MC Bear My Baby (Beartooth Brotherhood MC)

by Bella Love-Wins

  “Aw, fuck,” he bit off in a whisper.

  He was bonded to her now, practically the same as being hitched…and a total fucking goner.

  Tate was halfway through re-programming a safe at the house of a client Silas sent him to work on when he was sure he completely lost it. Exhausted from lack of sleep and running on fumes, all he registered was his beast’s bone-deep need to make it back to the woman still passed out in his bed. He wasn’t sure how he would finish the work on the crazy rich woman’s safe, not the way his mind was singly-focused, counting down the seconds to get back to Molly. This work was supposed to be as simple as going through his routine diagnostics, hooking up his laptop to enter some new codes and switching out a few wires. Apparently not today.

  The client was downstairs providing more details to Silas on some additional security features that she wanted them to have a hand in. Silas prattled on that Knightsbridge Protection and Security LLC, the MC’s security firm, was more than capable of meeting her needs. From the sounds of it, the work was extensive and costly. This reprogramming piece he’d just started was just the beginning. He’d definitely need to make a few return trips with an installation team if this panned out. Glad for the grunt work up here instead of negotiating terms, Tate sighed and threw his head back into the game.

  “Pssst!”

  “Wha…” Tate glanced around him, pretty fucking sure he was alone in the massive house. “Great, you’re hearing things now.”

  “Hey, do you want to play hide and seek with me?”

  Okay, that wasn’t a hallucination. Tate whipped his head toward the doorway and caught the tip of a small, blonde pigtail before it hid behind the doorway.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I haven’t had enough sleep for this shit.

  Crap.

  A kid.

  I’m having a goddamn kid.

  Like that one.

  Except a boy.

  He let out a grunt and stepped over to the door, checking to see what he was up against. A tiny little human girl, maybe five, was hiding behind her hands, her curly pigtails bouncing up and down. She had a huge case of the giggles. Yeah, he needed overtime pay for this. Big time. He swallowed, trying to remember the last time he’d seen, let alone interacted with a little squirt, and he came up empty-handed. Just another big fat reminder of how intimidating this fatherhood thing could end up being.

  “Play with me?” The pint-sized human peeked out between her itty bitty fingers with a big old gap-toothed grin.

  Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The world constricted around him and his heart was beating way too damn fast. His thoughts tumbled over and over like a fucking dryer that wouldn’t turn off while he mentally scrambled for an off switch, or lever, or pulley, or something to stop it. All he could do was stare at her as his whole world came crashing down in seconds. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

  One of these days he was going to have one of these.

  A real life half-shifter, half-human kid.

  A little boy. One who could turn out to be just as messed up as his old man, and run the risk of screwing his way through women.

  Nope, he couldn’t be a father. He’d already fucked up his life.

  Too bad he didn’t get a say in the matter.

  “I got to…uh, I…bye, kid,” Tate sputtered, stumbling down the hallway toward the nearest bathroom.

  He tossed his cookies until he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. After that, he gripped the sides of the toilet, praying for a miracle, that somehow this wasn’t his life. Maybe Molly was wrong, it was a false positive, and he could go back to screwing up his life the only way he knew how to in the first place. Back to living as if he only had himself. Wishing seemed like a better idea than the impending terror of a small human who pooped, spat up, whined, squeaked and grunted for hours at a time, and needed him.

  Something about that thought made him pretty positive he couldn’t get away with being downstairs in the clubhouse soothing himself with whiskey and pussy at the bar while Molly was upstairs tending to poop. He should know. Maybe this was just a ‘sins of the father’ kind of deal, seeing that he was abandoned by his parents as a kid. That more or less created damn good odds that he’d turn out truly fucked up as an adult. Which he did. What was sad was the idea sounded better and better as it filtered through his head. He flushed the toilet one more time and stood up. This line of thinking was not helping at the moment. What he needed to do was shut down the fucked up thoughts, get this job done, and get some sleep. That would help him avoid that niggling seed of a temptation to remove one major complication out of his life.

  In theory, it sounded like great goddamn advice. In practice he needed the world to stop spinning a million degrees at a time. It was hard to concentrate on numbers when his chest felt tight and air wouldn’t fill his lungs and with this damned blurry vision. Was this what people called a panic attack? He coughed over his fist. No matter what he did, nothing loosened the pressure.

  Fuck, he had to get back to work.

  Three hours later the safe was done, Silas and the client were satisfied, and Tate could finally go back home. He’d borrowed the MC’s communal truck since pieces of his bike were scattered across the parking lot, wedged into trees and sticking out of the clubhouse outer walls. Thinking he’d get in touch with Axe to make sure everything was okay with Molly, he pulled out his phone to send a text before driving off. He tried to type in the little symbols but his damn fingers kept shaking. Finally, he got his message on the screen, pressed send, and was on his way back home.

  While waiting at a red light about ten minutes later, a text came in. He fumbled for the phone in the inner pocket of his cut and checked the screen.

