by Vixen, Jayna
Certain things were easier than he had expected—like the way his daughter accepted his presence, like he had always been there. He would never forget the first time she called him “daddy.” It was a morning so early that it could still be considered night. A voice, pure and innocent, beckoned him from sleep and sent him into that pink and white-checkered room to comfort her—his daughter.
“Daddy,” Sirena sighed peacefully as she settled back to sleep cradled in his good arm.
As that single word sank into his sleepy brain, a curious warmth began to heat up a place inside of Dax that he had never been aware of before. The comforting glow spread into his chest as he gazed at the child who slumbered against his tattooed arm. He had wondered how this was going to work—how he was going to make things fit together in terms of the club and his instant family…and then…he hadn’t had to do anything at all. Everything just fell into place like the island had waved a magic wand on him and everyone who mattered to him.
Other things, however, made him feel like a total fucking jackass. Right now—this was one of those things. Dax checked the his phone for the third time. Rhee wouldn’t be home for a good hour—working on some big fundraiser for her little studio. He was impressed with Rhee’s tenacity. All she wanted was to give back to the community that had supported her in her time of need. She wanted to help kids and give them a place to go, something to do—something to believe in.
Some new donor showed out of the blue several months ago and Rhee was all over the potential for a large grant. Dax was happy that she was living her dream, but at the same time her passion took a little bit too much of her away for his liking. It was times like this one that he really needed her, goddammit.
There would be no saving him this time.
“Daddy! Hafta poop!”
Shit!
Literally.
“Okay, honey. Where—I mean, do you need…” Dax was frozen in place—not the most convenient reaction to this particular challenge.
Jesus fucking Christ! I’d rather deal with a thousand rookie grunts than this.
A blond blur whizzed by, making a beeline for the bathroom. Dax rushed after Sirena in a blind panic, his heart thumping in his chest. What was he supposed to do again? Oh, shit. The potty seat. Where the hell was it? Frantic, he flung open the cabinet and began rummaging around in it, to no avail.
“Daddy!”
The innocent little voice jolted Dax from his frenzy.
His heart seized up and for a moment, Dax clutched his chest. Was this a heart attack or was love a more violent emotion than he had presumed? Slowly, he turned to observe the blond haired, blue-eyed sprite sitting on her potty seat. Apparently, Sirena put it in place on her own and had successfully relieved herself. Dax felt some of his tension ease.
Until…
“Need wipies.”
Sirena regarded him, seeming to pick up on his angst, mirth in those deep blue eyes that matched his own. Then, she reached behind herself for the wipes that sat on top of the toilet tank. Frustration set into her jaw as she struggled to remove one from the plastic package.
“Uhhh!” Sirena exclaimed, in a tone that communicated she was close to a meltdown.
Fuck, give me a clubhouse full of bullet holes and hangover vomit any day!
Dax surprised himself by managing the delicate task at hand without so much as a grimace. In fact, he found himself swelling with a strange kind of pride as his independent offspring grinned at him and proclaimed,
“I do it all by myself!”
Dax was chuckling now, as Sirena refused to let him help her pull up her pink sparkly tights. Her panties—fuckin’ pink panties to boot—ended up bunched up in a massive wedgie, but he knew better than to try to fix them.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ, me and a kid who wears pink tights.
Dax shook his head as Sirena bolted from the bathroom, blatantly ignoring his request to wash her hands.
Well, fuck it. I’ll pick my battles.
The little girl tore into the bedroom and a few minutes later, her giggles told Dax that she was up to no good.
Little troublemaker. Yeah, she’s definitely my blood.
Dax wasn’t totally aware of the big, shit-eating grin on his face as he chased down his daughter. But as he was ushered to a set of purple toy teacups, he was completely cognizant of the joy that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of him…and overflowed.
***
Rhee was tired, but in a good way. Never—never in her wildest dreams would she have thought her life would be this, well, great. That part of her, the one that had convinced her that a happy life with a good man was not meant to be, had been almost completely silenced.
