MC Bear My Baby (Beartooth Brotherhood MC)

by Bella Love-Wins

  “Uh? What the fuck?”

  He looked around him at the various brothers and officers and even general members who started slapping crumpled ten and twenty dollar bills in front of Cole. They had a god damn bet going? Seriously?

  “When the fuck was I going to find out about this shit, huh?”

  “Never, buddy. Kind of fucks up the betting pool when the person being betted on knows what’s going down,” Silas squeezed his shoulder and offered up his own huge wad of cash, congratulating Cole, his VP, on the win. Silas turned to Tate. “Should I be congratulating you too, Daddy?” Tate cringed at the name and ducked his head. “What about you, momma bear? You doing okay?”

  Silas went in for a hug with Molly, and the girl sunk into his chest, looking like the tears would start up again. She clung to his president. Tate quickly let go of the glass before it shattered in his hands.

  “Ah, so it really was a surprise, then?” Silas looked over Molly’s head when she didn’t answer, making eye contact with Tate to hear it from him. Something in Tate’s expression must have read back the fuck off, because Silas subtly moved away from Molly and gave Tate a light nod.

  “What’s going on down here? It’s like someone died…” Silas’s mother, Cindy, came down the stairs and Tate knew in one glance she’d pick up on the fact that something was going down. Even someone who hadn’t been fucking him on and off for a while could tell.

  Yeah, kicking it with the boss’s momma wasn’t exactly a fabulous idea. Most of his ideas in his young life had sucked, and this was no different. He was sure he needed a conversation with Cindy in private—then again, Molly could do it. They’d had a threesome, after all. It’d probably go over well coming from Molly.

  “I’m pregnant,” Molly blurted out, taking a sip from the bottle of water Axe had given her. “Does that sum it up for you?”

  “You man-trapping bitch!” One second, Cindy was perched on the last step of the stairs and the next, she had her finger in front of Molly’s face, yelling up a storm.

  “Jesus Christ!” Tate leapt up from the bar and stood in between them. He did not see that coming, not from Cindy.

  The older lady tilted her body to the side to get a look at Molly around Tate’s torso. “It’s easy to snag a man, honey, but getting knocked up? That’s desperate. You’re using the oldest play we got in the book, and after all this time you think you’d come up with something more goddamn original.” Cindy reached her hand towards Molly’s throat, and Silas had to yank his mother up and off to the side to separate them. In his old days—like less than forty-eight hours ago—if this had turned into a fight, it would have been the best thing to happen to him. Now, not so much. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed at the loss.

  “We haven’t had a good catfight recently, am I right?” The prospect, Dean, chuckled and patted Tate on the back. “Looks like your girl is lucky to be with child. Cindy would have fucked her up if it weren’t for that.”

  “Yeah, because she knows what’s good for her…” Tate trailed off, thinking of both Cindy’s venom and the health of his seed that had attached itself to Molly.

  Silas and Axe were on each side of Cindy now, escorting her back to her room. Once they were on the landing, Tate sat on the bar stool beside Molly and put his arm around her shoulder.

  “You okay?” On the outside she seemed cool, a little scratched up, but nothing major that wasn’t covered up by the beating she’d gotten from the panther shifter chick.

  “A beating in the ring, and then the threat of another in less than two hours. How do you think I’m doing? I can tell you right now, dandy isn’t the answer.” She took a long sip from her water bottle. “I’m going to bed. If you can assure me that Cindy’s safely tucked away, you can leave the bodyguard duties until tomorrow morning. Oh, and I think I’m better off taking my chances at my place starting tomorrow. I don’t want to have to sleep with one eye open with that woman prowling around here.”

  “Cindy doesn’t live here. You know that. She’s probably staying the night for some other reason.”

  “Well, this is more her home than mine. I’ve never seen her like that. Since when did she think you and her were a thing?”