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

  Tate shook his head and threw his phone on the other side of the truck seat. It was impossible for any of them to be anything but assholes, but for a second he toyed with the idea of ripping Axe’s throat out with his bare hands for even thinking of touching Molly. It was oddly satisfying. Half his mouth quirked up in a smirk as he continued the drive on autopilot, thinking a meal sounded good, although a full four hours sleep would help too.

  The phone’s text notification went off again. What did Axe want now? Tate gritted his teeth. It was too far away to reach while driving, and he was in no mood to stop and take that much longer to get home to Molly. A tingle hit the back of his neck. His beast stretched, prowling inside his sternum, large paws thumping against his innards. Small chuffs played in the back of his mind and he couldn’t sit still in the seat.

  Something was off.

  His gut was churning.

  He glared at the phone out of the corner of his eye. For a second he tried to convince himself it was probably just Axe messing with his head again. No, that wasn’t it. His fingers gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white, and he let out a long, slow exhale. He couldn’t wait.

  Something was wrong.

  He checked his rear view mirrors and as no one was behind him, he jerked the wheel, pulling the truck off the side of the road. He threw on his four-way flashers before his hand blindly groped for the phone and slipped his thumb over the screen.

  911. We got fjehiirnvy;w

  Tate blinked at the numbers and garbled letters. None of it was making sense. Nothing was making it through the cheesecloth holes of his brain. He slammed his fist into the dash, flinching when a large crack broke off into a million tiny plastic splinters all flying into the windshield and over on the passenger side. With an unmistakable roar, he shoved the car into drive. His foot was heavy on the accelerator. He had to get home fast.

  After hitting the only four supermarkets and minimarts between Mesquite, Nevada and Red Ridge, Arizona where they lived, he stumbled on what he was looking for: Axe’s bike in a parking lot. He could tell that thing from yards away. Axe had put a bright red ‘I Break for D
achshunds’ sticker slapped on the back of his chopper’s passenger seat. Tate barely had the truck in park when he bolted out of the cab and into the store.

  “Jesus Christ, can I catch a fucking break, Lord? Even if I don’t believe in you?” Tate dropped into a crouch so he didn’t lose his shit and straight out shift in public.

  This had to be the place.

  The only sales clerk behind the front counter, and from the looks of it, the only person in the shop, had been shot execution style. There was no questioning that double tap, one to the temple and the other through the heart. The problem was that neither Axe nor Molly was anywhere in sight. He squeezed the sides of his head hard enough to hurt. He needed something to stop this all-consuming primal urge to shift to his animal. Heat welled up in his veins, pumping until his muscles ached. One way or another, his beast wanted out—now.

  If he could just keep it together long enough to devise a plan.

  A plan. He only needed one step in that plan. One thing at a time. Anything to serve as a distraction from the sinking feeling. Jett had done something to Axe and kidnapped Molly—and his unborn child. The thought plunged down his spine in a soul-ripping shudder.

  One thing. One step.

  He started by getting his phone from the truck. No other messages had come in so he phoned Silas to give him the details and get some MC reinforcements lined up and ready to go wherever they needed to. After that, he found the pay phone on the side of the building and called the ambulance anonymously. No one needed to know he was here. Their response time in this stretch of highway was closer to fifteen minutes, which gave him time to check out the entire store and storage room in the back before he’d get the hell out and turn into a ghost. And he’d take any evidence that might lead him to Molly with him.

  Rubbing the back of his head, he jumped into action.

  After a few minutes of checking the inside and outdoor perimeter, there was nothing to indicate Axe had even put up a fight. Tate didn’t see a blood trail either, so neither Axe nor Molly was shot or stabbed, thankfully. Still, the lack of disorder was disturbing. There had to be other circumstances. On his second pass through the squat corner store he found their grocery cart shoved behind the counter near the dead guy—with half a dozen sweet peppers and several packages of chicken. That was Molly’s cart without a doubt, the ingredients of her go-to dinner meal. A lump immediately solidified in his throat and radiated outward until he wondered if he’d ever breathe normally again.

  Fear was a vicious motivator.

  It was one hell of a learning experience this time, though, not being worried for himself.

  This was a big old first, one he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live through a second time when this was all over.

  While he was behind the counter he snatched the surveillance footage. Sure he was tampering with evidence, but in this case, he had no problem being judge, jury and executioner. Especially that last one. Tate passed near the refrigerated drink cases at the end of the cashier’s counter, and carefully pulled out a needle that was partially sticking out from under the machine. A tranquilizer or two would be enough to take down Axe. Not so lucky for them, Molly’s stalker ex was a bear shifter too, which meant he was in on all the little shifter secrets. Like how much juice he’d need to make a shifter go nighty-night so he could do whatever he wanted with Tate’s old lady.

  Tate swallowed down both ideas, finding them unsettling as hell.

  He took a look at the time. It had been nine minutes since he called 911. Time to disappear. He pocketed the syringe and hurried out. He part-shifted for the physical strength to put Axe’s bike on the truck bed, then he hopped into the truck to meet Silas and the others at the clubhouse.

