by Jc Emery
“What is she doing?” Chey says with wide downcast eyes. Her arms are stiff, like she has no clue how to hold a baby. I’d actually be surprised if she did. As far as I know she has less experience with babies than I do. The kid’s on like day eight of life and has produced an obscene number of dirty diapers, at least half of which I’ve had the pleasure of fucking dealing with.
“She’s just hungry,” I say and glance at Robin for just a moment. “Every time she gets around tits, she tries to eat.”
“Is she bigger than the last time I saw her?” she asks. Her voice is soft, so soft in fact that I can barely hear her words over Robin’s crying. She tilts her head to the side and gives Robin a soft smile. “Sorry, kiddo, I can’t really help you out.”
“She can tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” I say and gesture for her to hand the kid over. She’s going to be pissed until she gets fed, but at least she has baby ADHD or something and can be distracted by other shit, which shuts her up for at least one single fucking minute. Chey turns toward me but doesn’t move to hand her over. She was just as fucking awkward when she held her at the hospital. When Chey’s eyes meet mine, I instantly feel like an asshole. She looks hurt, and I’m not so stupid to think it’s not because I’m an insensitive prick.
Reaching out and taking Robin into my arms, I say, “You just need more practice. Watch me.” I cradle Robin to my chest with one arm and wrap the other around her side so she doesn’t wiggle away from me. She’s not wiggling yet, but Nic’s read that she will at some point, and fuck if I’m going to drop Duke’s kid. I’m still paying for that scratch on his bike. Keeping my arms relaxed, I put a hand under her butt to do this pat-bounce thing that gets her moving a little and calms her down. She whimpers between cries, and she even cuts out the short screams.
“Babe, you’re nervous, and she can tell,” I say and try to give her a small smile. The sad look on her face changes into something different, something hopeful.
“You’re good with her,” she says, reaching out and running the back of her pointer finger over Robin’s cheek.
“Shit,” I say and make a funny face at the baby. “You listen to those screams every few hours, and you’ll be trying anything to shut her up.” I give Robin a glare, and even though I’ve been told at least twenty times that she’s too young, I swear she’s fucking smiling through her tears. Chey won’t know she’s too young to smile, so I tip her toward Chey and say, “She’s smiling because she knows she’s a shithead.”
My girl blushes before stumbling over her words. “Do you want kids?”
I stop breathing, stop moving—even doing the pat-bounce. I don’t know what to say to that. Heard it from a couple of the brothers before. Don’t ever mention marriage to a chick unless you’re ready to have kids, because that’s all she can see in her future. Probably should have listened to that shit before opening my mouth.
“I want to be a mom,” she says.
Fuck. I still can’t move, and Robin’s starting to scream again. She’s greedy with the pat-bounce, so I force myself to make my hand move. It barely calms her.
“Not now, but someday,” she clarifies.
“Eh, why not,” I say like it’s no big deal. “I’ll be a fucking pro at this shit by the time I’m thirty.”
“Thirty is probably young enough to have kids,” she says through a yawn. And I swear, my fucking heart starts beating again, and I relax my arms around Robin. “Let me try again,” she says and reaches for her. I hand her over, hoping Chey’s better with her this time, because that crying has got to fucking go. When she cradles Robin against her chest, she moves her around a bit before settling in and doing the pat-bounce. Robin is still crying, but it’s nothing like before.
“There you go,” I say and smile at her.
“I can’t believe my mom didn’t stick around for this,” she mumbles. She doesn’t talk about her mom, but for some reason she is right now. I don’t got shit to say because my mom didn’t stick around either. It’s not like I have anything encouraging to say. “Nic’s probably going to remember every single thing about her daughter, from her favorite color to her worst nightmare.”
“Yeah, I give her shit, but Nic’s like a fucking grizzly about the kid. She’s a good mom.”
“I’m glad Robin has that,” she says.
“Me, too.”
