Filthy Daddy

by Bella Love-Wins

I can’t help laughing at his first words. There’s nothing really wrong with him, nothing so severe that he’s lost his sense of sarcasm. His gaze sweeps across my face, then he closes his eyes again.

  “You need your rest, but it’s a good sign that you’re responsive. Can you do one more thing for me before you go back to sleep?”

  “I don’t think mounting me is a great idea yet, doll, but I’m up for trying.”

  I grin through my tears, glad he hasn’t said a word about anything too serious. “Smartass. You’ve been a real pain, buddy.”

  “And you’ve missed me,” he says weakly.

  We’re both silent. I can’t lie to him. He takes a few more sips of water that I offer him, moving his arms across his chest and resettling against the pillows. I know deep down it’s now or never. There’s a conversation we very much need to have, and if he’s vulnerable, he has to listen to whatever I have to say. Which is so much the better for the both of us.

  “Tate, I’m keeping the baby. I’m going to raise our son…and I’d really like you to be a part of that…with me, as a family.” I swallow, twisting my hands in my lap. I straighten my spine, lift my chin slightly, and get ready for his rejection. “I know you and I have a different lifestyle…I’m not asking you to change anything. I’d just like you to be in our son’s life when you have time. If you have time.” I glance at the carpet. Even with his eyes closed, I’m not sure I can look at him while he seems to process what I said. Too much is laid out on the table. I can’t take it back now. “I know this isn’t the ideal scenario, but it is what it is…” I trail off, realizing I’m babbling and haven’t given him a second to say a word.

  I wonder why I said a damn thing at all after a minute passes, but then remember I’ve given him the silent treatment for two weeks. This is probably his way of making me stew.

  Bastard.

  Chapter 28

  Tate

  I clutch my chest. It hurts to breathe like a son of a bitch, but it has nothing to do with my injury and everything to do with the last three minutes hearing Molly lay it on the line. For a second I’m scared shitless, fearful that maybe this is a dream. If it is a dream, I don’t want to wake up, because in this fantasy, the woman of my dreams is offering me everything I’ve ever wanted with no strings attached. Except, I want those strings, in a big way. Despite the fire raging through my chest cavity, I swallow through my parched throat. Water only goes so far at a time like this.

  One thing is for damn sure. I’m not letting Molly or our son go. Ever.

  “Do you want to know what I thought about after I got shot and was sure I was a goner?”

  I don’t really expect an answer. She’s still sniffling, but she asks, “What?”

  “You and our baby. Being so close to dying made me sure that the only thing I want is a life with you in it. You and our son. I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen. I will.” I hear her sputter, and her shaking fingers fumble for my hand, clinging to me more tightly. When she rests her head on my shoulder, and her breathing calms down, I continue. “Because you’re mine, and you deserve the best. We’ll make this work. Trust me.”

  Her hand reaches up to my face, and her fingers trace from my temple down to my jawbone until my whole body goes taut, my cock included. If I can get a goddamn boner now, then she’s definitely a keeper. Old lady material to the core.

  “Do you really mean it?”

  “Yes. I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

  “No. It’s just…”

  “Not that simple?” I finish for her with a sigh that nearly tears my chest cavity. “We’ll work it out. Day by day. We don’t have to rush into anything.”

  “Look at me, Tate. Please.”

  Her simple pleading nearly breaks my fragile heart. As if she has to ask me twice. I take a shallow breath and focus all my concentration on opening my stubborn eyes, even though my eyelids feel like they weigh a million pounds. Christ, she’s gorgeous.

  “What?”

  “I’m all blotchy,” she rubs her fist under her nose, sniffs, and makes an attempt to wipe away her tears with the hem of her t-shirt.

  “You’re beautiful.” Molly rolls her eyes, but her smile makes it all the more worthwhile. “So is that a yes or what.”

  “Yes, Tate. Of course, it’s a yes.”