  One thing was for damn sure—he couldn’t do the rest of this alone.

  15

  Tate

  “We got any clues yet?” Tate hovered near the TV all but biting his fingernails as Cole replayed the surveillance video in the meeting room for the eighteenth time.

  “No, not since the last time you popped off at the mouth, kid,” Cole barely budged from the digital screens. He was scanning for any clues as to what the creeper might have done to Molly and Axe, and where he may have taken them. Silas had excused himself to contact the Baton Rouge Charter of the Beartooth Brotherhood MC. The president over there was sure to have some information.

  So far, the tape confirmed that Molly and Axe had entered the grocery store and shopped around for a good bit. They were ready to check out when Jett snuck into the store from the back of the store. He jammed a syringe into Axe’s neck from behind. Dude had dropped like a sack of potatoes. Molly had tried to leave, but Jett quickly blocked her and took out the clerk behind the counter. She had hit the deck just then, smart girl. After that, Jett dragged her with him at gunpoint, took her outside, and came back for Axe while he was still unconscious.

  There was no other evidence. Not a license plate number, no accomplices. Nothing.

  Tate paced across the meeting room, fighting the urge to tear the place apart. They’d been slogging through the security footage, going over every move, for at least an hour. Dean was handling the phone tree with the surrounding shifter allies in the area. If Jett was still in the area now, they would figure it out through their network. All and all, shit was moving—but not fast enough. Not when he kept thinking about what could be happening.

  “Tate.” He jerked his head up and looked at Silas. “Brother, how about you save that fuck ton of pent-up rage on your face until we find this asshole?” His president threw up his hands and took a step back.

  “What?” He had no idea what Silas was talking about.

  “Big guy. Just letting you know you should probably keep your shit on lockdown. Those are sharp, you feel me?” Silas motioned until Tate glanced down at his fully formed bear paws where his hands should have been, sharp tipped claws digging rivulets into their conference table.

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

  “It’s all good, man. I get it.”

  Sabrina popped her head in to see if there were any updates. Silas went over to her, kissed her forehead and told her to get some rest. Everyone was worried and wound up. He went back to the map he’d started looking at before he left to talk to the Baton Rouge president.

  “Before you ask, I got nada from Bryant. Jett’s been MIA for weeks according to him. Off the grid and AWOL. It sounded like the kid got his membership revoked. We’ll find him, Tate. The longer he’s been around Shifter Canyon, the more likely our people have seen him. You can bet your life on it. She’ll be fine.”

  Their eyes locked and they shared a sappy, brother bonding, man hug chick-flick moment. If anyone could do it, he was sure Silas wouldn’t let him down. Not when he knew exactly what was on the line for him. Tate shoved down all his negative shit and rattled his brain for anything that might help the boys. He couldn’t come up with anything. Talk about useless, he might as well have had his thumb up his ass. His phone rang on the other side of the table and he hurtled himself at the vibrating gadget to take the call.

  “Yeah?” He barked, breath choppy.

  “Tate? Is…is…that you?”

  His whole body gave out in a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding at the sound of Molly’s shaky—but very much alive—voice. A surge of questions all raced in his head, mixing in with the relief that took over the fear and anger only for a split second until it was all replaced by panic.

  “You’re okay? Tell me you’re okay? We’re coming to get you, just hang in—”

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

  He tried to focus, but his mind couldn’t roll over the idea that she was on the other end of the line. Why would her captor let her phone him like that? He licked his lips, clutching the phone more tightly as if it would help keep her on the call for as long as they needed to get her back.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’m with Jett. We’re a
t a warehouse, the address is 371 Persimmon Place, about fifty minutes southwest from the grocery store where we were taken. I’m fine. He hasn’t touched me. But Axe is not doing too well.”

  There was silence. Again he opened his mouth to ask all of the questions, but something stopped him. If he interrupted, who knew how much time he’d have left on the phone?

  “Keep going, baby.”

  “Um…” She sniffled and it took everything inside him not to shift to his bear and find a way to protect her. “I’m sorry!”

  She knew that bit wasn’t for him. It was too muffled. Jett was watching and listening to her, controlling what she said. Tate looked around the four corners of the clubhouse meeting room as waves of helplessness sunk deep inside him.

  “Tate, don’t do anything stupid. Please. Just come to the warehouse as soon as possible, alone—” Molly made a whimper, and there was some rustling.

  A growl trickled out of Tate’s lips as all the hairs on his body stood on end as he began to address Jett. “Listen, you sick motherfucker. I will annihilate you and everyone you love if you so much as look at her wrong!”

  Her captor, presumably Jett came on the call. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, brother. Pump the brakes! No one’s getting hurt here. I’m simply asking you to meet me at the warehouse so we can have a gentlemen’s discussion…and by discussion, I mean duel.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’m asking to handle this issue like gentlemen, brother.”

  “Don’t. Call. Me. Brother. What the hell do you want?”

  “I say we fight to the death…bear style.”

  “If you so much as touch a hair on her head or harm the baby in any way…I won’t be responsible for how your club finds you tomorrow.”