Duke strides back into the room with a baby bottle full of pumped breast milk in one hand and the last bite of a sandwich in the other. He shoves the final bite in his mouth and chews like his life depends on it. Fucking asshole made himself a sandwich while his kid is in here having a fucking fit. He places his pointer finger over the nipple of the bottle and shakes it up a little. I always try to avoid Nic when she’s pumping. It’s just awkward. It’s not like I like to look at my sister’s tits. They’re just there, and it’s just... uncomfortable.
Duke bends in front of Chey and takes Robin in his arms and then swiftly shoves the nipple of the bottle into her eager mouth. She sucks at it vigorously, and her red face calms to her normal pink. She’s pretty for a baby.
“You made a fucking sandwich?” I can’t keep the irritation from my voice.
“Fuck you,” he says. “We’re on the same feeding schedule, and if I had to depend on your sister to feed me, I’d starve. Besides, she was in good hands.”
I go to open my mouth and argue, but I can’t. Not only is he not making excuses with the club, but he’s putting his time in at the shop, and he gets up at least once every night to feed the baby. Dad would have mad respect for him if he were here, and knowing that Duke trusts me with his most prized possession means something to me. He knows she annoys me, but I won’t let a goddamn thing hurt her.
I also don’t tell him that Nic knows how to cook but just chooses not to. He’d have a huge-ass fit, and it’s not worth how funny it would be.
“Can you tell Uncle Jeremy to wrap his shit so he doesn’t give you any cousins?” Duke says as he snuggles her in his arms. He doesn’t do that baby voice shit or anything. He just talks to her like she’s an adult, and he doesn’t even bother to censor his language.
I think I vaguely remember my mom chastising my dad for cursing in front of us when I was little, but I have so many memories I’m not certain actually happened. For years I could have sworn Mom came back to visit us one Christmas. Nic and Dad are adamant it didn’t happen, but in my heart it’s as real as anything else. The fact that I can’t distinguish fiction from reality fucks me up just enough so that I try to numb out all of my memories from when I was a kid. Something about being around someone and their mom is a big fucking reminder of all the shit I never got. I just hope Chey doesn’t feel half of what I do right now, because between Nic and Robin and Ruby and Alex, I’m all kinds of fucked up and moody.
“We, um.” Chey’s cheeks are bright red, and she’s trying to babble, but she’s so embarrassed by Duke’s comment—which I’ve heard before, mind you—that she can’t even make her tongue work well enough to babble.
“Right, of course you can’t talk,” he says flatly, his eyes completely focused on her. “You’re eating.” Like if her mouth wasn’t preoccupied she could actually talk. I don’t say shit about the fact that he has full conversations with her. It’s goofy as fuck, but it makes my sister smile, and the more she smiles, the less she bitches.
“You heard me?” he says as he lifts his head. “I’m not fucking kidding. Club’s got enough fucking drama. We don’t need you knocking up Knuck’s daughter on top of it. I change enough goddamn diapers around this house.”
Liar. Every chance he gets, he passes the dirty diapers off on me. If a crying baby isn’t a suitable reminder to wrap my dick, the nasty mudslides she creates are plenty sufficient.
“I know how to wrap my shit,” I say and nod to the baby in his arms. “Seems I should be giving you the talk about safe sex.”
Chey squirms uncomfortably beside me, but she remains silent. I wish Duke hadn’t jumped t
o the conclusion that we’ve had sex, but it’s not like there’s anything I can say to stop him from making this awkward, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.
“Riding your sister bare is one of life’s greatest joys.”
“Dude. Shut the fuck up. That’s nasty,” I gripe and scrub my face with my hands, ignoring the pain from the bruise that’s forming. I’m fucking tired, and the sun is going to be up soon.
“Seriously, though. No fucking when I’m awake. Makes me feel all parental and shit, like I should be stopping it or giving pointers or something.”
Because when Duke isn’t yelling, he’s finding ways to make me consider hanging myself. Fucking prick.
“Really? Even if I had the energy to pound one out, your kid killed the mood,” I say.