  “It’s about fucking time,” I harrumph like an old man and brush her fingertips with my lips. From now on I’ll give us both a chance at love that I never got, with a whole world of possibilities that were denied to me. “Plus, if anyone can keep my dick faithful, it’s you, you tight little hell raiser.”

  Molly cocks her head. “Takes one…to know one.”

  “Damn right. Trust me, Molly. One step at a time, but I’ll do right by you…and Junior.”

  “We’re not calling him Junior.”

  “How about Little Hell Raiser?” She just glares at me. “Okay, we’ll leave it up for discussion when I can actually argue worth a damn. I’m in no shape.”

  She reaches up and kisses my jaw, I can’t keep my emotions in check as something weird swells up in my chest. Probably happiness. I’ll have to get used to that.

  Chapter 29

  Tate

  Two Months Later

  “Any leads on Vasquez’s attempted hit?” Silas sits at the head of the meeting table, working on his fifth cigarette as we hash shit out.

  Cole fiddles with a mug of beer, keeping his eyes pinned to the growing water ring on the surface of the table in front of him. “Francisco called with an update. At first, they thought the sneaky fucker was in the wind, but it turns out that he left something behind after all. You guys ready for this?”

  Everyone including Silas looks over at him. “Spit it out.”

  “It was Jett.”

  I rear back in my seat. “What? Didn’t you guys fuck him up like you were supposed to?”

  “Of course, we did. He probably stuck around to get back at Tate, and when he found out about the sit-down, he must’ve figured he could bring serious retribution on the Saints by targeting Vasquez. The man is deranged. Correction. Was deranged.”

  “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  Cole nods. “The Los Diablos aren’t as forgiving as we are when people cross their membership. Jett’s history.”

  I blow out a breath. “See, I told you we should’ve ended the bastard. If anything happens to Vasquez, it’s on us for not dealing with our Jett problem like men. He broke our code, and we coddled him like fucking pussies…anyway, how’s Vasquez doing?”

  “He’s still struggling.”

  “Still?” Silas asks. “It’s been two months.”

  “Jett was a motherfucker. A motherfucker from Louisiana, where all that crazy shit goes down. Something was on the bullet that grazed by two vertebras in Vasquez’s neck. It’d take a while for him to be back in the game under normal circumstances, but his condition isn’t improving.”

  “What about Mob Doc?”

  “He’s been over there a lot, keeping Vasquez stable. But the old guy’s too shaky to do any surgery. Actually, Dean took Molly and her mother over to help earlier today. That’ll go a long way toward making peace with those sons of bitches.”

  There are sounds of agreements around the table and I rub my chest, satisfied. That’s my Molly. After she gave me the all clear, I’ve kept myself tied up with work, taking all the jobs that I can with the club’s security business to build up my savings account. I looked it up and learned that it costs a shit ton of money to raise a kid. The little poop machines aren’t cheap.

  Silas clears his throat. “No matter what, we’re taking more precautions. Tate, you’re with me later. We’ll head over to their compound tonight to see what hardware they’re working with on the grounds. Maybe upgrade their camera system, give their front door a couple tweaks.”

  I nod. “I’m game. I just don’t think they’d allow their past rivals to enhance their physical security. Think about it if the tables were
turned.”

  “Okay, you have a point. Still, we can offer. If they say no, so be it.”

  “Good.” I smile, taking meeting notes on my laptop. My head is in the game, fulfilling my role as Secretary and Treasurer, but the rest of my body is craving Molly. Sure, she’s knocked up, but she isn’t dead. Being pregnant has only ratcheted up her sex drive, and now that my brothers are building us a house behind the clubhouse, she’s moved into my room to make sure we get things right the first time. I don’t mind. It means she gets to do wicked things to my cock every night. Fuck, even most days. Things are damn near perfect between us.

  Axe nods over to me. “Hey. Your president just asked you a question. You going soft on us, dude?”

  “What’s the question?” I fire back, straightening myself in the chair.

  Silas glances down the long table at us all. “I asked about the prospect. Do we want Dean in officially as Road Captain?”