  “First of all, we’re not a thing. Second, I don’t know what her deal is.”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged off his arm. “And you don’t have to put on this act anymore, like some overprotective boyfriend turned expectant father.”

  “This isn’t some kind of act,” he bristled, then he stopped himself from saying more before something spilled out that they both regretted. This whole knocked up situation was bad enough. “Okay, whatever. Whatever you want, Molly.”

  He backed off, throwing his hands in the air and moving two bar chairs away. Her dismissal stung like a hunting knife to the gut. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Fuck if he knew what way it was supposed to go down though. He wasn’t expecting a fairy tale, but he didn’t think she’d turn cold like this. In spite of the guy’s gazes burning a hole in his back, he let her do her own thing and took another drink from Axe.

  He would walk her to her room whenever she was ready to turn in for the night. Tomorrow, he’d take her home and be her bodyguard from wherever they stationed him. He wasn’t going to inject himself into her life if she didn’t want him there—even if his beast pawed at his chest, roaring its protest and practically had him doubled over on his barstool.

  13

  Molly

  “I can’t deal with this right now,” Molly evaded the concerned looks Jenny and Sabrina gave her at the top of the stairs before she had a chance to get to her room. “Thanks, but no. I’m sorry… Space. I need lots of space.” She waved everyone off and hauled ass down the hallway, closing the guest room door behind her when she got inside.

  Staying here would be too much stress. Between her complications with Tate, an unexpected pregnancy, Cindy’s emotional flare-up and the moves the MC was beginning to make to stop Jett from keeping up his stalker act, it would be a miracle if she got through her first trimester. She took a heavy seat on the edge of the bed, cradling her stomach. God, how had this even happened? With a second to herself to really come to terms with the situation, she had no idea how to feel about becoming a mother.

  Tate had been…good. Surprisingly and weirdly tender with her to the point where—

  “Oh no, we’re not entertaining that right now,” Molly counseled herself out loud. “Don’t even think it.”

  “Think what?” Tate popped his blue Mohawk into the room before he came in. When she turned to look, he stepped inside and shut the door. “I was going to give you what you wanted and leave you alone… but then I figured I never do that normally, so why start a trend I can’t keep up. So, ta-da! Here I am. Your own personal punching bag.”

  She arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips when he dug his hands into his pockets. Their eyes remained caught on each other. “You mean that literally or figuratively?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.” The beat of silence between them seemed to go on forever but neither of them glanced away. “What do you need?”

  “That’s a loaded question, Tate. I’m not—”

  A loud whoosh of sound exploded outside the window. She jerked her head to look and saw the tail end of a fireball against the sky. Was that…flying metal?

  “We can’t go a handful of goddamn days without someone trying to fucking blow us sky high?”

  Tate ran to the window and looked out at the parking lot. He froze, and gripped his hands against the window ledge. Molly cleared her throat to get his attention. Nothing. He didn’t move an inch or make a sound. He didn’t even look like he was breathing.

  “Hey, what the hell happened? Are you going to share or what?”

  She supposed she could have gone to the window herself, but ever since the news of her unexpected package and that beatdown at the fight club, she didn’t trust her wobbly legs all that much. She could barely catch his next movement. He pushe
d away from the window and thrust his left fist into the opposite wall, letting out a growl that could have killed all on its own. Molly ignored her jumpy nerves and summoned up the energy to go to him, but before she could get off the bed, he was charging toward the door.

  “What’s wrong?” She demanded.

  “Motherfucker. Hold on a second.”

  He was gone for probably half-hour. Molly was curious, but at the same time, she was exhausted and could barely move. Before he’d made it back she had already let her head fall to the pillow and drifted off to sleep with her legs hanging off the side of the bed. She woke up to Tate lifting her feet and slipping them under the bed sheets.

  “What happened, Tate?”

  “He’s going to die.” Tate’s voice was grim and eerily dangerous. “That Jett son of a bitch is going to meet his maker—nice and slow.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My bike. The fucker torched my bike…it’s spread out in little shiny pieces all over the damn parking lot. Beyond repair.”

