Secret Baby Complete Series Box Set

by Michelle Hart

  Cole turned away from me and faced the overpass. “The Death Merchants need to pay for what they did. They need to pay for Blaze, Cash, E-Z, and all the others they slaughtered. Even if I was the only one left, I'd still go after them until every single one of them was dead. Tank and Tater would say the exact same thing. I don't want to trust Byron but I have no other choice.”

  Cole turned around with tears in his eyes. This tough biker of mine was full of heart. How could I not fall for a man that would go to the ends of the earth to avenge the ones he loved?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cole

  Tater and I rode next to each other on our bikes while Tank drove the black truck behind us filled to the brim with every gun that Rabid Dogs MC owned. I forced Claire to stay back at the clubhouse until I got back. She pounded my chest with both fists, screaming at me about why she deserved to go.

  All it took was for me to say, “I wouldn't be able to focus one-hundred percent if I knew you were in danger. I could get us all killed.” Claire stepped down and let me go. I hated to leave her behind but it was the only way to know that she was safe.

  This raid on the Mexican restaurant was our last ditch effort. If we couldn't take out a substantial portion of The Death Merchants, there wouldn't be enough of us left to defend against a counterattack.

  The thought of betrayal by the Fires of Hell lingered in the back of my mind. Byron would barely have to lift a finger to destroy what's left of the Rabid Dogs MC. We'd finally be out of his way and he'd have our entire gun supply. The only thing I could count on was our blood pact. Hopefully Byron felt the same way as I did about honor.

  We came to the overpass to discover a decimated army of Blacks on bikes. There had to be only ten of them. I hated to think of how many members they lost when the Mexicans hit them. The Rabid Dogs MC knew their pain.

  Tank opened the back of the truck to reveal piles of assault rifles, handguns, and machine guns. Byron laughed hard, his white teeth glaring at me. “Who would have thought the Rabid Dogs MC had this much firepower. You could take on a small country with all this.” Byron took out a M4A-1 rifle and cocked it. “Let's get to work.”

  Tater and I helped pass out guns to all the Blacks. There were still a ton left after each Fires of Hell member took as much as they wanted. I knew the Rabid Dogs MC would never see those guns again. We were giving the Blacks everything they needed to rule Sacks County. Once the Mexicans were finally gone, we'd have an even bigger war with the Fires of Hell.

  Tank rode with me and Tater's fat ass was right next to us as we followed behind the large sea of Black. All I could think about was not getting in one last fuck with Claire before marching off to my death. I should have been focusing on surviving but the thought of my hard cock piercing Claire's eager pussy was distracting. If only I could have made her moan my name one last time while coming inside her.

  Tank put a fist into my side and I snapped back to reality. We were entering the far east of Sacks County. The Blacks owned this side but in recent years a big Mexican population had moved in. Little Wetback shops and restaurants lined the streets and not one Black was to be found. If we weren't careful, this virus could infect the entire county.

  The Fires of Hell turned down a dark alleyway with old beat-up cars parked on both sides. We followed and parked when we were out of sight of the main street. Tank pulled his shotgun from a holster on my bike. Tater was busy cleaning his pistol. The night air was cool but adrenaline and my leather cut kept me warm.

  Byron signaled me over and hunched down. “Okay Cole, the restaurant is a block from here. We hit it from the front, spraying the windows, and then get the hell out of there.”

  Byron's plan was a classic Fires of Hell move—hit it hard and run away. In the past few years, we had fallen to their guerrilla-style tactics. Byron's MC didn't care about finishing jobs, just creating as much chaos as possible. His plan with the Mexicans wouldn't guarantee us success.

  “Why don't you guys hit the front and my guys hit the back?”

  Byron shook his head. “Behind the Mexican restaurant in the alley is a bank. They have cameras covering the entire thing. You might as well deliver yourself to the cops with a bow taped to your chest.”

  “We won't be able to kill them all. They'll escape into the alley to fight another day. What if we guard both exits of the alley. Fire on them as they try to get out.”

  Byron sighed. “We don't have enough to cover all the exits. Besides, the Mexicans own that bank and could hold up in there if they wanted. I want minimal casualties. I know you'll agree that we both can't afford to lose anymore men.”

  Byron was completely right. If Tater or Tank died, the Rabid Dogs MC would be done for. There's no way we could rebuild with only two members. It was essential that we all survived.

  The group of us drove our motorcycles down the street in a line. We stopped in front of a little restaurant called Los Hermanos. Two large windows looked into the restaurant from the street. The entire Death Merchant MC was in there celebrating with beers and women. They had no idea what was about to hit them.

  The line of Blacks and Whites drew their guns and pointed at the restaurant. The first shot went off, hitting the big pane of glass and shattering it. The rest of us opened fire, bullets raining down on the Mexicans. A few of them were quick enough to return fire. Blood sprayed the walls of the restaurant. Tank's shotgun burned in my ear with every shot.

