Spartan (Forsaken Sons MC Book 1)

by Jessica Joy

  “Yeah, had the cops come and break up a swingers party I was at once. Hauled a guy off with the tapper still up his ass,” Old Man says offhandedly, taking a drink from his coffee like that is the most normal comment he could have made. The rest of us freeze, staring at one another not sure we heard him right and honestly hoping we didn’t.

  “Umm… what the fuck Old Man?!” I ask, not sure if I should laugh or cringe.

  “60’s man,” He says with a shrug, clearly believing that’s a sufficient explanation to another one of his stories.

  “Okay then,” Clay says, trying to break the tension. “You lazy assholes just now eating?” he says through a forced laugh, shaking his head as he drops into the seat next to mine.

  “Shut up gramps, not all of us have our prostate wake us up for senior coffee at the crack of dawn,” I growl at him over the lip of my mug. Clay rolls his eyes at me and smacks me upside the head before swiping a piece of bacon off my plate.

  “Respect your elders ya whipper snapper,” he shoots at me through a mouthful of my stolen bacon, “and it’s the late-night liquor that’s waking me up.”

  “Naw, some of us only have Old Man’s frightening tales to kick start us in the mornings” Remy, one of the Prospects, chuckles from his spot sitting across from us, shoving a mountain of scrambled eggs into his face. Old Man raises his drink toward Remy in salute but thankfully doesn’t offer any further details.

  “You ladies about done? Got a job for ya,” King says with an eye roll, pulling a chair up to the head of the table and settling into it with his own mug of coffee.

  “Got someone moving into the rental this afternoon. Need ya to take a couple of the Probies and go get some furniture for the place. Deck it out, living room, kitchen shit, bedroom set, and a nursery so get a crib; one of those that changes into a bed when the kid gets older” Clay informs us.

  “Take Roxy with ya too. She can help pick out all the decorating shit,” King says to the table. “And Remy,” his eyes cut to the man who now has a chunk of egg hanging out of the side of his mouth. “Need you to go with Tinker and set up a new security system. Full spread.”

  “Who’s moving in?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.

  “Does it matter?” King asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

  “Guess not,” I concede with a small nod.

  “Good. Now go do the neighborly thing and get your ass moving. Need it all in there by 4:00 PM,” King states before pushing away from the table and walking off down the hall toward his office.

  “Neighborly?” I ask, directing my question to Clay.

  “My rentals across the street from your place,” he offers, taking a sip of his coffee and swiping another piece of bacon from my plate.

  “Oh! The place next to Betha’s? Damn your sister makes the best fuckin’ cookies man” Remy exclaims around yet another mouthful.

  “That’s the one. Oh, and next time she bakes for you boy and you don’t bring me any, I’ll kick your ass,” Clay says, shooting Remy a pointed look. Remy raises his hands in surrender and shoots him a lopsided grin before returning to his breakfast. With how skinny he is, I can’t help but wonder where he puts all the food he’s forcing down his gullet.

  “Now both of you get. She’s coming by tonight and I don’t want her and that boy staying at the motel again,” Clay barks with surprising finality.

  “Who is this chick Clay? Why’re you going out of your way for her?” I ask.

  “My Alice took to her. You’ll see why when you meet her. There’s something there. She needs some kindness, and I have a feeling she hasn’t gotten much of that in a long time from the look of her,” Clay says seriously, his fingers tensing around his mug in frustration.

  “You ask a lotta questions for someone who owes me a life debt,” King says in a serious tone. I swear to Christ you can almost hear every single asshole around the table clench as we all still, knowing that tone and it’s never a good thing. King stares down each of us around the table, landing finally on me. I meet his gaze and try to hold it but fuck me that man is intimidating. Looking down into my coffee mug after a moment, I bring it to my lips and take a long drink in an effort to disguise my unease. We all respect the hell outta King, and not a one of us would ever be stupid enough to cross that man.

  My mug is barely to my face before King bangs a fist against the table and lets out a deep rolling laugh. The sound startles all of us, none of us expecting that turn and a chorus of nervous chuckles break out around the table as we all settle back into our seats again.

