by Sophia Gray
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
THE BABY VOW: The Angel’s Keepers MC copyright 2017 by Sophia Gray. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
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Contents
THE BABY VOW: The Angel’s Keepers MC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
THE BABY OATH: Anarchy’s Reign MC
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
SINGLE DADDY DOM: Bone Breakers MC
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Also by Sophia Gray
THE BABY OATH: Anarchy’s Reign MC
THE BABY PACT: The Twisted Saints MC
HIS BRANDED BRIDE: Steel Devils MC
HIS INKED BRIDE: Black Aces MC
HIS BOUND BRIDE: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance
HIS CAPTIVE BRIDE: Grim Rebels MC
MOAN: The Cantonneli Mafia
CONSUME ME: The Bleeding Prophets MC
DEVOUR ME: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (The Wicked Angels MC)
One More Ride: Carnage Warriors MC
ONE MORE NIGHT: Jungle’s Thorns MC
ONE MORE TASTE: A Dark Bad Boy Mafia Romance
SUBMISSION: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (The Marauders MC)
DADDY’S ANGEL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Crowns of Satan MC)
DADDY’S PRINCESS: The Horsemen MC
FILLED: Berserkers MC
BOUNTY: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Giustini Family Mafia)
Prize: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
MINE: Fury Riders MC
SINS: Devil’s Horns MC
OBEY: A Dark Romance
DENY: A Dark Romance
HEAT: A Dark Romance
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THE BABY VOW: The Angel’s Keepers MC
By Sophia Gray
I PROMISED THE PRINCESS I’D GIVE HER AN EXTRA SPECIAL GIFT.
But it’ll be nine months until my treat gets delivered.
She came where she shouldn’t have come to do stuff she shouldn’t be doing.
No wonder things went wrong.
She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.
But I was born to fight, f**k, and drink.
So when she steps into my bar with adventure on her mind, she better get ready…
Things are about to get messy.
Because there’s no one to protect her here.
Especially not her politician daddy.
I’m gonna take her again and again until I accomplish what I came for:
Putting my baby in her womb.
To hell with what comes next.
Her father can try to hurt me all he wants.
He’ll never have what I have:
His daughter’s V-card in my pocket and my baby in her belly.
I swear one thing to you, my little angel:
You’re going to be sore tomorrow.
Chapter 1
Amelia
Amelia turned on a smile and took a sip of her champagne. She needed both to get through the evening ahead of her.
“So, he said it was a yacht,” Lauren went on. “But, it was the smallest boat I’ve ever seen.”
Katie giggled, sweeping another three glasses of champagne off of a passing server’s tray. “Did he think you wouldn’t know?” she asked, handing the crystal flutes around. “You are a Dorfman. He has to know your father has a fleet of his own.”
Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know what he thought, but I certainly didn’t sail off into the sunset with him on his pathetic little skiff.”
Amelia laughed because she knew Lauren expected it. The Dorfmans were big political supporters and even bigger donors. And Lauren was spoiled rotten. She’d already complained about the champagne, the venue, and the waiter who’d taken too long to get to her with the tray of hors d'oeuvres. Amelia hadn’t seen that particular waiter again, which meant Daddy Dorfman had taken care of it for his little girl. She pushed her annoyance down before it could show. Her father had been in politics since she was three; she knew how to arrange a poker face by now.
“At least your father lets you out of the house,” Katie said with a resentful sigh.
Lauren laughed, “Sweetie, I don’t ask.”
“My parents have decided I need to go to college this fall and they haven’t let me out of their sight since,” Katie went on, looking envious of the other young woman.
“What are you going to study?” Amelia asked, leaning forward in interest. She had loved her college years. The freedom had been part of it, but the sense of purpose had been even more important. She couldn’t believe she’d managed to land right back where she started.
Katie Martin only shrugged. “They haven't decided yet.”
Lauren sighed heavily. “You need to get your parents in line. I wasn’t nearly that bad when I was your age.”