He grins. He fucking grins.
“Oh my God, shut up!” Chey snaps. Her face is still beet red, but she’s giving me a look that even I know to interpret as I’m definitely not getting laid again anytime soon. Maybe not even on our wedding night—whenever that might be. I know I said tonight, but I need sleep, and maybe we can wait until tomorrow or the next day to do it. I have to figure out how to even go about doing it.
Wedding night. Shit, that makes it real.
Duke walks Robin out of the room and tells her through muffled yawns that she has to be quiet because if Nic wakes up, then nobody is going to get any peace. Word, brother. Motherfucking word. Before he makes it into the hallway, he turns back and says, “Got that job later today.”
“I remember.” Of course I fucking remember. Today’s the day I help the club right a very big fucking wrong. Thankfully Chey’s yawning, and her eyelids are dropping. She’s not paying the least bit of attention to us anymore.
Slowly, I climb off my bed, cross the room, and shut my bedroom door that Duke so rudely left open. My body drags, and my thoughts are scattered and barely make any sense.
When I turn back to Chey, she shakes her head slowly in obvious judgment and says, “I’m going to sleep.” She hogs more than her share of my twin bed and hogs my pillow.
I mutter to myself about being too tired for anything anyway. It’s only half a lie, and I feel like crashing the minute I crawl in bed beside her. My mind is racing with everything coming up tomorrow, from the job with Duke to the whole getting married thing. It takes way too long to fall asleep, and when I do, it’s not a deep sleep by any means.
When I wake, all I can think about is being married and what that means. I’m getting married, and I don’t even know how it works or what to do. The sudden panic that overtakes me is almost painful, but I try to smile through it and grit my teeth as Chey slowly comes to life. I want to do this—for her, for me—but for some reason I feel like I’m about to shit my pants. Thank fucking God Duke and I got shit to do today.
CHAPTER 22
April
12 months to Mancuso’s downfall
Cheyenne holds my cut in her hands, clutching it furiously against her chest as she glares at me. Her eyes scan my appearance, appraising the plain black hoodie I’m wearing and the dirty, gray ball cap that rests on my head, covering my dark brown hair. In all this black and plain shit, the only thing that really looks like me are my eyes. They’re still that same dark blue that gets chicks wet even from a distance. But the thing that defines me most is in my girl’s hands.
I can’t wear my cut into that hospital, and it pisses me off.
“But you wear it everywhere,” Chey says with a ruffled brow. I can’t tell her why—it’s an order—but she’s not making it very fucking easy to keep my mouth shut. I just want to get in, get out, and get back here for a fucking nap.
“I just can’t, okay?” I snap. Because, shit, I already want to wear my cut and can’t, and now she’s giving me the riot act over it. Cheyenne’s green eyes bore into mine, making me feel like shit. I don’t like not telling her shit, but Duke said not to. Nic knows what we’re doing, but not because he wanted to tell her. She has a pushy fucking temperament and outright asked him when Forsaken was going to finish the job on Darren one too many times, and the dude cracked. With any other chick, I’d say he was pussy whipped, but I know my sister, and it’s a fucking miracle he held out as long as he did.
“I want to tell you things, okay, baby? I want you to know what’s going on and the shit we get into, but I can’t. I have orders.” I let the words fall between us and allow the tension in the room to rise. Something about this is upsetting to Chey in a way I didn’t expect. She’s always been Forsaken, and that means she knows when to go along with the program, but she’s not doing it right now. “Why are you this upset over my cut?”
“Last time Dad left the house on a job and he didn’t wear his cut, he got locked up for thirteen months and seventeen days,” she says firmly.
My shoulders fall, and I cross the room, immediately wrapping her in my arms. She’s still clutching my cut to her chest, both limbs and leather squished between us as I hold on to her like my life depends on it.
“I sound crazy,” she admits. And yeah, she does, but fuck if I don’t like it. She’s worried about me, and she doesn’t want me to get hurt or to get locked up. For that, I’ll take crazy.