  “Fuck, y’all shoulda seen your faces!” King laughs, the fucker. “Seriously though, Sawyer,” he turns his gaze back to me, “I helped you clean up the mess you left behind in Jersey, you owe me a debt,” all I can do is nod.

  He’s right, I owe him my life in more ways than one. When I took off, leaving my old life in the dust, I also left my old club. Only, when I left, I was so fucked in the head all I could think about was getting away, running, and I left without a word. Brothers don’t just disappear; Brothers don’t abandon their Club. By the time I got to The Sons, I realized my epic fuck up. I had no choice but to come to King and plead my case. He helped clear my name with my old Club and in return I was busted down to Probie and sent through the ringer. I owe him everything and I know nothing will ever balance that ledger.

  “Good. So, get your ass shopping boy,” King says with a chuckle, slapping me on the back.

  “On it Prez,” I say with another nod as I push back from the table and head to find Roxy and a couple of the Probies.

  “Oh, and Sawyer,” King calls after me, “If she needs anything, you be there.”

  “What the fuck,” I growl under my breath as I fight with the plastic bolts of the mobile I’m trying to affix to the crib, stuffed airplanes knocking around my head and annoying the shit out of me. “This shouldn’t be this fuckin’ hard. I’m a mechanic for fuck’s sake!” I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes trying to get this damn thing attached to the crib. It’s either backward, crooked, or slides down the bars every time I think I’m done. How the fuck can they justify making baby shit this difficult?

  Granted, I was already pissed off when I started this little project so I’m pretty sure the universe is punishing me for cussing out a teddy bear or some shit. I spent the entire day chasing Roxy around store after store as she picked everything out for Clay’s mystery woman. The Probies hadn’t lasted long, lucky bastards. The first stop had been one of the big box hardware stores where Roxy picked out paint for every wall in the house and sent them off to “make it pretty dammit.” Then I had been the lucky one to drive her around and help her wrangle all the bits and pieces she threw into the carts, work with the store to figure out delivery, and in general try to keep King’s woman from going insane.

  Seven hours later here I am cussing out stuffed animals while I set up the kid’s nursery; that stuffed bull is mocking me, I can feel it. This is the one thing I was allowed to pick out. When we got to the store and I saw the airplane themed nursery shit something in me made me pick all of it up and put it in the cart without saying a word. Roxy gave me a look, about to argue with me about the whale sheets she had been holding. I returned her glare with one of my own and she raised a brow at me, tilting her head to the side, I’m sure her evil little mind coming to all kinds of fucked up conclusions.

  “Boys like planes,” I growled before I stalked down the aisle away from her. I’m pretty sure I heard her say something like “easy scary.”

  I tighten the knob on the back of the mobile and step back, thinking I got the damn thing to stay, but it tilts to one side again. I grumble and curse under my breath at it and fight with the damn thing again. After another couple of minutes, I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I give one last crank on the screws at the back and turn away from the crib. I see Clay standing in the doorway grinning at me, trying to keep from laughing at my antics.

  “Don’t even go there,” I grumble at him
, bending to pick up the mobile box and shove all the other garbage into it.

  “Come on in Darlin’ and ignore the growling brute in the corner. He won’t bite. Sawyer put your fangs away boy. This is Tessa and her little man Evan,” Clay chuckles, waving a short brunette into the room. She steps through the doorway into the room, but my eyes don’t go to her, they go instead to the squirming puddle of human in her arms. I have no idea how to tell how old a kid is but this one is at least big enough to be sitting up on her hip and is pulling at her hair and babbling… so bigger than newborn, smaller than toddler… is there a word for that?

  When the woman steps into the room the baby turns and looks around, zoning in on the basket of toys in the corner. His face breaks into a giant toothless grin and he squeals as he tries to dive out of his mom’s arms toward the toys. She gives an awkward laugh and tries to wrestle him back onto her hip as she looks apologetically at me and Clay.

