Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC Book 5)

by Jeanne St. James

  “But I know nothin’ about babies.”

  “Ain’t much to know about havin’ snot monkeys. When they cry, you shove somethin’ in their mouth. When they shit, you change their nappy. When they get older, they break your shit and steal it, too. They eat the last fuckin’ piece of fried chicken and put the container back empty in the fuckin’ fridge. They cost you a fuckton of scratch. There you go. Now you’re up to speed.”

  “Speaking of a fuckton of scratch, here’s your card back, Dutch,” Reilly said pulling the credit card out of her back pocket. “I might have hit the limit.”

  Dutch shook his head. “Gonna take it outta his pay.”

  “Look, I’ll go try to figure out the formula. I’m sure it has instructions on the can. I got everything I can think of to at least get through today. In the meantime, you figure out how to get a DNA test. Then figure out what you’re going to do with this sweet little girl during the day while you’re working since I’m not going to be a babysitter. Between running the office here and helping out Ozzy in the evening, I have enough to do. Get a house mouse like Cassie and Judge did,” Reilly suggested.

  That wasn’t a bad idea.

  Saylor. She was an option.

  “You still never said where you and your snot monkey are stayin’,” Rook reminded him.

  Snot monkey.

  He might have his very own snot monkey now.

  He glanced at the baby, whose eyes were drifting closed. “Reilly?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m awake, right?”

  “Oh, you’re definitely awake.” With that and a grin, she left the office.

  Fuck, he was afraid of that.

  Thank fuck the garage had a spare vehicle. Sometimes they loaned it out to their customers, sometimes used it for a parts run or to grab lunch, or for whatever.

  Like strapping a car seat into the back.

  While not Cage’s preferred method of transportation—that would be his ’75 Shovelhead or his ’65 Chevy—it had to do. For now. Once he got the results back from the cheek swabs he and the baby just had done—and if the results came back saying he was the father—then he’d reevaluate getting something better to haul the kid around in.

  Until then...

  “When the results come in, give them to me, I want to do it like Maury Povich does on his talk show.” She deepened her voice and shouted, “When it comes to the case of newborn Duchess Dietrich... Caaaage... you are the father!”

  “First of all, I’m done havin’ fantasies about you,” he muttered. “Second, the fuck if her name is Duchess.” Her laughter filled the car, getting on his nerves. “So glad you think this shit’s funny.”

  “I see it as karma for how much you guys are hos. None of you are picky where you stick your dickies. Maybe this will be a lesson to you all.”

  Cage doubted it.

  “At least she didn’t do it on purpose to trap you like Ry’s mom did to Judge. This was a true accident. Especially if you really did wear a condom.” He heard a sharp inhale from the passenger side of the four-door Accord. “Wait, did you even remember wearing a condom with Tonya? Or are you going to be surprised with baby number two in nine months.”

  “Fuckin’ Reilly. Shut the fuck up.”

  She laughed again. It quickly faded when the baby began to cry softly. “Oh, I think Duchess wants another bottle.”

  “How fuckin’ much can a little shit factory like her eat?”

  Reilly shrugged, lifted her cell phone, pushed a button and asked, “Google, how often do newborns eat?”

  A computerized voice came back through the phone’s speaker. “Most newborns eat every two to three hours, or eight to twelve times every twenty-four hours.”

  “Holy shit,” Reilly whispered.

  “Fuck,” Cage groaned.

  Reilly’s head spun toward him. “Reese wasn’t even eleven yet when I was born. She had to feed me that much?”

  Cage shot her a surprised glance. “Your mom didn’t feed you at all?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, still whispering. “I’ll have to ask Reese.”

  “Look, Reese musta did all right and you didn’t fuckin’ die since you’re sittin’ in that seat, so let’s get back to worryin’ about me,” he glanced in the rearview mirror at the occupied car seat, “and her. What am I gonna do?”

  “You’re asking me?” she squeaked.

  “I sure as shit ain’t askin’ the fuckin’ baby.”