  One of Byron's men got hit in the head and fell off his bike, his gun chattering on the pavement. I looked back at the restaurant and aimed carefully, hitting one of the Mexicans in the head—brain matter exploded behind him, covering one of the cheap whores. Her screams of horror brought a smile to my face.

  Another Fires of Hell member got hit in the shoulder and sped away. Byron yelled and we stopped firing. The restaurant was completely annihilated but there were still Mexicans alive to fire back at us. I wanted them dead. No, worse then dead, I wanted them to be tortured slowly for a thousand years. But if we stayed there any longer, more men would die.

  Our bike engines thundered as we escaped into the night. The Rabid Dogs MC came out of the battle unscathed. The Fires of Hell lost one guy and another injured. The Death Merchants lost the most. We must have killed at least twenty of them.

  I'd find out later that we got their President and Vice-President. A complete success. The Death Merchants would have a hard time coordinating revenge. And even if they did attack, they'd have to take out all the Fires of Hell first.

  Chapter Twenty

  Claire

  Sitting in the empty clubhouse, waiting for Cole to come back was eating away at my nerves. I paced around the bar and pool tables, my fingers locked together. What if Cole was killed? Or seriously injured? I imagined him being brought in, his arms around the shoulders of Tank and Tater. They fling his bullet-ridden body onto one of the pool tables, blood pooling into puddles and pouring into the pockets of the table.

  I shook the nightmare away and went to the bar for a drink. I picked up a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and poured a glass. I noticed something funny on the glass and looked closer to find a smudge of blood. Cole tried to shield me from seeing the massacre that happened here but I had seen enough. The corpses littered the floor, their dead eyes staring up at me. Just like Cash back in the basement. Was he still down there? Dead and lifeless. I didn't dare go down there to check. I couldn't face that monster again.

  I left the blood-smudged glass on the counter and took the bottle of Jack instead. I sat down on one of the barstools and spun around. The first few tastes scorched the insides of my throat on the way down. As the alcohol warmed me up, the burning sensation subsided.

  I wondered how why I was still here. I could leave at any point. Cole nor Byron owned me. I could go back to school. Have friends again. Become a normal girl. I thought about calling Heather to tell her that I was all right. But I had no idea what to even tell her. My story sounded ludicrous. I wasn't even sure
I believed it.

  What I did believe was that my heart was connected to Cole's. I barely knew the man but he had a power about him. It wasn't just all physical attraction either. I would have left the first chance I got if it was only about the sex. Cole was the first real man I'd ever met. Someone that I could spend the rest of my life with.

  But did I really want to live the outlaw life? This nerve-wracking feeling I was experiencing right now would only be just a taste. I could be living every day in fear that we would be killed by any one of the Rabid Dogs's enemies.

  The bar rumbled as I heard motorcycles parking outside. Please be okay, Cole. Please be okay. I closed my eyes and chanted over and over again. I couldn't get the image of a almost-dead Cole laying on the pool table.

  The door opened and in came Cole, Tater, and Tank. All alive with not even a scratch. I bounded off the bar stool and jumped into Cole's arms, smacking my lips against his. Cole was exhausted. I could see it in his eyes.

  “How did it go?” I asked, sitting back down at the bar. Tater and Tank came around and poured themselves drinks.

  Cole took a sip from my whiskey bottle. “We hit them hard. Byron lost a man but we took out the majority of The Death Merchants MC.”

  Tank lifted his glass. “To our fallen brothers. May you rest easy now that you're avenged.”

  Cole almost broke down in tears. He'd been through so much lately. Lost so many friends. Cole lifted the bottle and clinked it against Tank's glass. Tater silently drank in the corner. Even with the success they just had, the men knew that their MC would never be the same. Sacks County would never be the same.

  “What now?” I asked Cole.

  “We rebuild the Rabid Dogs MC.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cole

  The clubhouse was returned to it's former glory. Claire did her part in cleaning the entire place until it was spotless. The dead were buried and remembered. Cash was a casualty of the Mexicans and Tank and Tater could never know what really happened to him.

  The three of us sat around the meeting table that Tater had finally finished carving. A large spider was cut into the wood. The words Rabid Dogs MC were burned into the table. I looked up at the freshly framed photos of the recently deceased. Blaze's eyes stared back at me.

  The first time I met him, I was a freshman in high school. He was so big and confident. I thought he had to be a senior because he looked so mature but he was the same age as me. When I found out he was into motorcycles, I tried to learn as much about them as possible just so we would have something in common. I wanted to be just like him. He was our leader and the founder of the Rabid Dogs MC.

  The seat at the head of the table was empty. We didn't dare go near it. “First thing we need to do is elect a new president,” I choked out.

  Tater spoke up, “There's only one man that can lead us now.” Tank nodded in agreement, grinning at me like a son of a bitch.