  “Guy’s been really handy around the place,” I chime in.

  “He’s helped saved our asses more than a few times.” Axe leans back in his chair and fondles his beard.

  “I say we patch him in next month,” Cole suggests.

  Silas cracks his knuckles. “Sounds like we’re all in favor. Just for the sake of the meeting minutes, all right, all in favor of patching over the prospect, say aye.”

  There’s agreement throughout the room. I guess that’s settled then, it’ll be damn fun to tell the fucker. The man will lose his shit.

  “We all good here, bros? I’ve got other shit to attend to when Molly makes it back here, and after that, we have to head over to the Los Diablos clubhouse.”

  “By other shit, you mean fucking,” Axe isn’t subtle today. He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean, assface. You got a problem with it?” I narrow my eyes at my brother and get ready to throw down, at least in play.

  “We’re all good. Just keep it down over there, for fuck’s sake. The walls are thin. I don’t need to know about your role-playing exploits on the daily. Got me?”

  “Yeah, well…I don’t need to hear you moaning and groaning when you jerk off because none of the sack demons are in the mood for you to break them with your massive dick.”

  “My massive dick does just fine, fuck you very much.”

  Silas raises his hands. “Cut that shit out until after the meeting. Any other business?”

  “Actually, yeah.” I get serious. I clear my throat and rub the back of my head. “I want to bring Molly into the family. And the baby. It’s time we claim them as MC family.”

  I keep tight in my seat, nervous as hell because I don’t want to hear anyone say no. Why anyone around this table would is beyond me. It isn’t much to ask in the grand scheme of things. Plus, I’m planning to hold on to Molly until we’re both old, gray, and grumpy as fuck.

  “You want her as old lady status minus the wedding?” Silas asks, steepling his fingers at the end of the table.

  “Yeah, no wedding. When we get that far I want her to know it’s because I want to be with her, not because of the baby, you feel me?”

  Axe rolls his eyes. “There we go with that touchy-feely chick flick bullshit talk again.”

  “How would you know what the fuck they show on those girlie channels, unless that’s how you get off at night, Godzilla dick.”

  “Shut the fuck up, both of you,” Cole says. “Makes sense to me, but I don’t think we need a vote on this one, brother. Molly’s like family already. Well, you know what I mean. In any case, you wouldn’t be in the picture if she didn’t save your undeserving ass. Silas, you want to do the honors?”

  “Everyone in favor, to give Molly all the rights of an old lady, say aye.”

  I’ve never felt prouder than when my brothers around the table all give the aye.

  Chapter 30

  Molly

  Six Months Later

  It’s finally here. After the hormonal changes in my body, the nausea, morning sickness and fatigue, and then the leg cramps and constant heartburn, followed by exhaustion and swollen feet, I’m ready for the baby to be outside my belly. Not that it’s all bad. I love that feeling of helping to create something, a whole new little person. And when he moves or kicks inside me and lets me know he’s there, it’s indescribable. I can’t wait to meet him.

  And yes, he’s a him. We got confirmation on that a couple months ago.

  Except right now, at the beginning of this labor process, I can’t believe I agreed to a natural birth at home. My water breaks just after dusk, and an hour later the midwife arrives. By then, according to Mom, I’m already dilated to six centimeters. The baby is coming and fast. Fast will be good, because it means this pressure on my back and this pain extending from under my ribcage and down between my thighs will be over soon.

  All I want is Tate beside me right now, sitting or pacing or holding my hand somewhere here in Mom’s sitting room, which is where we chose to perform the delivery. It has comfortable lighting, a dimmer switch to make it much darker if needed, neutral colored walls, lots of room to spread out, and it’s closest to the only full bathroom on the main floor of the house.

  Where’s Tate, anyway? I text him just as the contractions started and he replied right away that he was dropping everything to be here.

  And Christ, why on earth did I agree to two extra pairs of eyes on me during this delivery? Cindy insisted on being here as she’s helped at so many births, and just as she promised, she went ahead and brought over Dean Roman’s older sister, Debbie, also a doula, just in case she needed help.