Amelia smiled reluctantly. She and Lauren were closer in age than the senator’s daughter who stood with them, and Lauren had had her parents wrappe
d around her little finger since she was old enough to give orders.
“Well, not all of us have an investment portfolio of our own to fall back on if our parents disown us,” Katie snapped.
Lauren’s eyes widened for just a moment and then a cold, indifferent look settled on her sharply pretty face. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who’s interested in your problems,” Lauren said. “Why don’t you run along back to Mommy and Daddy, little girl? It must be getting close to your bedtime.”
Katie’s face flushed bright red and she cast a glance at Amelia. Amelia looked down into her glass. The Martin family didn’t donate to her father’s Taylorpaign. The Dorfman family did. She hated that that was a factor, but speaking up now wouldn’t do her father’s struggling Taylorpaign any good. Katie slammed her champagne glass down onto the nearest table and stalked away, her black Prada dress swishing with every angry movement.
Lauren laughed, but the amusement didn’t reach her hazel eyes. She was watching Katie with a narrow gaze that promised retribution.
“She’s just a kid,” Amelia said cautiously. She’d seen Lauren destroy other girl’s reputations before for slights both real and imagined. It was early in life for Katie to have to worry about that kind of thing. She was barely eighteen.
“A kid who needs to learn some manners.”
The accusation had struck home, Amelia could tell. The straw-colored liquid in Lauren’s glass was sloshing ever so slightly as her hand trembled.
“I’d be exactly like I am now if I didn’t have that money,” she said, her voice low and angry. “And she needs to understand that.”
Amelia laughed. She’d gotten it down to a science. It sounded exactly like she was really amused. Of course, twenty-three years of practice would do that for any skill. “Everyone knows that,” she lied. “Why waste your time with little Katie when you’ve got yachts to sail on? Now, tell me honestly, which of the waiters would you take home?”
Lauren scanned the room, placated and diverted. “The guy with the veggie platter is pretty hot.”
Amelia looked at him, too. “Tall, dark, and handsome. Isn’t that a little cliché?”
Lauren grinned. “Well, darling, I wasn’t planning on keeping him.” She straightened her dress. “I’ll be back.”
Amelia watched her walk away. Apparently, the dress, though it looked fairly simple, was part of an exclusive collection just off the Paris runway. Everyone had been talking about it.
Amelia had to admit it looked good. It was form-fitting with a deep plunging neckline and a scallop down the front that enhanced and caressed all of Lauren’s curves. To be perfectly honest, Lauren would have looked good in almost anything. Her confidence would have carried her even if her hours with a personal trainer weren’t obvious in every move she made.
Amelia rubbed the back of her neck. Her hair, swept back into an intricate chignon, was starting to come down just a bit. It always did, even though she’d tried every trick in the book to get it to stay where she’d put it.
It wasn’t just the hair either. She felt like there was always something just a little off about her appearance, no matter how hard she tried to match the other women in her circle.
Her hair would invariably come down, or there would be a small run in her stocking, or she’d arrive in what she thought was the latest trend, only to find her clothing just a few weeks out of style. Amelia’s own little black dress had missed the mark of simple elegance that Lauren’s had hit so effortlessly; she felt boring and stodgy. She sighed, wishing she could leave and knowing she couldn’t.
A booming voice over the speakers shook her out of her musings and made her jump.
Ben Barlow, the Governor of Nevada, had leaned close to the microphone. “And now,” he said jovially. “Let me introduce you to the man who made this possible, your state representative, Gregory Stratton!”
Amelia turned to watch her father ascend the small stage. He was smiling out at the crowd and she felt a slight surge of pride. He really did care a lot about the people of the state he represented. It was easy to forget when he was infuriating her and treating her more like a three-year-old than a twenty-three-year-old, but he was passionate about his job. She’d been so proud of him when she was younger.
“Good evening,” he said, his well-trained politician’s voice echoing through the room. “I’m so happy to see you all here. With your help and donations, I know we can conquer the drug problem in Nevada!”