  “Why don’t you let the boy play while we finish the tour? Sawyer there'd be happy to stay with him, wouldn’t ya son?” Clay offers, a humorous glint in his eye that says, “smile and watch the baby or you’ll be cleaning the barrack toilet for a month” the old bastard.

  His offer knocks me out of my daze, and I offer a short, “sure” and a shrug of assent. The woman eyes me, still wrestling with the baby and making no move to set him down. I take a moment to assess her while she is otherwise occupied. She has a mass of dark chocolate brown hair tied back into a ponytail that curls down her back. Her skin is pale and damn near flawless over her oval face and sweetly pointed chin. She has deep hazel eyes that she hadn’t bothered lining or putting on any of that other shit. Her lips… damn those lips… soft pink, pouty and plump, the kind of lips that could drive a man to distraction. But the part I know will stick with me is the adorably “fun sized” package it all comes in. She’s short, not much over five feet, and curvy in all the right ways. My goddamn kryptonite.

  Clay notices the look she’s throwing me and clears his throat, drawing her attention again. “Sawyer is a good man. I would trust him with my life, or that of any of my grandbabies. Evan will be safe with him Darlin’,” he says, motioning behind his back for me to contribute somehow. I offer what I hope is a reassuring face through the lingering bruises, cut cheek, and scabbed over split in my eyebrow.

  That’s what a nice smile looks like, right?

  She looks up at me and takes me in for another moment, but I see something shift behind her eyes and she gives a little nod before stepping forward to grab a blanket off a shelf and lays it out on the floor, setting the baby down on it. She then goes to the basket and grabs out a few toys and lays them out within the baby’s reach. I can’t help but freeze and I look down at him while he rolls onto his side and reaches for his feet. I can’t remember the last time I even saw a baby. She nods again and offers a small “thanks” before turning and looping her arm through Clay’s, letting him lead her from the room.

  I stare down at the little ball of person at my feet, unsure of what to do. I haven’t done the kid thing, let alone baby thing, since my siblings were little. I have no idea what to do with this thing that’s currently attempting to shove his own foot in his mouth. He rolls over onto his stomach and eyes all the toys his mom laid out for him. He reaches for one of the plushy little planes I had picked out. It’s just barely out of his reach and he grumbles, reaching for it again. When he still can’t reach it, he pulls his knees up under him and pushes off, moving forward an inch or two. He reaches for the plane again and grunts in satisfaction when he wraps his little fingers around a wing in a little death grip. He pulls the plane closer and rolls back onto his back, holding it up in the air and balancing it between his hands and feet.

  I watch as he studies the plane for a few moments, turning it over in his hands like he is taking it in and learning all the different parts. After he turns it all the way around, he cranes his neck around and looks at me with another grunt. I just stare back at him, unsure what he’s doing. He grunts at me again, louder this time and starts flailing the plane over his head. When I still don’t respond he babbles in a grumpy tone and smacks the plane against the floor.

  “What kid? Want me to take it or something?” I ask him, cuz just staring at him must be pissing him off. He keeps yelling at me, so I crouch down and take the plane from his little fist. Looking up at me with a big smile he lets out a giggle. I can’t help but chuckle at how fast his mood flips. Looking down at him, the toy hanging from my fingers, I’m completely unsure of what to do. It doesn’t take long for that little crinkle between his eyebrows to return and for him to grumble at me, waving at the toy. Clearly, I am fucking up again. This is worse than shopping with Roxy. Before I can figure out what he is after he pouts and cries again. Fuck. I hate seeing kids upset, and the last thing I want to deal with is his mother thinking I fucked up, so I drop to my knees in front of him and start buzzing my lips like an engine and fly the plane around his head. Thankfully he pulls another whiplash mood swing and starts babbling and giggling as he swipes for the plane when I bring it close enough to him.

  Damn, this kid’s the best; tiny giggles, burbles, and smiles… It reminds me of home. Part of me has always wanted this, to settle down eventually and have a couple of rugrats of my own; but after growing up the way my siblings and I did, and after leaving New Jersey I’ve all but given up on having all of it. I play with the plane and before long I hand him a second one and we’re playing out a dogfight, complete with sound effects and me calling out “There ya go bud! … Ahh! Watch out! ... Kamikaze!” as I swoop my plane down and tickle Evan with it, earning a squeal and delighted giggle.