  “Well, I guess you’re going to feed her as soon as we get back to the garage and then change her diaper when she squirts all that milk back out.” Reilly wrinkled her nose. “I’m not doing it again. Your turn. You need to learn.”

  “Should I even be touching a girl down there?”

  “She’s your daughter.”

  His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter as he shouted, “We don’t even fuckin’ know that! What the fuck!”

  Did she giggle at his suffering?

  “Cassie has experience with babies. Maybe she can give you a few lessons.”

  That was more like it. Some real advice. “Apparently, so does Stella.”

  “She does?”

  “Yeah, nobody talks about it but I heard she had a kid.”

  Reilly turned wide green eyes to him. “What happened to it?”

  “I don’t fuckin’ know, Reilly. Back to my problems...”

  “Okay, then there you go. You call them when we get back and have them stop over to show you some pointers.”

  He groaned. Just what he needed, the prez and the enforcer’s ol’ ladies coming over and then spilling the beans to the two people who’ll want to knock his fucking block off for breaking the club’s Cardinal sin of not dicking with the Amish chicks.

  The baby’s cry got louder, so he turned up the music.

  Reilly turned the music back down. “You can’t just drown her out. She’s crying for a reason.”

  He gave her the side-eye. “Okay, expert, what’s the reason?”

  Reilly hit the side button on her phone again and asked loudly, “Google, why do babies cry?”

  Cage gritted his teeth as the computer voice began to list the one million reasons why babies might cry.

  On reason one hundred and fifty-three, he turned the Honda into the garage lot and instantly slammed on the brakes. “Oh fuck,” he whispered.

  “Oooh. You’re in trouble now.”

  “Like I wasn’t before?” he asked as he stared through the windshield at the lineup of bikes in front of the garage. His asshole actually squeezed the tiniest bit tighter.

  As he shifted the car into Reverse, Judge and Trip both stepped out of one of the open garage bay doors and out into the daylight. They stared straight at him.

  “Fuck.” He wasn’t a pussy. He wouldn’t run like a coward. However, today? He’d already dealt with one too many surprises. The day was turning into a nightmare that wouldn’t end.

  “Are you going to pull up, or am I getting out here?” Reilly asked.

  “They all know already,” he whispered.

  “Well, of course they do. You guys are like a bunch of clucking hens. Gossip didn’t travel this fast when I was in high school.”

  “Reilly...”

  “No, I’m serious. You guys are worse than Italian grandmothers.”

  Cage shook his head and reluctantly put the Honda back into Drive and slowly pulled into an empty spot.

  “I’ll go in and get a bottle ready. You get Duchess out of the car.”

  “Stop callin’ her that.”

  “Well then, pick a name! Can’t just call her ‘baby.’”

  “Why not?”

  “Because... You just can’t. Pick something.”

  His eyes landed on his Shovelhead parked nearby. “Harley.”

  She scrunched up her face. “What? No! That’s too stereotypical.”

  “I like it.” What biker didn’t want to name his kid Harley? A kid, not his.

  “No. Pick something b
etter.”

  “This ain’t your kid.”

  “And as you told me a few times already—and everyone else, too—she might not be yours, either,” she insisted.

  Cage closed his eyes and took a huge inhale, beating back his impatience and a little bit of panic, too. “Just get out.”

  Reilly rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She pushed the passenger door open and climbed out. Before she closed it, she leaned in and peered into the back seat. “You can’t sit in the car forever and she’s hungry.” The door slammed shut.

  Cage rubbed at his forehead. His headache was no longer due to his hangover, it was now due to a crying baby and also what—or who—was waiting for him.

  “Fuuuuuck.”

  Reilly was right. He couldn’t hide in the car to avoid whatever was about to happen.

  He got out of the Honda and opened the back door, leaning in and trying to figure out how to unlatch the car seat from the base. Reilly had figured it out at the lab where they went to do the DNA test, but he hadn’t paid attention.

  He should have.

  The kid was crying even more now, her face red, her mouth open, her eyes tearing up.

  “It’s okay, monkey,” he spoke softly, trying to soothe her. “Gonna get you out. Gonna figure it out.”