The crowd clapped enthusiastically. Amelia looked down at her shoes. They’d argued over the fundraiser; she’d wanted him to do something more concrete with people’s time and money than the amorphous “war on drugs” but he’d shot down her suggestions. She let the rest of his speech wash over her without letting it really sink in. She’d heard him practicing enough over the past two months anyway.
When he was done speaking, he waited for the applause to end before leaving the stage. The crowd began reaching for purses and wallets, fired up to save the youth of their state from the evils of marijuana. His Taylorpaign might be struggling, but Gregory Stratton had always been an excellent and effective speaker, able to sweep a crowd right along with him.
Amelia turned away, wanting another glass of champagne. The irony of the fact that half of the group was tipsy, some of them even verging on drunk, while they rallied to stop substance abuse wasn’t lost on her. She planned to stay in control of herself here, though. The last thing she needed was to make of a fool of herself in front of some many of her father’s friends.
“Let me get that for you.”
She turned as someone reached around her and picked up two glasses. She vaguely remembered the man, but she couldn’t quite place him. She saw so many people at these types of events.
The man was good looking, but in an average, nondescript way. He had thick, light brown hair and pale blue eyes. His black, slim, crisp-enough-to-cut-someone Armani suit didn’t just say ‘money’; it practically shouted it. His tie was in a perfect double Windsor knot. She was sure by the way he was looking at her that she should know him.
“Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Amelia?”
“Yes,” she lied automatically, giving him her best social smile, wide and sincere. There was nothing she could do but be honest. There was no way to bluff an entire conversation. “But, I’m so sorry; I can’t remember your name.”
Those ice blue eyes blinked in surprise. “I’m Anthony,” he said, his suavity momentarily suspended, overridden by disbelief. “Governor Barlow’s son.”
Amelia’s face flushed. Of all the people to forget about. Governor Barlow was the man that her father was most hoping to impress tonight. “Of course,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
His smile was a bit forced. “It’s not a problem,” he said. “I had hoped to be as memorable to you as you are to me...”
“I knew your face,” she said quickly, hoping to minimize the damage to his ego. “I just couldn’t remember your name. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other,” she went on, turning the conversation as smoothly as she could. “I think the last time was at your father’s reelection celebration. What have you been doing with yourself lately?”
He took a sip of champagne, apparently placated by her explanation. “I just finished my law degree.”
“Congratulations,” she said, actually meaning it this time. She leaned closer in interest. “What do you plan to do now? Is there a certain firm you’re looking at?”
He gave a negligent shrug, apparently getting bored with the topic. “I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out later, once I’ve taken a break.”
“Oh, I see.” She sighed as the avenue of conversation fell flat. Why did no one in her social circle want to do anything with their lives? Especially when most of them had the time, money, and status to do anything they wanted. She knew Anthony Barlow probably wouldn’t have much trouble finding a job in Nevada, but did he really have to sound so lazy about it?
“What
about you?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
So much for hubris. Amelia glanced down at her shoes and held back a sigh. “Not much,” she admitted. “Helping Dad Taylorpaign for reelection and doing a lot of fundraisers and drives.” Or hindering him, depending on the day, but she wasn’t about to admit that to the man in front of her.
“That’s a lot,” Anthony said, looking over at her father, who was shaking hands with a senator and smiling as he spoke enthusiastically. “Your father has a lot of responsibility. I’m sure he’s happy you help him shoulder it, especially on a project that means so much to him.”
“Mmm,” she said absently as a sudden movement caught her eye.
Lauren was waving at her from a corner of the room. The wave grew slightly more frantic with each repetition. Amelia had no idea what could possibly be going on, but she needed to find out before Lauren drew too much attention to herself. Or before she gave up completely and walked away. Lauren Dorfman wasn’t known for her patience.
“I’m sorry, Anthony.” How many times was she going to have to apologize in one conversation? “Would you excuse me?”
“Of course.” He held out his hand. “I’ll hold onto your drink for you.”
“Thank you.” He was telling her to come back, then. It was too smoothly done for her to reject him, but she resented the pushiness of it all the same.