Almost.
I don’t deserve happiness. Not until I find Mickey.
It was a constant mental war to focus on the positive, to allow herself the joy that seeing her daughter and father together brought. How could she be happy? She agonized over the thought that her momentary happiness was causing Mickey to slip from her consciousness a little more each day.
What if my concern is the only thing keeping my sister alive?
It was a crazy thought. Right? It made no sense. But a part of Rhee couldn’t let it go. Maybe, just maybe…as long as she worried about Mickey, as long as Mickey’ absence impacted her, she kept the hope alive that one day, her little sister would be found—and that she would be in one piece.
Rhee entertained all sorts of fantasies. After Mickey’s picture of a cartel hit was sent to Rhee, Dax thought that Mickey was in Witsec, to avoid retaliation. So, maybe she was somewhere totally divine, like Paris or Greece, living as someone else. Or maybe she was living it up with her rich, handsome husband. Her little sister deserved no less. Rhee refused to think about the alternate realities that were possible. Mickey would be found, alive and well.
She had to be.
She just…had to be.
But…what if Mickey hates me?
Rhee couldn’t deny the possibility that her sister was out there but simply wanted nothing to do with her. After all, she abandoned Mickey—left her there in that house, when she knew that Paul was capable of doing terrible things. It was why she left. The moment her stepfather tried to put his filthy fucking hands on her, Rhee was out of there.
In some respects, Rhee understood that there was little she could have done to prevent what happened in that house. She had been hardly more than a child herself, and all she could think about was getting away. She never considered that Paul would go after her younger sister.
The bastard.
Sometimes, Rhee had hopeful dreams about her Mickey, but more often than not, she had nightmares. Thankfully, sharing a bed with Dax seemed to quell most of her bad memories. In fact, every pleasurable experience she had with the man overwrote her past a little bit more. There was no lack of pleasure with virile, sexy Dax Jamison around.
Mr. Tall, Blond, and Dangerous made it easy to pretend that the past never existed…well, most of the time anyway.
She hid her insecurities well, but Rhee still woke up each day praying that her current life wasn’t just a dream—that Dax was really here. With them. Her soul literally sighed with relief every time she saw him. Even the sight of his damp board shorts hanging in the bathroom made her heart squeeze. Dax inserted himself back into her life with the kind of force that suggested he wasn’t going anywhere. But Rhee still worried.
It was in her nature.
Especially after all that had occurred.
The hunt for Mickey had taken Rhee to Darling where she met Dax and had gotten mixed up in a situation that had nearly been fatal. Then, finding herself pregnant with Dax’s child, she had taken off, with Charisma’s help. Rhee had hoped she would find Mickey on the island, but she found Manali and Turtle’s crew instead. They took care of her, and her daughter. Just when things started to settle down, Dax showed up, and to say he was pissed was the understatement of the year.
But Dax had chosen her. Them. He
was here, and even though she still felt insecure, it looked like he wasn’t going anywhere. Yet.
After what had happened with the crazed shipping magnate, Vidal, Rhee drove herself fucking crazy for weeks. She agonized over Dax, his relationship with Sirena, his strange deal with the club…and she still looked over her shoulder every now and again wondering if Vidal was really gone—if they were really safe. She tried to hide her fear from Dax, but he was quite masterful in the way he was able to read her these days.
Well, the truth was that every time she got worried, she found herself tossed over a broad, muscled shoulder and hauled into the bedroom. Dax’s way of dealing with her anxiety was proving to be quite effective. Or maybe…pairing multiple orgasms with her fear was actually reinforcing it?
No, that just wasn’t the case. Dax Jamison was her magic pill. He was better than any other therapy or medication. His touch swept the painful thoughts right out of her mind and jerked her into a reality that was pure emotion and ecstasy. Rhee blushed at the image that came to mind: Dax’s face, his blue eyes darkening to gray as he took her again and again—until that little voice in her head just turned off.
