Filthy Daddy (Satan's Saints MC #2)

by Bella Love-Wins

  I shrug. “I didn’t want to disturb her. What’s going on?”

  “I need you on a job. Axe will keep an eye on her while you’re gone.” I start to argue when Silas shakes his head to stop me. “Not one word, son of a bitch. Downstairs. Now. Preferably not naked.”

  My half-awake brain catches onto the word ‘naked’ and clings to it for some reason. I watch Silas walk down the long hallway, but don’t really see the guy. I’m replaying what I did with Molly. I’m addicted to her now, which is about the same as being fucking whipped.

  I’m almost finished re-programming a safe at the house of a client Silas sent me to work on. Exhausted from lack of sleep and running on empty, all I want is to go back to the woman still passed out in bed. My unofficial old lady. I remind myself to keep focused on this wealthy client’s safe. I don’t want to be forced to come back because of some mistake I make on account of counting down the seconds to get back to Molly. This is routine work, a simple diagnostic check that I perform by hooking up my laptop, entering a few codes, and switching out a few wires if needed.

  But nothing feels routine about today.

  Silas came along with me this time, which is strange. He’s downstairs with the client, discussing new security features that she wants us to install soon. Silas knows how to help clients see that we’re more than capable of meeting all their needs. From the sounds of this particular job, the work is extensive and costly. This reprogramming piece I’ve just started is just the beginning. I’ll definitely need to make a few return trips with an installation team if this pans out. Glad for the grunt work here in front of the safe instead of negotiating terms with the client, I throw myself into the job.

  “Pssst!”

  “What?” I glance around me, but no one’s there. I’m pretty fucking sure I was alone on this floor of the client’s massive house. Great, I’m hearing things now.

  “Hi. Do you want to play hide and seek with me?” says a little girl’s voice.

  That wasn’t a hallucination. I look toward the door and catch the tip of a small, blonde pigtail before the child it’s attached to hides in the hallway.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. I haven’t had enough sleep for this shit. A kid.

  I’m going to have a goddamn kid.

  Like that one.

  Or maybe a boy.

  I walk to the door, to see what I’m up against. A tiny little girl, maybe five, is hiding behind her hands, her curly pigtails bouncing around her face. She has a massive case of the giggles. Yes, I need overtime pay for this. Big time. I swallow, trying to remember the last time I saw, let alone interacted with a child. I don’t recall when that was. Just another reminder of how intimidating this fatherhood thing could end up being.

  “Play with me?” The pint-sized girl peeks out between her itty-bitty fingers and flashed a wide gap-toothed grin.

  Suddenly, a new realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

  One of these days I’m going to have one of these.

  A real-life kid.

  A little girl or boy. One who can turn out to be just as messed up as his old man.

  I probably shouldn’t be a father. I’ve already fucked up my life.

  Too bad I don’t get a say in the matter.

  “I got to get back to work. Uh, bye kid.” I hurry down the hallway toward the nearest bathroom.

  Hurling in a client’s bathroom is sure to be frowned upon, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it. When I think I’m done, I grip the sides of the toilet, hoping. Maybe Molly’s test result is really a false positive. If it is, we can go back to our normal, to living as though we only have ourselves to take care of, and I don’t mean as a team, but as independent individuals. Wishing for our fucked-up definition of the usual feels better than the idea of impending terror due to a brand new little human being who poops, spits up, whines, squeaks and cries for hours at a time, and needs me.

  Something about that thought makes me pretty confident I can’t get away with spending all my free time downstairs in the clubhouse soothing myself with whiskey while Molly is upstairs tending to a child. I should know. Maybe this is a ‘sins of the father’ kind of deal, seeing that I was abandoned by my father before I could remember. My past increases the odds that my kid will turn out truly fucked up as an adult. I have, because of my past, so all the wishful thinking in the world may not help my child to escape his fate. What’s sad is the idea of having a child in my life sounds better and better as I weigh the options. Then it looks worse and worse.