  “How do you know it was him?”

  “The idiot left a note on the clubhouse door.”

  Great, now Jett had gone and done it.

  “Wait, but isn’t he a Beartooth Brotherhood member in one of the Louisiana state chapters?”

  “He is… or at least he fucking was. No way he’s getting to keep his patches after this. No fucking way.”

  “So Silas is going to get involved, right?”

  “Yeah, hopefully before I find him and beat the life out of your ex.”

  “God, I’m so sorry, Tate. I know you loved that bike.”

  “It’s not your fault.” He offered up a lame smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then he walked over to the window again. She thought he was fine until his hand reared back and punched the wall beside it with the same left fist, spreading wood fragments, splinters and wall bits all over his clothes and the hardwood floor. He shook off his hand and then lifted it to look at the bloody knuckles.

  Asking if he was okay seemed pretty pointless, but she asked anyway.

  “It’s fine,” he answered.

  “Your definition of fine needs real work,” Molly sighed out. “Come over here and let me look at it.”

  He returned to his seat on the side of the bed and she eyed his torn up knuckles and twisted fingers. “Stop worrying like that. It’ll heal on its own.”

  She rolled her eyes then pulled his hand close to get a better look. “Don’t worry about it, my ass.” She’d seen shifters get banged up at the underground fighting ring. They healed for sure, but that didn’t mean she’d just sit there and watch him bleed. “Yes, it’ll reknit fine, but are you planning to go outside and shift right now? Because those fingers won’t straighten themselves.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She went to work, first by pulling out her medical bag to find enough gauze and sterile water to clean the wound a bit. After that she bent, molded, and stretched his joints until all of them were realigned to her satisfaction. To his credit, Tate didn’t make a peep. Still she sensed his stare as she went about her work. It must have hurt something fierce, but he’d always been good at keeping a tight leash on his emotions when the mood suited him.

  “You should be fine now.” She laid his healing hand on his thigh and went to put her bag back in the corner, but his fingers wrapped around her wrist. She looked back at him, still sitting on the bed. For a moment she hesitated, afraid to breathe. Raw pain was shimmering in his eyes, and all she could do was take a step toward him.

  “Are you still pissed at me?”

  She was, but she shook her head, ignoring the onslaught of emotions swirling inside her head. He pulled her closer. He was so gentle this time, she went to him. Deep down, if she was truly honest, Molly knew she’d always go to him. Her twisted, torn up vigilante bear.

  “Kiss me,” she said without thinking. Tate closed his eyes as if in pain. A make it or break it moment. Emotional clarity ripped through her, tightening her stomach into frightening knots. “Whatever the hell else is going on between us, I need you to kiss me and make it all better.”

  “I will,” he whispered against her lips, voice gone gravelly as he pulled her to sit in his lap then relaxed back on the bed, taking her with him.

  Neither of them wasted time with their clothing, shucking items to the floor or on the bed without a care as to where it landed. His hands skimmed her waist, cupping her breasts as his thumbs toyed with her nipples. It was the gentlest either of them had ever been with each other. Molly marveled at his natural restraint. He was so strong to begin with, yet this felt like no effort at all for him to moderate his power and force. His palms and lips caressed her flesh until she was gasping from nothing but that simple touch. There had always been other toys, props or scenarios—hell, sometimes other people.

  This was raw. Real. She couldn’t quite breathe.

  He lowered his face down her neck, his teeth gently nipping its way down to her breast. When he glanced up next, his eyes were shadowed with a million emotions. For the first time since he broke the news that night, it hit her that this man would be the father of her child. A gorgeous, complicated man-child with a laundry list of kinky hobbies, yet a person who did his best even while planning to do his worst. All of the MC members would agree to that without question. Tate was a walking contradiction.

