“Don’t do it again.” She turned away from him, determined to be Breezy Simmons, on her own, mother of Zane. Independent. She was that woman now, and she liked who she was. She wasn’t about to let a man like Steele drag her back under.
He paced along beside her. “We’re going to revisit what you didn’t like about the parties, baby, but not now. Later. When we have Zane back.”
Of course, he would have the last word, but she didn’t dare refute him. All she cared about was getting her baby back, so let him talk. Let him say anything he wanted.
SIX
Blythe was tall, blond and beautiful with brown eyes and a ready smile. She looked elegant, as if she’d just stepped off the cover of a magazine. She didn’t look as if she belonged in the world of motorcycle clubs, and yet she fit perfectly. Breezy didn’t know exactly how to act around her. The others, all members including Lana and Alena, treated her with the utmost respect. It was clear she was very loved.
Czar, the president of Torpedo Ink, was a different man around his family. He couldn’t get near Blythe without hooking his arm around her waist. He kissed her often and his gaze followed her everywhere she went. When he wasn’t looking at his wife, he had his arm around one of his adopted daughters.
Darby, Zoe and Emily looked very Irish, especially the youngest with her red hair and freckles. It was easy to see the three girls were close, and Darby watched over her sisters very attentively. Kenny was seventeen and filling out, although he still appeared a little coltish.
It was interesting, and revealing, to see the interaction between the children and Torpedo Ink members. Breezy could see the affection between them. When one of the kids talked to a member, he or she immediately got their entire focus.
The house was large with high ceilings and extremely spacious rooms, and the space was needed. The club members were all inside, even Reaper and Savage, although they were close to the doors. There was a woman with Reaper, his old lady, Anya. It was a revelation to see the enforcer of Torpedo Ink with his woman. As far as she knew, he’d never touched a woman in the Swords, although several patch chasers had tried to snare him. Emily, the youngest of Czar and Blythe’s children, hung off of Reaper’s arm while his other was around his woman. That shocked Breezy as well. Reaper didn’t touch anyone, and no one ever touched him.
None of it seemed real to her, the transformation the club made the moment they were at Czar’s property—it was too surreal. Clearly, they all felt at home there. The men immediately pitched in, getting leaves in the tables to make them much longer. She was even more shocked when they set the tables for breakfast in the huge dining room while others helped Blythe, Darby, Lana and Alena in the kitchen making eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast.
Steele walked in with Breezy, going in through the door to the kitchen. Immediately, there was silence, the conversations stopping as heads turned toward them. Breezy couldn’t help herself, she slowed, dragging her feet reluctantly. She’d always felt that initial inferiority complex she could never quite get rid of when she entered a new, unfamiliar place. She was a whore, a mule, lower than low, passed around, and it had to show on her. It had to be etched into her forehead. At school, the few times she’d managed to convince her father to let her go, girls had whispered behind her back. She detested new environments because she still had those moments where she lacked confidence.
Steele stepped close to her, took her hand and pulled her beneath the protection of his broad shoulder. “Blythe. Thanks for letting us meet here. I’ve wanted you to meet my woman. Bree, this is Czar’s old lady, Blythe. Their daughter, Darby. Anya, Reaper’s woman. You know everyone else. This is Breezy. We all call her Bree.” He transferred his hold, circling her shoulders with one arm.
He was a big man and she wasn’t that tall next to him, not like Blythe. Not at all like Blythe. She couldn’t be elegant if she tried. Ordinarily, she would have corrected the impression Steele was giving to Czar’s wife, but right then, she couldn’t even open her mouth. She hadn’t looked in a mirror and she’d been on a terrible crying jag and then she’d let Steele kiss her. A terrible thought occurred, and she glanced down quickly to make certain her clothes weren’t all over the place.
“Bree, it’s wonderful to meet you. I’m so sorry for the circumstances. I know the boys will bring your son home. You must be out of your mind with worry.”
The sympathy in Blythe’s voice was genuine and nearly got her crying again. She didn’t understand, when she’d managed to stay in a semblance of control, why she was breaking down so much all of a sudden. Well, she knew, she just didn’t want to admit that a part of her was already allowing Steele to take over so that she was free to collapse with grief.
“Thank you for lending us your home,” Breezy said, blinking back the threat of tears. She tapped her lip with the pad of her finger, hoping the tiny bite mark didn’t show. She detested her voice. It was too shaky, but she did manage to stop herself from moving even closer to Steele. If she was any closer, she’d be crawling into his pocket.
What had happened to her hard-won independence? She felt as if she was reverting right back to that scared girl who had walked, pregnant and alone, into the diner, hoping for a job and guidance. She’d gotten both. She didn’t want to be this girl. She wanted to be that one.
“I’m so happy to meet you, Breezy,” Anya said. “We could use more female voices around here to even things out. I know they’ll bring your son home to you.”
Breezy managed a smile. “Thanks, Anya. It’s nice to meet you as well.” Anya seemed to genuinely welcome her, and that helped to restore a little of her confidence in spite of her tear-stained face.
“It’s so exciting to meet you,” Darby said. “I’m really sorry about Zane as well, but I know Uncle Steele will bring him home to us.”
Uncle Steele? Darby had been one of the children rescued from the human trafficking ring. The Swords had been the ones to kidnap her and her sister Zoe. There was no ill will there, only genuine sympathy. Darby was far too young to be able to fake anything. Breezy was adept at reading people. She had to be. If she’d misread any member of the club, they had beaten her. Right now, she could see that Darby was honestly concerned for her son.
“Come help,” Alena invited, moving over to make room for Breezy. “I’m making French toast. You can help Anya peel the potatoes for hash browns if you’d like, unless you want to go into the dining room with all the men. They’re annoying, but …”
“Annoying?” Maestro tossed a wadded dish towel at Alena. She caught it right out of the air and flung it back at him.
“Children,” Blythe said drolly. The others erupted into laughter. Blythe shook her head with a little grin that told Breezy she wasn’t in the least upset and was used to the type of teasing the club members did to one another. “Get out from under our feet, Maestro, or you’ll be cooking the eggs.”
Alena rolled her eyes. “I asked him to cook once. Once. He sucks at it. The house smelled burnt for a week. Every smoke detector went off and the neighbors called the fire department.”
“She’s lying her ass off, Darby,” Maestro said and kissed the top of the teenager’s head. “Don’t believe a fuckin … thing she says,” he hastily tried to correct himself at Blythe’s glare.
Darby giggled. “You’re in so much trouble.” She winked at Breezy. “Both Zoe and Emily have swear jars. Emily had hers first and I think she has enough in it to pay for college already thanks to the club and the way they talk, so Zoe’s decided she wants in on the money-making. I can’t say that I blame her.”
Maestro groaned. “I’m going broke as it is just paying Emily.” He looked around. “Neither one is in here, so it doesn’t count.”
Darby laughed. Her laughter sounded relaxed and genuine. Breezy couldn’t remember feeling relaxed when she’d been growing up and working in the kitchen or cleaning the clubhouse. She’d tried, for the sake of the other children, and she’d made jokes and laughed a lot for them, but she hadn’t felt safe enough to relax. It spoke volumes that Darby, who had gone through hell, did.