Chapter 13

Rocky

Ihadn't slept for shit last night, despite the toe-curling orgasm from having Peyton ride my cock on the stairs. The way she'd gotten up and left me there, my dick still wet from her come, had haunted me all night.

I'd let her go, even though my body craved hers, demanded that I reach out and grab her, keep her close. All night I tossed and turned, hand gripping my cock as I jerked off to the memory of her tits bouncing in my face, the sound of her shouting her pleasure. She was fucking perfection, and I couldn't have her because it would be a betrayal to my son, and I couldn't risk it.

So why did I keep fucking thinking about her? It couldn't just be her body. She was beautiful, and she made me come harder than anyone I'd ever known. But I've craved women purely physically before, plenty of fucking times. Wanting a woman never stopped me from seeking out others, if she wasn't available.

But now, the thought of fucking someone else filled me with…nothing.

No, not nothing. I wasn't apathetic about it, I actively did not wantsomeone else. I didn't want to fuck anyone but Peyton. I think if one of the club bunnies jumped my cock, it would remain flaccid.

I just wanted Peyton.

I stayed in bed until the sun peeked through the blinds and lit my bedroom, grabbing a hot shower before I dressed quickly and left for the clubhouse. Once my tires hit the road, I found myself taking the long route there to clear my mind before I faced my brothers. When I pulled into the parking lot, Sheriff Cross was there talking with Diesel.

"Hey," I said as I joined them. "What's going on?"

Cross flashed a tight smile. "Just the man I was hoping to talk to this morning."

"Yeah?" I frowned and folded my arms. "About what?"

"Peyton," he said simply. "I have her laptop and charger in my patrol car, the crime scene techs have finished processing it, and I thought she might want it back."

"That's good. Any lead on who did this to her roommate?"

"Not yet. Anything else you know?"

I shook my head. "Not that I can think of." Then I remembered her telling me about the weird dude from the bar. "Actually, a guy named Zachary, maybe. She doesn't know his last name, but he was at your office when she came to give her statement. She'd only met him once when he hit on her at a bar a week before the murder. She says he's been hanging around her," —she hadn't said that— "and that she had reason to believe her safety was at risk," —she'd in fact specifically questioned if maybe that wasn't the case— "so he might be worth looking into."

Whatever. Lying to the cops was nothing, especially in the name of Peyton's safety.

Sheriff Cross nodded. "I'll go through the security footage and sign-in sheets to see if I can ID him. Anything else?"

"Nothing." Peyton seemed truly baffled by the fact that she was the target, and I believed her. "I'll let you know if that changes."

Cross nodded and jotted down a few notes before he shook my hand and then Diesel's, and made his way back to his car.

I followed him to get Peyton's laptop and thanked the sheriff for bringing it by. "I'm sure she'll appreciate having it back."

I made a mental note to give Slate the laptop so he could do his hacker shit to it before it went back to Peyton. "Thanks, Sheriff."

The desire to eliminate all potential threats surrounding Peyton was so strong, it was almost physical. I refused to think too hard about why that was, because the why didn't matter, not when I couldn't act on it.

Again. Not when I couldn't act on it again.

"Everything all right?" Diesel waited by the clubhouse entrance for me, concern etched on his face.

"I don't fucking know, brother. Seems the cops are no closer to finding who did this."

He smiled. "Sick of your houseguest already?"

I wished that's what it was. "No."

"Oh," he said, giving me a knowing once-over. "That seems problematic."

Without confirming or denying anything, I answered, "It is," and followed him inside the main hub where a few of the brothers were eating breakfast and shooting the shit. We crossed past the bar and pool tables and headed towards Slate, who was sitting at a table with a laptop open before him. Chopper—a fat bulldog that had previously belonged to the clubhouse but had now been mostly adopted by Diesel's missus, and their son—was gracing us with his presence today, by deciding to sleep directly over Slate's feet.

Slate looked up at us as we neared. "Is that for me?" He pointed at the laptop I held, but didn't stand up to receive it, so as not to disturb the dog. Dangerous things happened when Chopper's sleep was disturbed, while the bulldog himself was sweet-natured, certain parts of him were less pleasant.

Tentatively, I handed Slate my bundle."It's Peyton's." I gestured at the laptop and took several quick steps back, to stand beside Diesel a safer distance away. "The sheriff just dropped it off and I was wondering if you could look through it and see if anyone's accessed it remotely."

Slate nodded. "I can check for keystroke tracking software, spyware, and any other tools stalkers use to keep tabs on their victims. Is that what you had in mind?"

I shrugged. "Sure, sounds good."

Slate frowned as he opened up the laptop. "You think she's being stalked?"

"Dunno," I hedged, "but I'd like to cover all bases."

"Right." Slate reached over to grab his coffee, but jostled Chopper at his feet, and the dog let out an annoyed snort. Immediately, Diesel hurried to grab Slate's coffee and bring it closer to him. The three of us stared at the dog in fear for a long moment, but Chopper went back to snoring peacefully.

With a relieved sigh, Slate looked back at me. "Anything else you want me to do?"