  Squeeze the handle.

  “Shhh, little monkey. If anyone should be cryin’, it should be me.”

  Squeeze the other piece.

  He sighed with relief when the car seat unlatched and he carefully pulled it out, trying not to jostle the baby too much.

  Holding the carrier’s handle, he glanced down at its contents. “It’s okay, monkey. The only one gonna die today may be me.”

  He quickly made his way toward the garage, noticing Trip and Judge had gone inside. Probably to grill Reilly.

  Like she had anything to do with any of this.

  He set his jaw and stepped inside.

  And saw no one. Where the fuck did everyone go?

  “They’re all waiting for you out back,” came Reilly’s voice from the tiny break room behind the office.

  “Great,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Take her with you. I’ll bring out the bottle.”

  “Great,” he muttered again.

  He carefully maneuvered himself and the car seat through the back door and spotted everyone gathered around the old picnic table where they ate and smoked when the weather was decent. He stopped right outside the door, weighing his options.

  Unfortunately, he had none.

  The group included, not only his father and brother, but Trip, Judge, Deacon, Rev, Whip and even Sig. Having the prez, VP, and sergeant at arms show up unexpectedly didn’t bode well.

  He pursed his lips as he stared at the crew as they stared at the occupied car seat. “Before anyone says anything—”

  “Nope,” Judge cut him off. “Come sit down and put that thing on the table.”

  That thing?

  Cage hoped the enforcer meant the car seat and not his kid. The kid. He gritted his teeth.

  Do I have to? was on the tip of his tongue. Damn it.

  Everyone’s eyes remained glued on the crying baby as he approached and set the car seat in the center of the weathered wood table.

  “Sit.”

  Just as he was planting his ass on one of the benches, Reilly burst through the steel back door and rushed over with a bottle and an old towel in her hand. Her gaze circled the group. “Who’s going to feed her?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Cage. “It isn’t hard, just stick the nipple in her mouth. You should know how to do that... very well.” She snickered.

  Cage pressed his lips together. He wasn’t appreciating any of Reilly’s ill-timed humor today.

  “Her pap will feed her.” Dutch came forward, plucking the bottle from Reilly. “It ain’t too hot, right?”

  “No, I Googled how to check the temperature. It’s just right.”

  The old man nodded, then settled at the table across from Cage, turned the car seat toward him and encouraged the baby to take the bottle.

  After a few false starts, she finally accepted it.

  And, thank fuck, stopped crying.

  Finally.

  Reilly went to take a place at the table next to Cage and Judge stopped her with a deep, “Get lost, Reilly.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “We’re talkin’ club business.”

  “So?”

  “Get inside, girl,” Dutch ordered her. “Someone needs to answer the fuckin’ phones and deal with the customers while we’re dealin’ with this.”

  “But—”

  “Go,” Cage said softly.

  She stared at him for a second, then nodded and went back inside at a lot slower pace than how she came out. She took one last glance at him before shutting the door behind her.

  “How did you—”

  Trip cut Cage off. “Don’t matter. We were gonna find out one way or another.”

  True. A baby wasn’t something he could hide.

  “Issue ain’t you havin’ a kid, Cage,” Judge started. “The problem’s who the mother is. And what you’re gonna do about it. You can’t keep an infant in the bunkhouse.”

  “First, before you start makin’ plans, like a vote, or whatever... Or kick me out of the bunkhouse, can we at least wait to find out if she’s really mine?” Cage asked hopefully.

  “We can wait,” Trip said, which loosened up Cage’s chest a cunt hair. “Rook said you went to go get the DNA test done. When do the results come back?”

  “They said it could take up to five days. No less than two.”

  “Fuck,” Rook muttered behind him.

  Their prez continued, “But no matter if she’s yours or not, you broke one of the club rules. That alone needs to go to the table. This S... She an Amish girl?”

  “Yeah, she... uh...” His eyes sliced to Sig, who stood back a little bit with Rev and Whip, behind the menacing wall Judge, Trip and Deacon made. “Sarah’s cousins with Rebecca. Met her when she was deliverin’ shit... She chased me.” Cage closed his eyes for a second and cursed silently. They weren’t going to give a fuck if a skirt chased him, he ultimately made the choice to flip that skirt over her head.