  I’m almost glad it’s not my decision to make.

  Returning to the job I was hired to do, I put it out of my mind as long as the time it takes to have what I’m sure is another panic attack.

  Air won’t enter my lungs.

  My vision is blurry.

  My chest is tight.

  I can’t concentrate.

  A couple of hours later, the safe is done, Silas and the client are satisfied, and I can finally go home. I’ve borrowed one of the MC’s work trucks since pieces of my bike are scattered across and around the parking lot, wedged into trees and sticking out of the clubhouse outside walls. Axe is supposed to be watching over Molly. Deciding to check in, I send a text before driving off.

  While waiting at a red light about ten minutes later, a text comes in. I fumble for the phone in the inner pocket of my cut and check the screen.

  All good. Out at the store for dinner. Your girl’s gonna cook. Kept my cock in my pants. For now.

  I shake my head and throw my phone on the other side of the truck seat. It’s impossible for Axe to be anything but an asshole to me, but that’s how we roll. Today, I seriously toy with the idea of choking him with my bare hands until he passes out, just for thinking of touching Molly. It’s oddly satisfying. Half my mouth quirks up in a smirk as I continue the drive on autopilot, thinking a meal sounds good, although a full four hours of sleep would be better for me.

  Another text comes in from Axe. What does he want now? My phone is out of my reach on the edge of the passenger seat, and I’m in no mood to stop. But I start to ask myself if it’s about Molly. Jett’s still at large too. I glare at the phone out of the corner of my eye. I can’t wait.

  I need to know what he wants.

  Pulling the truck off to the side of the road. I turn on my four-way flashers and undo my seatbelt to reach for the phone.

  911. We got fjehiirnvy;w

  I blink at the emergency number and garbled message. It has no information about where they are or what’s wrong, but if he took the time to enter 911, I need to find them. I throw my truck into drive and rest a heavy foot on the gas.

  Calling ahead to Dean at the clubhouse, he confirms that Axe and Molly aren’t there. After hitting the only four supermarkets and minimarts between Mesquite, Nevada and Littlefield, Arizona where we live, I stumble onto a lead when I find Axe’s bike in a parking lot. With a quick parking job beside his ride, I bolt out of the truck and into the store.

  The only sales clerk is behind the front counter, and from the looks of it, the only person in the shop, has been shot execution style. There’s no questioning that double tap, one to the temple and the other through the heart. Axe and Molly aren’t here. My blood is boiling and my heart is pounding hard in my chest, pumping to aching muscles.

  If I can just keep it together long enough to come up with a plan.

  A plan. I only need one step in that plan. One thing at a time. Every thought points to one sinking feeling. Jett has done something to Axe and kidnapped Molly—and my unborn child.

  One thing. One step.

  I grab my phone from the truck and see that no other messages have come in. I phone Silas to give him the update and to line up some help if needed. Dean’s already seen to updating Silas, so they’re ready to go wherever we need to. After that, I find the pay phone on the side of the building and call the ambulance anonymously. No one needs to know I was here. Their response time in this stretch of highway is closer to fiftee
n minutes. It’s more than enough time to check out the entire store before I drive the hell away. And I’ll take anything I find that might lead me to Molly.

  A search inside tells me that if Axe and Molly were here, they weren’t injured, shot or stabbed, and there wasn’t a fight. Because there’s no blood anywhere except flowing out from the dead cashiers’ body.

  But there are no signs of a struggle anywhere either. On my second pass through the squat corner store, I find their grocery cart shoved behind the counter near the dead guy—with half a dozen sweet peppers and several packages of chicken. That’s Molly’s cart. It has the ingredients of her go-to dinner meal. A lump forms in my throat. They didn’t struggle, and there’s no blood. Someone must’ve pointed a gun at them. They cooperated and left with the person or people in their vehicle.

  While I’m behind the counter, I snatch the surveillance footage. Sure, I’m removing evidence from a crime scene, but I’m willing to live with the consequences. If I’m caught.