  She reached down his body and took his steely shaft in her hand, stroking him and making him groan.

  “Do it,” he breathed out on a sigh. His fingers wove through her raven locks and pulled her down for a kiss. “I need to be inside you.”

  Molly lined herself up and drove down on his cock at the same time that his hips rose up. It hit all the right spots. Her eyes drifted closed, and she started a rhythm with her hips that matched the chaotic beat of her pulse against her temples. Sharp, but lingering thrusts that connected them at their very core, putting them on the same wavelength to feed off each other’s pleasure. Tate continued to taste, touch and please her to the point where she couldn’t tell where his lips, tongue, teeth, or hands would wind up next.

  She was lost.

  They both were.

  It was a sacred moment, together.

  She kissed him, slow and lingering, relishing the sparks of light flashing behind her eyes. He seemed to understand. His hand came up to cradle her neck at the same time that she thought about pulling away and their kiss deepened as the beginnings of an orgasm tightened deep inside her abdomen. All she had to do was let go.

  Tate coaxed her through it with a feather-light kiss, while his fingers trailed down her spine in a delicate tease she never would have thought him capable of before now. That last touch tipped the scales for both of them. She was so used to seeing him get off from all the extra kink they both brought to the table, that the idea of his touch alone sent her soaring into a mind-blowing orgasm. It made any of her previous understandings of intimacy pale in comparison, that they were enough together. The split second told her so much more than she’d known. As her body trembled above him, riding out the last slow burn of her ecstasy, he gripped her hips in his large palms, and guided her on his cock.

  She let him take the lead, watching through a haze of emotion as his gentle, teasing strokes drew more and more frantic signaling he was ready. That expression when he came was as familiar to her as the back of her own hand, yet tonight he struggled to keep his eyes open. Normally he kept them shut, blocking out the world, and her by association. He gripped her more tightly to connect them so deeply at the last second as he came, and his eyes never wavered from her face. He seemed to search and discover something he may have known all along.

  “Christ,” he groaned, shuddering beneath her while his fingers trembled and pulsed against her hips. He dug them into her flesh, causing her to gasp and hiss as another roll of pleasure lingered beneath her skin from the intimate, possessive contact. “That was…”

  He licked his lips, chest barely keeping up with his bre
ath.

  “Yeah,” she said in a raspy whisper, falling to his side and curling up against his warmth.

  Anything left to say remained unsaid but understood. She buried her head in the hollow of his neck, and his arm twined around her back in an unfamiliar gesture that left her speechless. Tate’s lips brushed her forehead, and it took every bit of willpower to keep her expression neutral. Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about it much longer because within seconds she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms.

  14

  Tate

  Tate woke up with a start. Molly's arms and legs were wrapped around him almost protectively. Her warmth alone was insane. That hadn’t been what had woken him up, so he gently shifted out from her comfy grip, trying not to wake her up. Kicking his legs off the side of the bed, he pushed himself to stand and moved to the door. He rubbed his eyes, thankful as fuck that his brain wasn’t even close to processing right. Only a couple of hours had passed since they fell asleep, so he put some effort into shaking off the drowsiness to get the door.

  Silas was standing there with a fist raised, about ready to knock again.

  “What’s up?” Tate glanced back at the woman in his bed as she groaned and rolled over. Sliding out the door, he half-closed it behind him.

  Silas’s gaze flicked up and then down with a grimace. Which was when Tate caught on that he wasn’t wearing anything, not even a sheet.

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

  His president’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he frowned. “I need you on a job. Axe will keep an eye on her while you’re gone.” Tate started to argue when Silas held up a gloved hand. “Nope. Not a word, you bonded son of a bitch. Downstairs. Now. Preferably not naked.”

  His half-awake brain caught onto the bonded part of the sentence and clung to it like a bear digging its claws into the edge of a cliff. He watched Silas walk down the long hallway, but didn’t really see the guy. His head did a giant rewind on his sack session with Molly.