"Nah."

"You sure? I can add software to track anyone who reaches out to her. Not in a creepy way, just so we're in the know."

I shrugged again and looked at Diesel, who nodded.

"If you think it'll help, do it," he told Slate, who took a careful sip of his drink before placing it quietly back on the table.

"Also," Diesel continued, "how are those encrypted files going?"

Slate immediately let out a gusty, annoyed sigh and slouched in his seat. "Ugh, they're nearly done—"

But as he slouched, he jostled his feet a little too much and Chopper startled awake with a loud snort, and a long, flatulent release of toxic gas.

"Ah, Jesus!" Slate shouted.

"Chopper's let another one rip!" I said with a laugh, shoving my sleeve up over my nose as Diesel and I leapt away from the immediate vicinity. Slate, too, tried to jump away, but flailed a little too much as he stood, and spilled his coffee, so had to scramble to mop it up before it hit the laptops.

"Oh god, oh god, it reeks so bad," he moaned and coughed as he saved the tech from his coffee, and I continued to laugh as Diesel and I backed away.

"Fire in the hole!" one of the prospects shouted from across the room. "Do not enter! Toxic fumes inside!" And then he fled out the back and shut the door firmly behind him, as Slate gagged and mopped up his mess.

Chopper was an old dog. Loyal as fuck and had been with us for years. But his age was getting the better of him, and his asshole was a weapon of mass destruction. You never startled him awake if you valued your life.

"Sorry, brother, but we're leaving you to it!" I shouted as the prez and I fled out the front door.

***

I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon going around town to check in with some of the MC businesses. Most of them ran smoothly with the help of a few non-MC members, but each business was overseen by at least one brother. It was too early for the bar, Skid Row, and the nightclub, Leather Chrome, to be open, so I left those for later, checking in and collecting cash from the dispensaries, the brothels, and Demon Head Guns, one of our most lucrative businesses.

The gun range was busy as it usually was. No matter what time of day, nearly all the lanes—inside and out—were occupied, which was good for business. There were our regulars made up of retired law enforcement, old timers, and lifelong gun enthusiasts, while the outer lanes were filled with bachelor parties and newly legal gun owners. The place was loud enough to drown out thoughts of Peyton, which I was fucking grateful for as I made my way to the back office.

"Hawk," I said, "didn't know you were here today."

The MC secretary didn't usually work at any of our businesses because his job was to keep the books on all of them.

He looked up and shrugged. "I go where I'm needed, brother. You here for the bank drop?"

"Yep." I dropped down in the chair on the other side of the desk he sat at, and crossed one ankle over my knee. "This is my last stop today, so take your time."

Hawk grinned and handed me a thick bank envelope. "Sorry, but it's boring as fuck here. The gunshots are kinda soothing, so I caught the books up for the past three months."

"Fucker."

Hawk threw his head back and laughed. "Avoiding work or your pretty little house guest?"

"I plead the fifth."

He roared with more laughter. "Feel free to sit a while. I don't mind."

"Nah, I still gotta get to the bank. Catch you later, brother." I grabbed the envelope and stuffed it in my bag.

I made it through the tedious process in under an hour. It was as close to victory as you could get when it came to the bank.

By the time I made it back to the clubhouse, I was ready to head home. To go back to Peyton, to her scent, sweet smile, and those skimpy outfits she wore not to tempt me, but to torture me.

"Dad!" I heard Nolo's voice call out to me as I crossed the parking lot. "You got a minute?"

I stopped and turned to him, surprised to see him as I waited for him to jog over from his car. "Of course. What's up?"

"I need some advice." He never came to me for advice about anything.

"Sure, buddy." I clapped him on the shoulder and steered him inside, pausing momentarily at the threshold just in caseChopper was still around and letting it rip. But the main hub was cleared of bulldog, and I steered us towards one of the worn leather booths and sat us down. "How can your old man be of service?"

Nolo grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Remember the girl I told you about, Peyton?"

I froze, but I managed a nod. "Yeah. The one who broke up with you?"

His shoulders sagged. "Yeah, her. I want her back and I need some advice. She keeps calling me a friend."

I sighed heavily. "Sounds like she wants to be friends."

"Ha-ha, Dad." Nolo gave me a half-amused, half-annoyed look. "Be serious."

"I am." Jesus fucking fuck. How the hell was I supposed to handle this situation? I shifted in my seat, and scrunched my nose. "I mean, she made herself clear, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but I can't stop thinking about her. It's been weeks and she's still on my mind, no matter how hard I try to get her off."

Well, I guess I could relate to that. Like father, like son?

Fuck me.

"I've messaged her a few times, but she isn't responding."

"Nolo…"

"I know, I know, don't give up." I winced, but he kept talking before I could say anything else. "But it's not just that, I'm genuinely worried about her." When he launched into an explanation of the murder at Peyton's house and how twisted up in knots he was about her safety, a war raged inside me. A war that I absolutely had no idea how to handle.