God, and lately, the deep tan and the scar on his shoulder made him look even more rugged and dangerous. Rhee sighed. Just thinking about the man made her belly clench in anticipation.
A little smile played around Rhee’s mouth as she pushed open her front door. The cottage was totally quiet. It wasn’t unusual. Manali was spending a lot of time at Turtle’s place taking care of his uncle, and Dax wasn’t the kind to sit around and play tea party with Sirena until Rhee returned from her studio.
They probably headed to the beach.
Humming to herself, she dropped her bag on the couch and headed for the bathroom. The door to Sirena’s room was slightly ajar. She glanced inside and then Rhee stopped in her tracks.
Dax, the long, lean length of him, was sprawled on Sirena’s toddler bed. He was spilling out of the damn thing, which must have been quite uncomfortable, but despite that, the man was fast asleep. His arm was tucked behind his head. Sirena cuddled next to him, her face burrowed against his chest.
That squeezing thing her heart seemed to do when she observed Dax and Sirena together started up in her chest as she stared at the unexpected—and slightly comical—sight.
Dax—wild, tattooed, Dax—fast asleep with his daughter in his arms. The sight warmed her heart. The rest of the scene came into focus. Purple teacups and saucers littered the room. The bed was crowded not only with Dax’s large frame, but with several stuffed animals. Sirena’s favorite monkey peeked out from beneath the man’s torso. But what had Rhee struggling to stifle her laughter was the shiny pink tiara that perched crookedly atop Dax’s white-blond hair.
Rhee choked as she struggled to contain her snort of laughter. Her eyes welled up with tears of mirth. She held her breath as she rummaged in her pocket for her phone. She snapped a few pictures before easing the door shut and escaping to the living room where she collapsed in a fit of giggles.
As she perused the photos, her mirth dissolved into something…else. Something that had her nipples hardening and a needy ache beginning to dance between her thighs. Rhee knew a thing or two about secret photos.
Blackmail.
Tonight, Dax is going to be the one tied to the headboard.
Chapter Three
Wince was busier than he had ever been in his life. As the club liaison, running between the island and the Darling crew, Wince was on a plane more than he was on his bike. Even though some of the originals had started to call him “Preppy,” thanks to the full head of dark hair he was currently sporting, he didn’t mind the travel as much as he thought he would. In fact, the constant moving around assuaged an unusual restlessness that he was recently aware of.
Wince stood in for Dax at the table when he was stateside, and when he was on the island, he helped oversee growth and distribution of the crops. It was a sweet deal, really, with all the free chronic and coffee he could handle.
After a while, he found that he actually preferred the coffee.
He couldn’t ask for a better life.
So, why did he long for something else…something he couldn’t even identify?
It hit him at specific times—like when Sirena tripped and skinned her knee, and Dax swept her up into his arms and she was laughing in no time. Or, when Rhee and Dax left the dinner table to put the Sirena to bed. Bearing witness to those intimate little facets of their daily lives made Wince’s heart feel funny.
To be more specific, it made his heart ache. It was strange, but Wince realized that he had never thought much about his life outside of, or beyond the club. Then, after what happened with Dax and that fucking nut job Vidal, Wince found himself wanting more. Watching Dax make the ultimate choice—to take off his cherished cut and trade it for his woman and his child—affected Wince more deeply than he let on.
Fuck, I think I’m actually ready to settle down. I need an old lady.
Or did he?
Thanks to his new patch, Wince was getting laid more often than he could count. There were a bunch of groupies offering to suck his dick on a daily basis. He enjoyed the pussy for a while, but after a few weeks, it got a little, well, old.
Sure, he liked the deference the guys showed him. Who wouldn’t? It was like he was third in line to the throne behind Hawk and Dax. But something about the club life was starting to seem false. Especially now that Dax was showing that there was a way to have something more. Something…real. And he didn’t have to give up the club. Not really. Dax worked a deal with Hawk. Yeah, he didn’t wear his cut every day, but he wore his ink and he was still the Phantoms’ vice president. Nothing was gonna change that.