“I’m coming back to you tonight,” I say and place a kiss to her forehead. Reluctantly, I release her and take a step back. She gives me a nod and a fake smile. It’s not confident enough for me to believe it, but it’s going to have to be enough for now.
When I turn to leave, Nic is waiting in the doorway with Robin in her carrier. She and I have never been especially affectionate, but something’s changed since she gave birth. Before, she was always so tough and mean and bitchy. But now she’s someone’s mother. She fusses over my niece the way I hope our mother cared for us when we were infants. I can’t imagine Nic leaving her kid, though. Not with the way she watches her sleep and checks on her breathing. Seeing this side of my sister makes me want to be better to her and for her. I didn’t expect to feel any different about the whole baby thing after she was born, but I do. Robin is this tiny little human, and she can’t do a damn thing for herself. It’s up to us—all of us—to be good to her. I want to be good for her, just not with any more fucking diapers.
As I pass, Nic reaches out and places her hand on my covered bicep and says, “Let’s go.” The ferocity in her eyes is surprising, and I choose not to argue.
Robin and her carrier are kind of heavy, so I don’t know how she balances it without any issue, but she does. My sister has taken every bit of her anger and protective nature and channeled it into being the mother I wish I had. Her conviction takes hold of me in a vice grip of emotion, but all I can do is nod. Everything that led up to Darren’s hospital stay floods my mind. He threatened to beat the baby out of Nic that night. So cold and calculating in his abuse, Darren had wanted to make not just Nic suffer, but her baby as well. And because of him, Mindy and Holly suffered, too.
I zoom down the hall and through the living room to the front door where Duke is standing with the front door wide open. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his expression flat, and he’s fiddling with his phone. Without looking up, he says, “When I say to be ready at noon, I fucking mean twelve o’clock, not ten after.”
“Sorry,” I mumble and slip past him out the door, trying to get away from the blowup Nic’s about to cause by tagging along. Meeting up with me, Duke shoves his elbow into my side. He looks up from his phone for a moment, digs into his jean pocket, and tosses the keys to the black van at me. I catch them easily and walk to the street where the club’s van is parked. The same van he and I used to dump Darren in his daddy dearest’s driveway.
“Quit apologizing. You sound like a fucking pussy,” he says. I climb into the driver’s seat of the van and start her up just as Duke climbs into the passenger side.
“Okay.” If Duke wants me to stop apologizing, then I will stop fucking apologizing. I wish I could stop screwing up, but that’s unlikely.
Nic approaches the van and gives Duke
a huge grin as she catches his eye. Just when I think Duke’s going to fucking lose it because she’s taking their newborn on a job, he smiles at her and reaches back to open the door for her.
“Least you could do, asshole,” Nic says, and she climbs in and settles Robin’s carrier into its base in the seat directly behind mine. If I had noticed the base of the car seat was already in here, maybe I wouldn’t have been about to piss myself at the fight I was sure would ensue.
“You’re cool with this shit?” I ask Duke.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Let’s just call it ‘Take Your Daughter to Work Day.’ ”
“Chill, Jer,” Nic says, buckling up and shutting the door. “You two need a reason to be at the hospital.”
The drive to the hospital is quiet, so quiet in fact that it starts to get tense inside the van. I hate when any of the brothers are this silent, because it means they’re thinking about shit—likely shit I’ve done wrong—and that usually leads to bitch duty. I fucking hate bitch duty, mostly because I usually end up on bitch duty with my sister. And if there is one woman on this planet who doesn’t like to be watched over, it’s her.
Upon our arrival, I swing around to the maternity ward and park in the underground garage. Last week when Nic delivered Robin, we scoped out the best point of entry and found the fewest number of cameras between here and Darren’s room. Nic dislodges Robin’s carrier from the base and climbs out of the van with her in tow. Duke and I hop out and meet her on the passenger side.
Duke eyes me and says, “Nic’s going to cause a distraction while you and I pop into Jennings’s room and take care of business.”
