “You trying to get an old man, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, babe,” I say.

  She blinks, then I watch as her face falls a bit before she fixes it. That’s exactly what she was trying to do. Not to-fucking-day, at least not with me.

  “We can party. We can fuck. We won’t date, ever. We won’t be anything else. You cool with that, then I am too. But don’t hang around expecting to be anything more because you won’t be.”

  I know it’s a dick thing to say, but I’ve never claimed to be anything I’m not. I’m not a saint. I’m not all that nice, but I’m honest and completely truthful. She’s going to get the truth with me. Stringing bitches along is not my style—ever.

  “I’ll see you tonight then?” she asks, her bravado a bit damaged, but her voice still awfully fucking hopeful.

  “Yeah," I murmur.

  I should not fuck her anymore. I should stay the fuck away because I know without a doubt she’s going to give me nothing but headaches. But easy pussy is easy pussy, and I’m all down for easy most days.

  Turning away from her, I don’t look back. I walk straight toward my bike, straddle it, and start the engine with a roar before I head home to shower. Then, I go back to the clubhouse to repeat the same goddamn mistakes all over again.

  Chapter Two

  LUELLA

  Looking at my joint bank account, I know that I need to do something. His paycheck is still coming, but they’re going to declare him deceased soon. I can feel it. I’ve talked to a few people, and once that happens, I get a one-time payout, and then that’s it. I don’t know what I’m going to do when it happens, either.

  His parents haven’t wanted anything to do with us since he disappeared. They think it’s my fault. That I drove him into the military because of my pregnancy and we got married so young.

  At least, that’s what I assume. They haven’t returned my calls, haven’t answered my texts, and refused to come to the door when I drove to their house. I knew they were home, too. I could see the television on and heard them walk to the door before they looked out the peephole.

  I didn’t want anything from them except emotional support. I’m a liar, though, even to myself. I did want something from them. I wanted them to know their only grandchild. Is that so bad? Is that so mean and awful?

  Maybe I did push him into the military, but he never said that to me. He told me that it was his dream to join the Marines. That’s all he wanted to do in life, and he said he wanted to be free.

  I followed him the way I always did. He was my saving grace, my savior, and I would have continued to follow him to the ends of the earth if he’d asked me. I owed him everything back then. I still do. No matter how long I wait for him, I know deep in my heart that he’s never coming back. He’s never coming home to me.

  Looking down at the paperwork, I know that it’s coming sooner rather than later. This is the end. Which means that I’ll be asked to leave housing too. Honestly, I’m surprised they’ve let us stay this long. I’m surprised that they didn’t kick us out months ago when it was clear he wasn’t going to be found immediately.

  I’ve got zero education past high school and just barely finished that. I think about getting a job and suddenly feel defeated. I looked high and low. I looked and looked, but when I did the math, there was no way I could take Magnolia to day care, pay for that, and also pay for a place to live. I’d be in the hole every single month.

  “Mags, baby, I think we need to go find your grandpa.”

  My estranged father is my only family. There is nobody else. My mother was worthless, then she overdosed. When she died, I was sent to a girls’ home for two years until I turned eighteen. I was already six months pregnant when I married and we started our adventure.

  But as much as I think that I can save myself all over again, I can’t. The reality is, he saved me anyway. I didn’t save myself. He always saved me.

  It doesn’t take me long to pack my bags, mainly because we don’t have much. Furniture and beds are the least of my worries right now, and I know the next family who is assigned to this townhouse will probably appreciate what’s been left.

  I take what I can, pack it all in the trunk, one seat in the back, and the front seat.

  Clothes and toys are about all I take.

  I also pack up my wedding album. Well, album is a bit of a stretch. It isn’t much, just a few pictures that his mother took of us and slid into the clear plastic pockets of a store-bought album. It doesn’t matter that it was inexpensive, that they’re not professional by any means.

  It’s perfect to me.

  Taking Magnolia’s hand in mine, she toddles next to me as I walk over to the front door. Turning my head, I look back at the house that was our home. He was here just a few months before he left.

  Between boot camp, trainings, and schools, we didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time together our first year of marriage, and then he was gone.

  One year.

  That’s what we had. He was able to see Magnolia come into the world. He was able to have a few sleepless months with us, then he left. One year of what I thought would be forever. And it’s been one year since he was gone too.

  Our baby is almost two years old, and she doesn’t even know the sound of her own father’s voice.

  Then again, neither do I. My father left just a few months after I was born, according to my mother. I’ve never even seen a picture of him. That’s going to change, and I hope it’s not the biggest mistake of my entire life.

  Buckling Magnolia up in her car seat, I slide into the front and start the engine. Staring straight ahead, I take one long last look at the townhouse again. I can’t believe I’m leaving everything behind.

  This could be the biggest mistake of my life.

  I keep repeating that to myself.

  Over and over.

  This could be the biggest mistake of my life.

