Filthy Daddy (Satan's Saints MC #2)

by Bella Love-Wins

  Shoving the industrial door open, I step into the warehouse and find them in the center of the large empty space. Axe is slumped in a chair, covered in thick, heavy snow chains. Then I catch sight of Molly, who sits with her hand resting on her stomach. Ropes lay loose on the ground around her chair, and Jett’s kneeling beside her, caressing her hair. I don’t need to be the man’s size. I’ll kill the fucker for touching her. Right fucking now.

  “I’m here now, Jett. Before we do this, you need to let Molly and Axe go. That was the deal.”

  “All right,” he answers without looking in my direction. He gets to his feet and leans down, kissing Molly’s cheek. “Excuse me for a minute, baby. I need to teach this man a lesson for coming between us.”

  “Let’s do this shit,” I tell the crazy idiot.

  Jett makes it a few paces away from Molly. I charge toward the son of a bitch head on without warning. Only brute force will disable him. I have a lot of that stored up. The man has stalked my woman, blown up my bike, knocked out Axe with God knows what kind of tranquilizer, kidnapped Molly, and has the nerve to kiss her and caress her stomach too? My baby?

  He needs to pay.

  Jett and I go down to the ground hard. We’re sprawled out on the floor and fight with hands and knees, elbows and feet. We can both fight dirty. I feel his fist hit squarely against my eye socket. I answer back on the fucker’s jaw, but the big bastard barely reacts. I sucker punch him in his gut over and over. But hell, the pain in my eye is affecting everything—my sight, my instinct to keep my face covered, and all of that effort makes me less effective everywhere else.

  We struggle on the floor, and I give it everything I have to gain the upper hand. If I let him roll me onto my back, well fuck, there’d be no coming back from that with a man his size. I start to hit every available spot on his body. Each blow takes me closer to passing out. He, on the other hand, looks like he won’t break a sweat anytime soon.

  In spite of the blood in my eyes, I fight.

  Because I have something to fight for.

  Two people.

  My family.

  “Hold up, bro! I got your back, hang in there! To the left! He’s gonna go left!” Axe must have come to. He calls out from across the warehouse. “Watch out—”

  I duck left. Jett goes right, charging his full fucking over-one-hundred-pound weight difference into the blow. I feel the wind knocked out of me as I crash hard on my back. I have no time to react. The slick motherfucker sits on my chest, ready to finish me off.

  If I survive it, this beating will hurt like hell.

  I cover my face to protect the injured eye and brace for impact.

  He pulls back his right hand, ready to pound his fist, but the blow never comes.

  Axe crashes his metal chair into the back of Jett’s head. The man collapses onto the ground beside me. I get to my feet to help Axe use the same chains to tie up our unconscious stalker slash kidnapper. He won’t last the night after I’m done with him.

  But a loud whistle echoes through the air I look over at my president in disbelief. Fuck no, this dose of payback is not stopping.

  “Stop!” Silas shouts. “Tate, if you go any further, you’ll be going against the club regs. I’ll take your fucking patch myself.”

  Fuck. I was already warmed up to the idea of finishing off the guy by sunrise.

  Axe holds me back, and Silas gives me a sideways glance, narrowing his eyes. “I’m making the choice for you, buddy. No blood on your hands. We’re exiling the motherfucker from membership with the Satan’s Saints and all other allied MC charters.”

  “That’s not justice,” I shout. “It’s bullshit. That won’t stop him from coming after Molly.”

  “It’s not your call. Cole, strip Jett of his patch and fuck up his ink.”

  “You got it, Si.” Cole and Axe drag an unconscious Jett away.

  My rage won’t die down. The guy doesn’t deserve to live.

  “I need you to calm down for me,” Silas orders me. “Get your woman and take her home.”

  Molly.

  I forced myself to ignore the killer pain in my side and deep behind one eye. Thank fuck I’d seen worse bruises than this before I hit puberty. I can walk this off. Molly is the person I should be worried about. And the child she’s carrying.

  My child.

  I hurry over to her chair and lift her into my arms. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she answers and brushes her lips against mine.

  I see the bigger picture as I carry her to my truck. Molly’s fine, and so is the baby.

  Any other outcome would’ve scared me to pieces, but that’s what I heard. If a woman makes you really excited and a little scared, she’s the one. I don’t remember where I picked up that nugget, but it makes sense. And I know there’s no one else I’d want to carry my child other than this petite fighter with a heart of fucking gold and the soul of an angel.

  Chapter 18

  Tate

  I bring a bottle of club soda to Molly’s bedside. She’s been nauseous since I brought her home from the ordeal with Jeff.

  I cup her face, and she swats my hand away. “That still hurts from the boxing match.”

  “If you can’t handle this how are you going to manage popping a kid out of your vag?”

  That wasn’t supposed to fly out of my mouth, but I’ve never had the gift of being tactful.

  “Ugh,” she groans, shifting around on my bed.

  Now’s the time to man up. That is my only opening to raise a question that needs to be discussed. Does she plan to keep our baby? Does she want my child?