  First virgin he ever had. He decided right then and there Sarah would be the last. He would stick to women who knew about birth control. Like the sweet butts. They were all on some sort of birth control even though the brothers all wrapped it tight when they did shit with them. It was double protection.

  It also kept his brothers from sharing more than just pussy with each other.

  “You wanna strip his colors, then you strip his colors. That’ll teach ‘im,” Dutch grumbled. Just like his father, always so goddamn helpful.

  He shot a frown at Dutch. “Sig didn’t get—”

  Judge lifted one of his big paws. “You’re fuckin’ right. Sig didn’t get shit from us when he got caught with an Amish girl. I get it ain’t fair. We can right that wrong at the same fuckin’ time.”

  “He did get shit when her brothers gave him that fuckin’ blanket party.” Trip glanced over his shoulder at his brother, Sig. Trip’s jaw got tight and a muscle jerked in his cheek. “He got his fuckin’ ass kicked. Just not by us.”

  Their prez struggled with a bad fucking temper. He got it from his father, Buck, the former Blood Fury president. He did his best to keep it under control, but sometimes it got away from him.

  Cage was worried this situation was going to be one of those times. Though, if it did, he fucking deserved it. He fucked up. No denying it.

  He blew air through his nose, thinking how badly he needed to get stoned right now, and watched his father pick up the baby, put her against his shoulder and bounce her.

  Cage frowned. “What’re you doin’ that for?”

  One of Dutch’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Gotta burp the kid after it eats.”

  Cage was impressed his father knew that much. “You did that with us?”

>   “Sometimes. Your momma couldn’t wait to take you two from her tit and hand you over to me if I was nearby. Like I said, the woman didn’t wanna be a mother. But she was good-lookin’ and could suck a knob off a door, so I got suckered in. Plus, her pussy was pretty fuckin’ tight ‘til you two destroyed it. Then I had to move to her ass.”

  “Christ,” Rook muttered behind Cage, who tried not to reflect too deeply on his father’s words.

  “What’re you gonna do ‘til you get the results?” Deacon asked, obviously trying to change the subject because no one wanted to picture Dutch having anal.

  “He can stay with me,” his old man volunteered, “but only ‘til then. After that we’re figurin’ something else out ‘cause I’m not raisin’ another kid. Spoil? Yeah. Raise? Fuck no. He made Duchess, he deals with her.”

  “Duchess?” Trip asked with a grimace.

  “Yeah, that’s her name,” Dutch answered.

  “The fuck it is,” Cage said.

  “What’s her name?” Deacon asked, leaning over Dutch’s shoulder to peer at the baby.

  “Ain’t got one yet,” Cage said. “If she’s mine, I’ll deal with it then.”

  Deacon’s eyebrows pinned together. “What’re you gonna call her in the meantime?”

  Cage shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Suppose not,” Trip said, frowning.

  “Who’s gonna help you take care of her?” Deacon asked.

  All these fucking questions he didn’t have answers to... But needed to figure out.

  “Dunno. Yet.” He lifted his eyes to Judge, who scowled.

  “No,” the big man said immediately. “Cassie ain’t helpin’ with your kid.”

  “Not Cassie. Was thinkin’ Saylor.”

  “That’s another big fuckin’ no.” Judge said. “She’s only eighteen and got her hands full with Daisy and takin’ care of the house. Not dumpin’ an infant on her, too.”

  “Any suggestions?” he asked hopefully.

  Cage watched Judge’s body expand and contract with the huge breath he took.

  Shit, the big man was gearing up for something.

  Could be good. Could be bad.

  Deacon noticed his reaction, too. “Wait. You thinkin’ Mom?”

  “Fuck no. Lottie’s too busy enjoyin’ retirement like she should be. Doin’ her woman shit. Like cruises with her girlfriends and playin’ cards, and whatever other shit she does. Not stickin’ her with a baby.”