  Then again, maybe it won’t be so bad. At least that’s what I change my self-thoughts to. I tell myself that maybe it won’t be so bad, over and over, as I drive straight toward Texas.

  Toward my father’s mechanic shop.

  California feels like it’s light-years away from Texas, but I’m going to go, and we are going to start a new life.

  Hopefully, my father can help us.

  I don’t know him, don’t remember him, so I’m not sure if it’s going to happen, but I’m going to try. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll have to try and figure something else out. Try and come up with a plan B, but right now, I’m banking on Hank Watson.

  Maybe he’s ready for fatherhood now… only twenty years late.

  My poor junky car is limping along by the time I make it to the Texas border. East Texas, where my father’s shop is, is still ten hours away, and I don’t know if I’m going to make it. I can’t turn the engine off anymore. I’m too afraid it won’t start again. I just keep it running, keep driving, and head toward the Texas-Louisiana border.

  The air conditioning on my car also stopped working a while ago, somewhere in New Mexico. So Magnolia and I have the windows down, and we’re cruising toward the one-stoplight town that we hope to call our own.

  I’m exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open when we arrive on the outskirts of town. The city limits sign comes into view, and I could cry with joy and relief. It’s too late to try to find his mechanic shop right now, so I pull over in a parking lot, leaving my car idling, and I close my eyes for a moment.

  I stopped a few hours ago to change Magnolia’s diaper and feed her. She’s out for the night, so I try to at least rest my eyes and tired body. Though I won’t be able to sleep, especially with the windows rolled down and being exposed.

  The sun rises what feels like seconds later. I look at my reflection in my rearview mirror and cringe at the sight of myself. Then I look back at Magnolia and smile. She’s still sleeping peacefully. I know that she’ll be stirring soon and hungry when she does.

  I have a few more dollars to my name, so I drive straight toward McDonald’s and buy her some pancakes, sausage, and milk. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it. I’ll eat another time. Me eating isn’t that important.

  Once I have the food, I change her in the parking lot, cringing every single time my car makes the new knocking sound that started just the other day.

  Putting her in fresh clothes and attempting to change into something fresh-ish myself, I climb back into the driver’s seat and head toward the NB. Shop. I don’t know what it stands for, NB. It can’t be his name because my father’s legal name is Hank Watson.

  Once I arrive in the parking lot, I look up at the sign. Then I tilt my head to the side. The name is written in plain block lettering, and there is a painted picture of a motorcycle beneath it next to a muscle car. It actually looks really cool. Though I still don’t understand the name at all.

  I can’t imagine my mother being with anyone who is cool or caring in any way, so I’m not sure that this is going to work, but I’m going to try… for Magnolia.

  Turning the car off, I really do hope that this works out because I don’t think I’ll be able t
o start it up again.

  Opening the driver’s door, I shift around to the back and let Magnolia out. I want to let her walk, stretch her legs, knowing she’s been all cooped up in the car. But I don’t know what’s going to happen here, so I don’t. Not yet, at least.

  She’s on my hip as I walk through the door. A bell rings, and a man lifts his head as soon as it does. I gasp at the sight of him. He’s rugged and rough, bearded and long-haired. He is absolutely stunning.

  I’ve never seen anyone like him, mainly because I haven’t left the military base in so long. I don’t know what regular people look like anymore.

  “Help you?” he asks, his voice just as rough and rugged as his appearance.

  “I… uh… I’m trying to find Hank Watson,” I whisper.

  His eyes widen, and he flicks his gaze to Magnolia, then shifts it back to meet mine. “That ain’t his if you’re trying to pin it on him,” he announces.

  My eyes widen, and I shake my head as anger boils beneath my skin. I open my mouth to tell I’m that I know she isn’t his when another man walks in from the back. He is sexy. He’s downright gorgeous in every way. He causes my knees to knock together. He’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. He’s rugged, just like the man I’m talking to, but he’s different. He’s beautiful too.

  BOWIE

  “Go and have Riff order us some lunch. No burgers today, maybe some subs?” Prez calls out.

  Lifting my hand, I walk up front to tell him just that. It’s not even close to lunchtime, but last night was another long wild one, so I know that we’re all fucking hurting. I also know that food is the best medicine.

  Walking to the front office of the garage, I take a step inside and I freeze. There’s a woman standing in the doorway, a toddler on her hip, and she looks like she’s about to cry. She’s thin and pale. She looks seconds away from having a complete breakdown right here and now.

  Then she must sense my movement because her gaze flicks to me, and her lips part at the same time her pretty blue eyes go round.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” I ask.

  “Says she’s lookin’ for Hank Watson,” Riff announces.

  I frown, not knowing anyone by that name. I repeat it to myself a couple of times until it hits me. Holy fucking shit, she’s looking for Prez.

  “What for?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch her.

  She licks her lips, looking down at her shoes, then slowly lifts her gaze back up to meet mine. She ignores Riff completely. “Never mind. It was stupid anyway,” she whispers.