Too many conflicting thoughts regarding Peyton, my son, and the secret that could threaten to kill the relationship I've built with my boy, flowed through my brain.

I was not fucking equipped to handle this emotional shit, I didn't know what the fuck I was supposed to do. But as he talked, I realized that up until this point, I hadn't actually kept any secrets from him. I hadn't even seen him since Peyton appeared in my life.

For all the bullshit I was guilty of, I didn't want to add ‘lying to my son' to that list. So when he finished, I made a swift and probably stupid decision.

"Follow me and don't ask any questions until we get to my place," I said as I stood, hoping that if I took him to Peyton, the situation would sort of…tell itself to him and get it over and done with. "Can you do that?"

He frowned, but nodded and headed back to his car, waiting while I dropped off the deposit receipts, and then we went to my place.

To Peyton.

I walked in first and the smell of garlic and tomatoes hit me immediately. "Hey," I called out over the low hum of pop music playing in the kitchen.

"Hey." Peyton flashed a smile at me that I interpreted as her not being pissed at me after last night. "I made pizza. The dough is a little chewy, but I made up for it with good ingredients. And," she blew out a breath, "we need to talk."

Shit.My eyes widened and I shook my head, hoping she understood that we weren't alone to talk about the fact that I'd fucked my son's ex-girlfriend.

"What do you need to talk about, Peyton?" Nolo stepped around me, arms folded with an accusing look on his face.

"Nolan?" She frowned, her confused blue eyes darting between me and my son. "What are you doing here?"

Nolo laughed bitterly and shook his head. "What am I doing here, at my dad's house? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I—uh…" She looked like she had no idea what to say, eyes still darting between us as she stood frozen between the kitchen and living room.

"I've been worried about you." Instantly, Nolo softened, and I wondered if I should leave them to it, or not. But my feet refused to move away from her.

I waited for Peyton to soften, and I realized I expected her to choose him, despite her words before, because Nolo was a good man. He was kind and caring and smart as hell. And he was actually her age. Why wouldn't she choose him?

"Worried?" She said hesitantly, remaining firmly across the room from him.

"Lisa told me about your roommate, and when you didn't respond to my texts, I…" he shrugged and trailed off, and guilt flashed across Peyton's face.

"Oh, I…" she trailed off too, her fingers fidgeting nervously at the hem of her tank top. "Well, I guess…that's why I'm here. I needed protection, and you told me all about Rocky, so when shit got serious, I came to him."

"Seriously?" He took a step forward and reached out to her, but she took a step back. "Why didn't you come to me?"

She didn't immediately respond, but when he took another step towards her, she held up her hand to stop him, and steeled her gaze.

"Because I didn't want you getting the wrong idea." Although her expression was firm, her voice was soft, as if she didn't want to hurt him but knew she was about to.

A hundred emotions flashed across my son's face, and I felt my heart constrict at the sight of it. But when he didn't say anything, Peyton spoke again.

"I was scared, Nolan. I got a threat, one that told me it should have been me dead on the living room floor, and I couldn't stay on my own. You told me that you trust your dad with your life, I had his address that you gave me in case of an emergency, and I just… I panicked, and I came here. I'm not equipped to handle this kind of shit. I needed protection."

"I could have helped."

"I didn't want you to."

And there it was, the pure flash of pain that slid across my son's green eyes while he stared at the woman he thought he was in love with, and she broke his heart.

"I don't want you to protect me." She took a deep breath, sent me a quick glance, and then steeled her gaze. "You're not the one I want, Nolan. I'm sorry."

Finally, Nolo seemed to remember that the two of them weren't the only ones in the room. And when he turned, his own gaze now bouncing between me and the gorgeous redhead between us, he looked confused.

Peyton sent me another long look, and Nolo's brows lowered as he considered the two of us. "What… What's going on here?"

But Peyton just shook her head and took a few more steps back. "I'm sorry," is all she said, before she turned and disappeared upstairs.

I bit the inside of my cheek as she walked away, trying like hell not to watch the swing of her hips as she climbed the stairs. This was the most un-fucking-comfortable situation I'd ever been in. I felt like a piece of shit. I was the worst father on the fucking planet.

Nolan stared at me for a long, long moment after she left, and all I could do was stare back, unsure what his expression meant. But then his shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand over his face.

"Thank you for keeping her safe," he finally murmured, looking away from me.

"Of course," I replied, just as quietly. Tell him, I thought firmly, tell him now and get it fucking over with.

But my lips remained stubbornly sealed.

"I should go." He turned away, and I took an involuntary step towards him.

"Wait." Tell him, tell him, tell him. "I… Do you want some pizza? I hear it's chewy but delicious." Fuck you, Rocky, you coward.

"Nah, I think I'll head home. See you soon, Dad."

The door clicked shut behind him, and I collapsed onto the couch.

"I am a piece of shit," I said to myself.

I should have told him. Better yet, I should take Peyton to the clubhouse, let her stay there with around the clock protection from the MC. It would remove the intimacy and the proximity and the temptation that made it impossible to stay away from her.

I should, but I was too selfish, and I wanted her too badly.