  On my way past their shopping cart from the opposite direction, I find and carefully pull out a needle partially hidden under an end cap. A tranquilizer or two would be enough to take Axe down. Jett has pulled so much crap that I wouldn’t put it past him to have gone to this extreme. He blew up my ride, for fuck’s sake.

  So where did he take them and why would he bother to carry an unconscious Axe with him if he only wants Molly?

  I take a look at the time. It has been eight minutes since I called 911. I need to disappear. Carefully pocketing the syringe, I hurry back to the truck, roll Axe’s bike on the truck bed, and head to the clubhouse.

  Finding and rescuing Molly and Axe will take all the help we can gather up.

  Chapter 15

  Tate

  “We got any clues yet?” I hover near the TV in our executive meeting room as Cole replays the surveillance video for the umpteenth time.

  “No, not since the last time you asked two minutes ago.” Cole doesn’t budge from the digital screen. He’s scanning frame by frame for any sign of what Jett might’ve done to Molly and Axe, and where he may have taken them. Silas excused himself to contact the Baton Rouge Charter of the Satan’s Saints MC. The president over there must know something. Even the make and model of the vehicle Jett drives will help.

  The tape shows Molly and Axe entering the grocery store and walking the aisles for a few minutes. They were moving toward the cashier when Jett snuck into the store from the back. He jammed a syringe into Axe’s neck from behind. Axe dropped like a sack of potatoes. Molly tried to get away, but Jett forced her to leave with him at gunpoint, then came back and dragged Axe away while he was still unconscious.

  There are no other details in the video frames. No license plate number. No accomplices. Nothing.

  We’ve been slogging through the security footage, going over every move, for at least an hour. Dean phones around to our local and mobile contacts. If Jett is still in the area now, we’ll figure it out through our network. We’re working every angle, but progress isn’t happening fast enough. I keep thinking about what Jett can be doing to them right now.

  “Tate.” I jerk my head up and look at Silas. “Save that fuck ton of rage for when we find this asshole. Keep your shit on lockdown until then. Those knives you like to pull out are sharp and double-edged, you feel me?” Silas motions at me and I glance down at my bowie knives, the sharp tips already digging rivulets into the conference table without my intending them to.

  “Shit. Yeah, I’ll get a handle on it. Sorry, boss.”

  “It’s all good, man. I get it.”

  I go back to the map I started looking at and ask Silas what he found out from the Baton Rouge president.

  “I got nada. Jett’s been MIA for weeks, off the grid and AWOL. His membership is revoked. We’ll find him, Tate. The longer he stays in this area, the more likely our people will see him. You can bet your life on it. She’ll be fine.”

  Silas knows what’s on the line for me. As we recheck the video, my phone rings on the other side of the table. I reach for it in a panic and take the call from the unknown number.

  “Yes?” I bark out my answer in a clipped breath.

  “Hello? Tate? Is…is…that you?”

  “Molly?” I breathe a sigh of relief at the sound of her shaky voice which is very much alive. All my brothers in the room stop what they’re doing and turn to listen. I want to ask her everything but I need to know what happened. “Are you okay? Where are you? We’ll come for you, just hang in—”

  “Tate, I need you to listen to me. Listen for a second.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’m with Jett. We’re in a warehouse, the address is three-seventy-one Persimmona Place, about fifty minutes southwest of the grocery store where we were taken. I’m fine. He hasn’t touched me. Axe isn’t doing too well.” She sniffles and shouts, “I said I’m sorry!”

  I know that part isn’t for me. It’s too muffled. Jett is watching and listening to her, controlling what she says.

  “Don’t do anything stupid. Please. Just come to the warehouse as soon as possible, alone.”

  All the hairs on my body stand on end as Jett comes on the line. “Follow the instructions. Come alone or she’s dead.”

  “Listen, you sick fuck. If you so much as touch a hair on her head or harm the baby in any way…”

  The line goes dead before I can finish my sentence.