  Eventually I get the feeling we’re being watched, and I turn to see Tessa leaning against the door frame watching us with an unreadable look. I shoot her a playful smirk before turning back to Evan and tickling him again, eliciting another squeal and giggle out of him. I can’t help but smile and laugh along with him, I can’t help but be in the moment of pure, baby joy.

  Chapter 5

  Tessa

  What in the ever-loving hell is going on?!

  I follow Clay into the cutest little house I have ever seen the afternoon following his ambush at breakfast the day before. The house itself is a side by side duplex, with a large covered front porch that both units share. It’s an older structure but well maintained, with blue cement board siding and crisp white trim and railings. Clay leads me into the unit on the right and the first thing that hits me is the scent of burning candles, fresh pine, possibly trying to cover up the tang of fresh paint that still lingers in the space.

  The door opens on a small tiled entryway leading into a small but cozy living space. A large picture window looking out toward the street offers plenty of natural light and makes the room feel bright and welcoming. Through a large arched opening beyond the living room there’s a quaint, cozy looking kitchen. Through the kitchen there is a small mudroom and a door that leads to the well kept, albeit small, fenced in backyard and detached garage. Off the kitchen there is a steep set of stairs that twist their way up to the upper floors. I follow Clay up to the first landing where he leads me into the nursery. When I see the imposing man bent over the crib fighting with the mobile, I stop dead in my tracks. He’s rough and bruised, recent cuts still healing, obviously a fighter. I admit to being scared at first, only seeing a mountain of a man in a leather jacket with an intimidating grim reaper across his back. But when he straightens and turns toward us, I fight to keep my jaw from dropping. His eyes catch mine and I feel the air get sucked from the room.

  Holy shitballs Batman...I didn’t know they made them that handsome.

  Before I can process what’s happening, thanks to my traitorous ovaries screaming their little heads off, Clay has somehow convinced me to lay Evan at the gorgeous fighter’s feet and go off to finish the tour. I take Clay’s arm and let him lead me out of the room and up the next flight of stairs, feeling not entirely in control of my body at the moment.
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  Clay opens the door at the top of the stairs and ushers me into the master suite in the repurposed attic space. There is a queen-sized bed with a headboard done in beautiful wrought iron scrollwork. The bed is piled high with layers and layers of white blankets, pillows, and a dark purple knit throw draped across the end. Twinkle lights hang along the ceiling behind the bed, covered with the most delicate sheer fabric. It looks like a fairy hideaway. The deep purple walls, the gray wood dresser with the vanity mirror attached; it’s all exactly what I never knew I wanted. There are two doors in the wall off to the left, one leads to a decent sized walk-in closet and the other to the en-suite bath decorated in creams and touches of deep purple. It’s perfect, beyond perfect.

  I stand frozen, trying to take it all in. The house, the room, the job, it’s all so overwhelming. I feel tears burn behind my eyes and I can’t hold them back. I turn to thank Clay and the first hot tear breaks free, sliding down my face. The look of patient pride and excitement in his eyes does me in and the dam breaks. I collapse into his chest, wrapping my arms around him and holding on as the sobs overtake me. Clay wraps his arms around me and holds me close, stroking a hand up and down my back in a comforting motion. It’s such a fatherly display of affection and care, and it breaks me even more. This simple hug from a man I hardly know is the most physical contact and comfort I have received from anyone other than Evan in I don’t know how long. I let the tears and emotions run their course a little longer, enjoying the comfort Clay is offering before I take a deep breath, quelling my emotions, and stepping away.

  I wipe the tears from my face struggling to meet his eyes. I mumble a quick apology and duck into the bathroom to collect myself. I lock the door behind me and go to splash some water on my face. Bracing my hands on the counter I take a few more deep breaths, trying to get my emotions under control again.