She blinked up at me, her eyelashes spiked up with tears. "Y-You wouldn’t mind…?"
"Like I said, I used to be good with Cyan." Awkwardly, I shrugged. "It’s okay, you don’t have to—"
Her eyes were pretty much wild with desperation, which spoke of how damn long that car journey had been. So when MaryCat shoved the kid at me, I wasn’t surprised. Just grabbed a tight hold of the swaddled bundle.
God, it had been a long time since I held a baby.
Long time since I’d had to deal with the weird scent of powder and lotion and soap and the soft remnants of piss and shit from a soggy ass.
My lips curved, though, as I tucked him against me, and immediately the little dude calmed down.
I shot MaryCat a look, saw her shoulders were slumped as she took us both in, and I asked, "What’s his name?"
"Maddox."
I nodded. "Strong name."
"Digger picked it." Her tone was wooden as she stared at us both. "I-I think he misses his dad."
"Probably," I told her softly, aware of the cocktail of emotions in her voice. Jealousy and relief, misery and fatigue.
Keira hadn’t had to deal with postpartum depression or anything that awful, but I remembered how quick to cry she’d been back then. How tired.
Jesus, I’d been just as bad.
Cyan had barely slept for the first three months. At least, it felt that way at the time. After twelve weeks of sleep deprivation, my ass had barely been able to function, never mind do math.
With the warm bundle now napping in my arms, I muttered, "Right, let’s get to my office."
She gulped, nodded, and followed me to the back of the building. Once in there, I headed to the safe, and though with another brother, I’d have told them to fuck off while I opened it up, she wasn’t another brother.
She belonged to the West Orange chapter.
That made her family—in a way the Coshocton guys might never be.
The office was larger than Rex’s, consisted of a battered desk that barely survived the weight of my laptop or my legs when I propped them on there, a solid desk chair that was actually comfortable, a sofa on the back wall, a beaten-up coffee table, and some highly questionable artwork on the walls where a bunch of dogs played poker—real classy shit.
In the back corner, there was a free-standing safe for cash and another cabinet that housed the few weapons on the compound that were ‘legal.’ As for the rest, the corner opposite that one, in the window nook, was home to a bunch of houseplants.
I hadn’t changed the room that much since moving in. Nothing except a quick paint because the walls were spattered with what looked like dried blood and cum, and even I couldn’t live with that.
Either way, new paint job or not, that wasn’t enough to combat over a decade of substance abuse. It stank of smoke, with a little hint of weed that made me crave a joint in a wicked way, one which the houseplants did nothing to combat.
All in all, it wasn’t ideal bringing a newborn in here, and I really didn’t want MaryCat to sit on the sofa, but she did, holding the diaper bag on her lap, clinging to it like it was a life raft.
Sin’s half-sister was sitting on my fucking sofa.
The realization hit home just as I squatted down with Maddox still in my arms, opened up the safe, and grabbed the couple of Gs the taxi driver needed.
Activating the lock, I stood up, then asked, "You okay with me taking him outside?"
Her eyes were on her knees, and she nodded but stayed quiet.
"Hey," I chided softly, "it’s okay to be tired."
Her mouth wobbled as she caught my gaze with hers. "He just... he was crying all the way down here."
"Could you feed him?"
She shook her head. "I breastfeed. I didn’t want to—" She cleared her throat, then whispered, "Not with the driver able to see. We stopped once, but Maddox wouldn’t take..."
"He’s probably just hungry then, huh?" I shot her a calm smile. "I bet he starts crying for missing you the second I step out of the room."
"Maybe," she muttered, her misery clear to a blind man.
"I’ll be two minutes," I told her quietly, aware that she was staring at her knees again.
When she didn’t answer, I headed out of the office and started down the hallway again.
A clubwhore tripped out of the bar, her pupils dilated, her tits out.
"Back in there, Lolly," I ordered.
Last thing I wanted was for MaryCat to see that.
Of course, Lolly had other ideas.
She blinked, once, twice, before she puked in the hall.
Growling under my breath, I ducked my head into the bar, and hollered, "Get someone to clean this mess up."
And I wasn’t just talking about Lolly.
Surprised the kid didn’t utter a squawk at my roar, I peered down at him and saw his eyes were closed.
Babies were a conundrum sometimes.
Sitting in a moving car for eight hours, tucked up safe and sound in a car seat, his ma at his side, the kid didn’t sleep. Take him to a clubhouse, past a bar full of bikers and bunnies fucking and partying, the little man rested.
Go figure, I thought with a laugh.
It took the kid of a biker to be so fucking difficult.
Grim staggered upright and hauled one of the clubwhores off her knees. As he zipped up his dick, he caught my eye and nodded, telling me he’d deal with it.
Grim wanted to be my VP, but I wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t been on the old council, but that didn’t mean I trusted him.
Long story short, the last Prez’s Old Lady had run the show more than he had, and because of her ties to the Italian mafia in New York, had compromised the Sinners by getting us involved with them. Which, as we were at war with the fucking Famiglia, was a goddamn problem.
Earlier in the year, when Sin had been exiled to Coshocton for failing to protect Giulia from the fucker with a death wish who’d attacked her, he’d found a way to get back home—he’d uncovered a pedophile’s whereabouts.
Pedophiles were Giulia’s Old Man’s version of candy. So, with news of fresh meat, to Ohio Nyx had come, Old Lady at his side, along with Rex and, if memory served, Link and Steel.
It had been a real fucking road trip, one that ended with Nyx quieting his demons, Rex uncovering the truth behind the Ohio Chapter’s pussy-whipped Prez, and Sin being able to return home despite his sins.
Of course, with a Prez-shaped hole in Coshocton, someone needed to fill the fucker, and that schmuck was me. Surrounded by men I didn’t trust, trying to cobble together some form of leadership when I couldn’t even cobble together my goddamn marriage. Talk about a match made in hell.
Blowing out a breath, I headed past the bar and back out into the cold. The kid shivered in my arms so I tucked my cut around him, which immediately made him coo—little dude really did miss his dad—and I shoved the money at the taxi driver who was starting to look nervous.
At least the bastard was smart.
He snatched the cash, then with a heavy roar of his engine, reversed out of the driveway with a squeal of his tires.
Behind me, on my way back to the clubhouse, Little closed the gates. Upon my return, I found Cinnamon cleaning up the puke, making gagging noises as she did so. Lolly was dead to the world, snoring at her side while Cinnamon glared at her.