  “Oh God!” Another contraction hits me. I got up to use the bathroom to pee for the fourth time in two hours and am returning to my spot on the mammoth sized day bed on one side of the sitting room. This one is more powerful than the last, and I cling on to the wooden frame of the French doors for dear life. “Where’s Tate? This baby’s not waiting!”

  Cindy rushes up to my side and helps me into the room. “He’ll be here soon. Hold your horses.” She helps me back to sit, but I can’t do that. Everything hurts now—sitting, standing, walking. I even try kneeling on the daybed with my arms hanging over the decorative metal side. Dammit, I need drugs, not deep breathing.

  “Can you call him for me? At this rate, I’ll be fully dilated in less than an hour.”

  Debbie walks in. “Go ahead, Cindy. I’ll help her.”

  Cindy finds her phone and sends him a text.

  “No, no, no, Cindy…ow…I need to speak to him. Call him, please.”

  “Can’t do that, toots.”

  “What? Why not. Shit!” Another contraction crashes through my womb. I think I’ll double over and the baby will drop right out. Sweat starts beading on my forehead, and this oversized t-shirt I’m wearing doesn’t feel oversized anymore. It rides up my stomach and making me mad as hell.

  Debbie passes me a hot compress to ease the discomfort. “Breathe, honey. You need to breathe.”

  “I can’t breathe right now. I want Tate!”

  “Calm your childbearing ass down,” Cindy calls out from the doorway. “Tate can’t answer the phone when he’s on his bike rushing to get here as fast as he can. Okay, sweet cheeks? He wouldn’t be able to hear you with the air rushing past him. Listen to Debbie and breathe.”

  “Mom!” I scream out.

  My mother runs in from the direction of the kitchen with a large container holding more hot compresses. “Yes, honey. I’m here.”

  “Pass me my phone, please Mom. I want to call Tate.”

  Cindy brings her own phone over and swipes it. “Jesus, girl. Here you go. Hit send and see for your stubborn self.”

  I turn my head for some privacy and phone Tate. It goes through to voicemail, so I leave a message. “Tate, honey. It’s Molly, and guess what’s happening, sweetie?” A strong contraction hits me and I scream out, “The baby’s coming and you’re not fucking here!” When it subsides, I’m so weak, I wrap up the call wi
th a quick, “Now please get here before I have to kill you, darling.”

  Without hanging up, I pass the phone back to Cindy.

  Less than three hours later, I’m fully dilated and ready to be put out of my misery. The contractions are coming on hot and heavy, my water broke ages ago, the baby will be here any second, and I have no energy left for breathing or pushing or even to brush my soaking wet hair out of my face or behind my ear.

  Tate charges into the room. I can kiss him right here and now. He’s a sight to see too. Over the past few months, he’s given himself a self-imposed makeover, replacing his blue hard-to-maintain Mohawk for a low naturally light brown brush cut. He wears a dark polo shirt and slacks to his security gigs, and as usual, that black laptop bag slings over his shoulders. Seeing him like this right now, he almost seems like a different man compared to the one I get frisky with most of the time, but I love it. And Jesus Christ, another contraction is gearing up, and I need his hand right now.

  “Where were you, baby?” I ask when it passes. I roll onto my side to recover. I’ve likely crushed every bone in the hand he gave me to hold as he sits on the daybed beside me. He doesn’t seem phased, though. His pain tolerance is nice and high.

  “Working, lovely. But I’m here now, and you’re doing great.” He tucks some strands of hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Liar,” I breathe out.

  He rubs my back, massaging it with his good hand. “Are you ready?”

  “I was ready four hours ago.”

  “Nice. I can’t wait to see what the little squirt looks like.”

  “Me too. I wish he could’ve seen you with the Mohawk.”

  “That can be arranged. It just takes a few months to grow back.”

  Mom and Cindy walk in. “Molly honey, we’re going to get things going now,” Mom tells me, as though the last four hours were a walk in the park.