  I watch as she turns and starts to walk out of the front door, but something inside of me can’t let her leave, not like this. She knows Prez’s real name. Not many people do. Hell, I’d even forgotten it myself, and I’ve known him since I was fifteen years old.

  “Wait,” I call out as her hand is on the doorknob. “Why do you want to see him?” I ask.

  She turns her head to look over her shoulder, her big blue eyes filled with wetness. “I need to talk to him about something important. Urgent even. Private.”

  Lifting my lips in a smirk, I watch her for a moment, clearing my throat. “We’re a family, sugar. So whatever you need to say to him, you can tell us. Nothin’ is private here.”

  She’s debating. I see it in her eyes. She stays halfway out of the door, halfway turned toward me. Then the little one in her arms calls out for her. She shifts her gaze to the baby and looks at her for a moment before she leans in and touches her lips to the baby’s forehead.

  It’s a pretty sight, mother and daughter like that. It’s obvious she cares for the kid. Her decision must be made at that moment because she slowly turns around, and her eyes meet mine. They’re much more determined than they were just seconds ago.

  “I’m Hank Watson’s daughter. I need help,” she says.

  Riff makes a choking noise, and my lips part as I stare at her in complete fucking shock. Then the door behind me opens, and I hear Prez ask me what the fuck I’m doing. I step to the side, unable to even speak.

  Prez is fixed, as far as I know. As long as I’ve known him, he’s said he was fixed, kind of made a point to mention it more than once. He had the big V and never looked back. Didn’t want kids of his own. Said he wasn’t responsible enough to raise and mold them himself. That the prospects are all his rug rats.

  “Help you, darlin’?” Prez asks.

  Riff and I don’t say shit. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been this quiet a day in my fucking life. I wait to see what is going to go down. I can’t move, I can’t speak, and I can barely breathe. I’m goddamn shocked. Not only is she saying she’s his kid, but she’s a fucking knockout at that.

  “Hank Watson?” she asks.

  “Who wants to know?”

  I watch as she licks her lips, then she takes a step forward. “Luella Watson,” she says, introducing herself.

  Fuck me. She even has his name.

  I watch him, waiting for his reaction. His eyes widen, and his lips press together in a thin line. He shakes his head once, and then he turns around, showing her his back. Wish I could see the look on his face, but he’s hiding his real reaction to the situation.

  “Please, I’m desperate,” she says. She looks it too, judging by the way her eyes are sunken in and have dark circles of purple beneath them.

  He stops, then he turns around and he narrows his gaze on her as if he’s pissed the fuck off. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side.

  “Where’s your mama?”

  “Dead,” she states flatly.

  Riff and I look between them like a tennis match is happening before our very eyes. Back and forth, back and forth. Prez clears his throat, his hands fall to his sides as they stare at one another.

  “Sorry about that,” he mutters.

  “I’m not. She was shit,” the girl states.

  Riff makes a noise in the back of his throat, at the same time, Prez takes a step forward.

  “What do you mean?” he barks.

  She snorts. “I mean, she was hooked on drugs and gave no shits about me at all whatsoever. Never really did. Then when I was sixteen, she OD’d. She couldn’t even stay alive long enough for me to turn eighteen, so I had to live in a group home for two years. So yeah, she was shit.”

  Fuck.

  “Fuck,” Riff hisses.

  Luella snorts. “Yeah, fuck is about right.”

  “Jesus Christ, come on into my office and talk to me, girl.”

  Prez starts to walk toward his small office, but she doesn’t move. “This was a really bad idea,” she whispers.

  I watch as she turns around and walks out of the building without another word said. Prez doesn’t follow her. He stands there, his eyes focused on the door.

  Turning to him, I arch a brow. He doesn’t say anything immediately. We stare at one another for a long moment before he lets out a heavy sigh.

  Fuck, this shit is legit.

  Chapter Three

  BOWIE

  “Young and dumb. Didn’t know what I was thinkin’. Found a piece of ass that I thought I wanted to keep until I didn’t anymore. I watched her be born. Saw what it took to take care of a baby, and I panicked. Didn’t even know she’d find out my name,” Prez says, explaining his situation with this hot piece that walked into the shop claiming to be his kid.

  “Fucking shit, Prez. You had a kid out there this whole time,” I mutter. “She’s got a kid now, too. You’re a…”

  “Don’t fucking say it,” he growls. “See if you can find out where she went to. Keep this between the three of us. I want to talk to her. When we’ve both cooled off a bit more.”

  Lifting my hand, I give him a wave and jog out of the front door. I don’t have to go far to find her. She’s sitting in the front seat of her car, her head against the steering wheel, the car not running.

  Tilting my head back so that my face is to the sky, the sun beating down on me; I let out a low whistle. It’s too fucking hot to be sitting in the car and it not be running, especially for that little baby of hers.

  Making my way toward the car, I lift my arm and rest it against the top of the roof, then clear my throat. She lets out a squeak, then turns to me, tears streaked down her face. She looks fucking desperate and broken.