  Fuck, it’s her choice, but both options leave me questioning their merits. Both losing and keeping our unplanned child creates more questions that paralyze me. What if she doesn’t want the child? What if she does? Why would she want to have my child? This baby will have half my genes, which can’t be good for anyone. He’s sure to be fucked up in the head like me, at least a little. What woman would willingly sign up carrying my child, let alone raising him or her? I’m such a useless, degenerate fuck-up, what would she be getting out of the deal? Having my kid will mean being shackled to me forever.

  I can’t blame Molly if she’s considering the idea of avoiding that kind of future. She intimately knows my history of getting fucked up, busting skulls, fucking over women, and screwing up my life. I’ll probably end up being the deadbeat dad to end all deadbeat dads.

  “Fuck, this isn’t happening,” I whisper.

  “What’s isn’t happening?” Molly asks without moving from her spot on my bed.

  “Nothing. I’m all right.”

  I leave it at that and hope she lets it be.

  “You can talk to me.”

  I know from her pleading tone that we need to clear the air between us before we both suffocate. I’m not in the right frame of mind to have this conversation, but at the same time, there’ll probably never be a good time. We can’t avoid it for the next nine or so months.

  “Fuck. Okay. What I wanted to ask you was… are you planning to keep…it?”

  I don’t know why I keep picturing the child she’s carrying as a boy. Deep down, if she wants to keep the child, that’s what I want. A little boy who’ll get all the love and nurture I never got when I was young. At the same time, I have a hard time giving the baby a gender out loud. There’s still a chance she doesn’t want to keep him. Babies need their mothers. The last thing I want is to encourage a woman to bring an unwanted child into this world, so I won’t make her choice any harder. It’s her body, after all. Even if doing what’s right for her will rip open a gaping hole in my chest and kill whatever’s left of my broken soul.

  Chapter 19

  Molly

  His question feels like a slap in the face. I can’t be neutral or objective now. The bottom just fell out of my world.

  It.

  He called our baby an it.

  He…doesn’t want the baby?

  The thought never even
crossed my mind.

  It’s too…wrong.

  Horrifying, really. Long before I started my nursing degree, I was pro-choice. Yet now, knowing this tiny miracle is growing inside me, all I want to do is see him or her, and get to know him or her, and hold him or her tight to my chest.

  Him or her.

  Never it.

  How much worse can it get to hear the father afraid to acknowledge his own child as a person in a damn sentence? A wave of nausea hits, and I grip the bed. If he wants to make my choice easier, he’s just done it. I’ll keep the baby and raise him or her by myself. Tate never has to be a part of our lives if he doesn’t want to. It’s simpler to take him out of the equation right now. This way I won’t have to worry about fifty-fifty custody, or visitation, or child support, or trying to mold our casual non-relationship into something that it wasn’t from the very beginning.

  Everything is suddenly very cut and dry.

  Simple.

  “You don’t have to be a part of our lives.” I take a deep breath that eases in through my lungs like shards of glass. “Jett is out of the picture. This is over. We’re over. In fact, you and I were never a thing. I’m sure you know that. You’re off the hook, Tate.”

  That sums it up. There isn’t anything else to be said between us.

  I keep my gaze pinned to the well-shined wooden floor as I get off of his bed, walk out of his room and return to the guest room. I absently pack my things into my travel bag. He didn’t say a word or make a move to follow me. That tells me everything I need to know. A few tears fall past my lashes, and I angrily brush them off.

  Everything after that point is a blur. I stumble down the steps with my travel bag bouncing against my hip. I’m numb as I make it to the bar and give Silas a tap on the shoulder.

  He turns just his head and studies me for a second.

  “Hey. What are you doing carrying that bag when you’re pregnant?”

  “Is there anything I need to sign now that our agreement for security or protective services has come to an end? You know where to invoice us, so are we good?”

  “There’s nothing to sign. You should be golden. What, you going somewhere?”

  “I need to go home. Now.”

  “What’s the hurry? Did Cindy get on your case again? I’ll send her home if she does.”

  “No. I haven’t seen her.”

  “Good. What’s the problem then?”

  “Shit’s handled. I’m out. Thanks for all your help. I mean that.” I push away from the bar and walk over to Axe. “Hey, I need a ride home if you have some time.”

  He nods. “You got it. I’ll grab my keys.”

  Chapter 20

  Tate

  What the fuck just happened?

  History is repeating itself, quick and dirty, and now I’m paying the price. My issues bite me in the ass with every second Molly stays away from me. It isn’t the first time the past has come back to fuck with my present. It probably isn’t the last time either. Not with my luck.

  I tell myself that I’ve done the best thing for Molly, and probably for the baby too. The last thing she needs in her life is another anchor or complication, especially with all her goals and dreams of middle-class, picket fence, goal-setting be all you can be bullshit. She wants to pass her nursing exams, become a nurse, and make something of herself. She probably wants a big mansion like the one her mother owns. I know I’ll only fuck all that up. I’m too screwed up to be in any one woman’s life long-term, because I’ll break her, hurt her, and then walk away before she figures out how utterly damaged I really am.