  I sighed and buried my head in my hands. I never wanted to be president. Blaze was always our leader. How could I ever fill his shoes? I stood up from my seat and was almost tempted to run for the door. I took the chair at the head of the table and sat down. The view looked spectacular. I grabbed the wooden gavel that Blaze had held so many times before. The end was nicked and raw from being hammered down so much. Blaze made a lot of important decisions in this room. Not all of them I agreed with. But the MC wouldn't have gotten this far without him.

  I slammed down the gavel. “I bring this meeting to order. All those in favor of Cole as the new President of the Rabid Dogs MC say aye.”

  Tank and Tater began slowly pounding the table and then picking up speed until the booming was deafening. The Rabid Dogs MC had a new Prez.

  I couldn't fully commit to President until I had taken care of one more thing.

  Claire sat at the bar, nursing an entire whiskey bottle. She had been through so much since the kidnapping. And she had stood by me. She was still here after everything I did to her. But I couldn't let my heart govern this club. I needed to be focused one-hundred percent. I couldn't let a chick cloud my mind. Everything was on the line and I wouldn't sacrifice my club for a wet pussy.

  Claire's long milky-white legs went on for days. I admired her as she fiddled around on the bar stool. I could take her for a spin one last time—come inside her until my balls were bone dry. I'd love to feel those lips around my throbbing cock, sucking on me so hard. My jeans tightened at just the thought of having Claire. But I couldn't anymore.

  I had to be mature and responsible now. It was funny because I never would have considered Blaze “mature” or “responsible.” But he must have been to take the club this far.

  I sat down at the bar next to Claire and took a long drag on the bottle of Jack Daniels. I was going to need a lot of liquid courage. The alcohol warmed me on the way down, my head already feeling the buzz. Another couple swigs and I was looking as red as Claire.

  “I'm glad you got back safe,” Claire said, facing straight ahead at the bar. “I was worried there for a moment. I didn't know what Byron was going to do to you after you took out the Mexicans. I'm glad he kept his word.”

  “Me too,” I replied, grabbing for another bottle of whiskey behind the counter.

  “He used to be really nice. My brother. We used to play in the backyard together and he'd protect me from monsters and dragons. I was the fairy princess that always needed saving. But as we grew older, he took things a bit too literally. He was so possessive and demanding. I could never go back to that.”

  I took a deep long breath that would hopefully instill me with bravery. “Claire, I'm the new President of the Black Widows now.”

  Claire turned to me and smiled. “You deserve it.” Behind her eyes, I could see the gears working. She knew where this conversation was heading.

  “I don't know what we have between us but my MC needs me now. I won't have time for relationships. I can't do this with you anymore, Claire.”

  Claire dropped her head and nodded. She knew what I was going to say before I even said it. Claire raised her head and looked at me with tears in her eyes. She went to open her mouth to say something but couldn't form any words. My heart was breaking within my chest. I wanted to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right. I wanted to save the fairy princess.

  But it would only make matters worse. I turned to walk away, my feet buried in cement. I couldn't let my emotions rule me. I stepped away and Claire whispered my name before I shut the door on her forever. There'd be plenty of sluts to fill my bed and give me that much needed release with no strings attached.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Claire

  My entire life was crumbling before me. I sat at the bar and polished off a couple bottles of whiskey. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn't go back to Byron and I wasn't welcome with the Black Widows anymore.

  I couldn't help but laugh at my situation. When I was hostage, all I could think about was escaping from this place. Now I wanted to stay here now more than ever. But Cole was done with me. Like I was some two-cent whore he picked up off the streets. He was just like every other biker. Their head so far up their ass that they couldn't see what was right in front of them.

  Fuck Cole. I didn't need him.

  I went to the only friend left, Heather. She acted like I had been dead and resurrected. I told her the long story about being kidnapped and all about Cole. She let me stay in her dorm room which her roommate didn't like too much. But I had no where else to go. I couldn't stomach the thought of going back to my parents. They pretty much exiled me after I went to live with Byron.

  But what was I supposed to do?

  I tried going to class, keep my mind of Cole and the Black Widows. School just didn't interest me much anymore. Heather tried to take me out to a club but I just ended up going back to the dorms early.

  Weeks passed by and I thought I was going to go crazy. Sleeping on the floor of Heather's dorm room made me feel like I was homeless.
In fact, I was homeless. Barely had any money to my name, and not even a bed to sleep on. My life had hit rock bottom. There was only one place where I belonged now.

  Heather thought I was insane for getting a tattoo. “It's not like you, Claire,” she said.

  “You don't know me anymore, Heather,” I replied. I didn't like burning the last good friendship I had but it was the truth. I was a different person now.

  Heather held my hand as the man with giant plugs in his ears inked my back. The pain was nothing compared to what I had been through the past couple months.