Wince shook himself out of his reverie and pulled out his laptop. He kept his promises. Plus, this particular promise had the welcome side effect of distracting him from just the kinds of fucked up thoughts he was having right now. Rhiannon was like a sister to him. She was in his heart—she’d been there from day one—even though he had come to terms with the fact that her presence inside of him wouldn’t be in the romantic sense.
Even though she covered it up pretty well, Rhee was totally messed up about her sister. It was eating at her and over time, it was was getting worse. Part of her was missing. Sometimes, the way Dax looked at his woman told Wince that his vice president was aware of Rhee’s emotional turmoil. Wince knew that it was only a matter of time before the girl lost it—and he wasn’t about to let that happen.
Neither was Dax.
One night, after smoking a fat joint of their latest crop together, Dax made a rare confession. He told Wince he felt helpless when it came to Rhee’s situation. The man hated leaving things unresolved. And when the loose end was a missing family member, it tore Dax up. Family—blood—it was everything to a man like Dax. The two had been looking for Mickey for years now, and for all of their efforts, nothing had surfaced.
It was…strange.
First, it looked like Mickey went north, to Canada. But then, the business with the memory stick and the photos on it had sent Rhee and the Phantoms straight into the middle of a fucked up deal with an infamous Mexican drug cartel. That was when Wince realized just how stubborn Rhiannon Blake could be. She marched her naïve little ass straight into the viper’s nest and it was a miracle they were able to get there in time to save her.
Well, truth be told, Rhiannon gave as good as she got in her fight to get to her sister. When she was called down to the station to identify the girl the cartel boss, Salazar, murdered, it was with a morbid kind of glee that they discovered the red-haired woman wasn’t Rhee’s sister—she was just some dead hooker Salazar had used to lure Rhee and the incriminating pictures she had to him.
Like a ghost, Michaela Blake had disappeared into thin air. They had exhausted all of their leads with the cops. Carter, their inside guy with Darling PD, had nothing—even encouraged them to drop the search. Carter hinted at witness protection, whi
ch Wince hoped for, because it meant Mickey was in a safe house somewhere. A few weeks later, Carter was sent out into the field, and their information pipeline went silent.
Something about the situation just didn’t make sense to Wince. There was a little itch—in the back of his consciousness—that told him something wasn’t quite right. It bothered his analytical brain immensely when things didn’t add up. It was like one of those damn Sudoku puzzles he used to do—man the guys had given him hell about those—but once he got started, Wince just couldn’t leave a puzzle unfinished.
Mickey ran from Darling because she was afraid of someone—that was why she took off, leaving Rhee with nothing but a hasty phone call begging for help. Wince refused to entertain the idea that the girl was dead. She was either still on the run, or had been taken into the program…or maybe…she was forced into Witsec? He’d have to do some serious hacking to find out.
He was going to start over, re-examine everything—and he wasn’t going to stop digging until he found out what had happened to Michaela Blake.
Chapter Four
It wasn’t his place to say anything, but there was definitely something about Hawk lately.
Slade was still a grunt, but he hoped to be patched in soon. He was doing his time and he was through almost half of it. Speaking out of turn, or talking shit to the wrong person, was definitely not the way to earn his cut. He wanted his leather.
No, he needed it.
Getting in with a powerful club was the only play Slade could come up with after his old man went inside on false charges—thanks to one of the Phantoms’ biggest rivals. Everybody on the street knew the Phantoms had beef with the Chicos. Plus, Hawk’s club had a reputation for behaving in alignment with some sort of bro code of honor. Slade knew that once he got in, he only had to bide his time before he crossed paths with the Chicos with the backing of the biggest, baddest MC in the area. When he did, he would exact the kind of revenge that would make his father proud.