  There were way too many years being kicked around through the foster care system where no family wanted me. I scowl at the vivid memories that funnel through my brain. The sharp sting of belts across my ass, shoulders, and back because I took a shower when it wasn’t my turn, or used too much water. The strict schedules of different household who didn’t want to spend a dime more than they were paid by the state for my care. And those were the better foster homes.

  Then there was that one woman with the smothering hugs. Always a little too long. Her fingers arching over every bone in my spine, cupping my ass. I shudder at the memory. The next ones weren’t much better either. None of them were real winners. Then it got worse. I had a growth spurt between the ages of ten and thirteen that took me to almost six feet tall. That landed me in a group home because every foster parent thought I was one of those rebellious, angst-filled, graffiti-carrying teenagers. Did I ever have to grow up fast after that. Hell, I have enough emotional baggage to sink a cargo ship. I’ve been set up for failure.

  But I’m alive.

  Employed.

  Good at everything to do with computers, programming, hacking codes.

  I can fight to save my life and the lives of people I care about.

  I know everything there is to know about guns and knives.

  I have skills in my ABC, like Silas’s old man trained me up to have when he found me on the Las Vegas streets.

  Automatic weapons.

  Breaking bones and busting skills.

  Cracking computer codes.

  That’s better than a lot of people. Sure, some of the shit I did for big man Corrigan, as I used to call him, was pretty fucking shady, but now it’s different. Silas is running things. I’m on the up and up with the club for every new client we take on with the security business.

  That’s something.

  It just isn’t enough. My skills don’t make me a worthy human being, or the decent father I can be if I try, or anything remotely close.

  No, this is for the best. I’m better off letting Molly go rather than doing something I can’t take back. Like screwing up my son’s chance of a healthy existence by being in his life, or passing on the family legacy of fuckups. I could never forgive myself if that happened.

  Molly made the right decision by leaving.

  I just wish my gut would settle down and agree.

  Chapter 21

  Molly

  “Mom, stop plying me with calcium supplements. I’m fine. Just give me a pint of ice cream like a normal woman and stop fussing. And please leave Tate out of this conversation.” I rattle the huge bottle of mega-sized vitamins that are probably way too big for a horse to swallow. My mother ran out and bought them the second I gave her the big news about the baby.

  Now she’s back home from her half-day-long shopping spree which started online, then turned into a trip to every baby store between here and Mesquite. She’s a bit more relaxed that I have a supply of diapers, onesies, baby bottles, and an order for a crib to be delivered. Does she realize that the baby won’t be here for another eight or so months? The clubhouse was easy compared to this.

  My mother swivels from her perch on a high-back bar stool near the kitchen counter. She turns to look as I search for a few of the taller food cans in a cupboard. Yes, the canned foods will hide these horse-sized supplements for now. She lowers her reading glasses on her nose and gives me a look. I would’ve been better off keeping my mouth shut about the baby. I hope the woman won’t judge. This is her grandchild. I’m sure she’ll want to have a say in everything.

  Including the onesies.

  “I’m not sure I want to raise a baby with a man who can’t get his life together. I plan to pass my nursing exam and apply for the state licenses right afterward. I’ll have to take some time off when the baby is born, but at least then I’ll be able to work in a good job after a few months. I’m sure I can support the two of us. The truth is I can raise this baby on my own if I have to. Sure, without the father in the picture, it can be a mess…” I trail off unable to give voice to the full weight of my choice.

  “You should know that I support any choice you make. No matter what it is. I’ll be here to help with whatever you need. I’m not going to judge you. You’re a grown woman. I’m sure you judge yourself far more harshly than I ever could. Plus, now’s not the time to piss you off, for two obvious reasons. First, I want to be in
my grandbaby’s life. Second, you’ve been stressed out enough with Jett. Thank God he’s gone…wherever Tate and those people took him.”

  Mom gets up from the bar stool, walks around the counter and pulls me in tightly.

  God, I need that.

  “Thanks for saying all that.”

  She eventually lets go of me. I’m not impressed when she steps over to the cabinet, finds the hidden horse-sized tablets, and slides the container of vitamins over to me. “You’re going to need these so that my grandchild has a healthy head start, honey.”

  I roll my eyes and fiddle with the childproof cap. “Thanks, Mom. Really. Geez, it’s the twenty-first century. You’d think they’d figure out a way to make these things smaller.”

  Mom ignores that. “I need you to know I’m proud of you no matter what happens.”

  This feels so surreal, I can’t help but question it. “You mean to tell me that your only daughter gets knocked up by accident, by a biker gang member, and you’re proud of me? That’s got to be a first.” I glance down at the marble kitchen island counter. A handful of days ago I was playing naughty shoplifter here with Tate. “God, I was such an idiot.”

  “This is what I mean. You judge yourself enough. I don’t need to weigh in at all.” She squeezes my arm. “You also forgot to mention that your biker gang boyfriend happens to love you dearly, is part of a legitimate security firm that shut down that psychotic ex-boyfriend of yours, and he’s awfully cute too.” She lifts my chin, and as our eyes meet, she gives me a wink. “Please promise me if you don’t end up moving in with Tate, you and the baby will stay here with me.”

  I have no words for anything my mother said during the last minute.