  Jett’s a dead man.

  Chapter 16

  Molly

  I scowl as Jett turns and looks at me. His walnut brown eyes are hard as steel and the rest of his face is expressionless. He lacks emotion. I hopelessly wriggle in my tight bonds. He’s tied me up with ropes around my ankles and wrists, and secured me to the chair with more rope around my shoulders. No matter how much I struggle, I can’t break free. Axe is in the same boat, but worse. Jett bound him with industrial snow chains. It’s useless.

  “Jett, what’s going on? Are you okay, honey?” I ask in a pleading voice, using every bit of feminine charm at my disposal. It’s in my best interest to keep Jett happy until Tate and the guys find us in this creepy warehouse.

  From the time he kidnapped us to the phone call with Tate, I’ve said precisely what he wants, going along with his delusion that relationship never ended. He was over the moon with happiness. Until the last few seconds of the phone call.

  His disposition now is agitated at best. I don’t know what Tate could’ve possibly said to undo the groundwork I laid through sweetly spun lies and fake affection for Jett.

  But it’s Tate. He only needs to breathe to stir up trouble.

  “Talk to me, love. Don’t shut me out.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Jett snaps, shoving his cell phone into his pocket, running his hands through his thick, shoulder-length chestnut brown hair.

  I remain silent. Maybe he’ll let me in on why he’s upset.

  I battle a wave of nausea in my stomach. I don’t know if it’s the stress of being kidnapped, or physically being tied up in the same position that caused it. It only started after Jett took us. But who knows. I’ve fought, drank, been beaten and punched, choked, and now kidnapped. All while pregnant. I silently pray that if I get out of here in one piece, it’ll be the last time I expose my unborn child to the stress and adrenaline, bad vibes and chemicals that course through me. I may have to leave this part of the country behind, but if that’s what I need to do to provide a nurturing environment for him or her, I’ll do it. And I’ll read every baby book known to man.

  “You’re pregnant, Molly?”

  That’s what he’s found out.

  “I can explain.”

  “You’re pregnant, and I treated you this way! I’m a fucking barbarian, a beast. I’m not fit to kiss your feet. How can you ever forgive me? I didn’t know…if I did…”

  While he frets like an old woman, I’m lost for words. He can’t possibly think…it’s his? It would take alien math, a one-year holding pattern, plus magic m
ore potent than Houdini and Criss Angel combined for the baby to be his. I haven’t slept with him for well over a year.

  More proof that the man is crazy.

  Still, his deranged belief is more likely to keep me safe than if I dare to burst his bubble and tell him he’s not the father. I arch a brow while his back is turned, and spin this surprise in a completely different direction. I could make this work. But I’ll need a new plan when Tate arrives. I can’t let the two of them fight. Jett outweighs Tate by a good hundred pounds, and he’s highly skilled in mixed martial arts.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

  “I…didn’t want to tell you until I was farther along. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It was a…surprise.” That part is true.

  “Fuck, here I am chasing you across the country and trying to win you back when I didn’t even need to try that hard. A part of me was always with you…” He kneels in front of me, placing a repulsive hand on my still flat stomach, touching it with reverence. “A little boy. You’ve brought me an heir, my sweet angel.”

  Sure, let’s go with that, even though he can’t be more wrong. Just as he can’t possibly know the sex of the baby only by looking at me either. But with a fifty percent chance of being right, everyone wants to weigh in on my pregnancy and take a wild guess.

  I nod. “Yes. An heir.”

  This lie can buy us time. We only need to play along for a little longer.

  Chapter 17

  Tate

  Molly, my child, Axe, and that psycho are on the other side of this industrial door. He wants me here alone. To fight me for Molly. I’ve seen the security camera footage. I know damn well what I’m up against considering our size difference. It’ll take all heart, the element of surprise, and footwork to beat Jett into the ground. And motivation, which I have a lot of. I’m toast if I don’t believe I can take down the bastard.