Then he’d needed to not only figure out where he needed to go from here, but needed to face whatever the exec committee decided would be his punishment for breaking the rule.
If they stripped him of his colors, the support of his brothers would be gone. The help of their ol’ ladies, gone. He might end up with just his father and brother, if that.
He threw the dish towel over his shoulder and settled his daughter against him. He moved from the kitchen to the small living room at the front of the house, bouncing her gently as he went.
Then he began to pace. He was too fucking tired to figure out what to do about the situation.
He needed to sleep for days.
He needed gallons of coffee.
He needed a lot of fucking help.
Getting only a couple hours of sleep between feedings and diaper changings wasn’t working. Every fucking cell in his body screamed for rest.
Again, he didn’t understand the appeal of having a fucking kid if this was what it was like. Who the fuck wanted to do this?
He paced back and forth across the tiny living room, softly patting the baby on her back, waiting to hear the burp.
“I need to pick out a real name for you, monkey.” Before his father woke the fuck up and continued to call her a German Shepherd’s name. Cage gritted his teeth every time he heard it.
He took a couple of long strides across the short room again and stopped when he spotted photos on the far wall. Pictures he’d seen so many times, he normally looked right through them. His father had framed and hung a picture of himself on every sled he’d ever owned in his lifetime. From his first, a ’77 Low Rider to his current.
Cage stepped closer and stared at one in particular.
A framed, but faded, eight by ten of Dutch on his ’91 Harley Dyna Low Rider. It had been a special edition called the FXDB Sturgis. A sled he sold years ago when he decided he needed a change.
A sled his father still wished he owned. A sled Cage wished his father had passed down.
He pursed his lips as he studied the Harley, his fingers wrapped around the back of his daughter’s neck to support her head while his other hand cupped her tiny diapered butt as he stood in place and bounced her.
Harley Low Rider Dietrich.
He kind of liked the ring of that.
Reilly’s comment about the name being stereotypical came rushing back to him. Whatever name he picked would be with her forever.
She wouldn’t only live amongst him, his family and his club—all bikers—she’d go to school. Maybe, unlike Cage, to college. He wouldn’t want her to be bullied for her name. Even better, she might become a lawyer like Reese, or an accountant like Red, and get a job in some fancy high-rise office building in some city, like New York or Pittsburgh.
Just as long as it wasn’t Philly or Cleveland.
Or Baltimore.
He snorted. Yeah, his baby girl would never dress in anything but Pittsburgh colors. Like her old man. Like his old man.
But he didn’t have to worry about that right now. He needed to give her a name. A real name. Not Duchess. Not monkey.
He needed to claim her as his. For real.
He stared at the Harley Low Rider some more.
Harley Lo?
Harlow?
The obvious choice hit him right smack in the middle of his forehead.
Dyna. A nod to a Harley without sounding too obvious.
Dyna Dietrich.
Fuck yes, it was goddamn perfect. And badass, too.
The baby lurched in his arms and warm liquid soaked the towel and the back of his T-shirt.
“Fuck!”
He rushed into the kitchen and put the baby in the little bouncer thingy that sat on top of the kitchen table. He grabbed a wet paper towel and wiped her mouth and chin clean.
She blinked up at him with her grayish-blue eyes, not giving a fuck she just puked all over her father.
He froze as she gurgled, then hiccuped. Then followed it with a sneeze.
Was she dying? Did he do something wrong?
What was wrong with her?
She gurgled again as her little fists jerked and so did her legs.
Her skin was a normal color and she wasn’t crying. That was a good sign, right?
Holy fuck, he had no fucking clue what he was doing. This poor kid was doomed by having to rely on him to keep her alive.
“Sorry, monkey. So fuckin’ sorry you’re stuck with me.” He’d told her that a million times already and probably would tell her that a million more.
He growled his frustration, then scraped his fingers through his hair. When his hair stood up, he realized he’d had spit-up on his fingers.
“Fuck!”
Dyna gurgled again.
“You must think this is funny, huh?”
He turned his head and glanced at the mess on his shirt. He not only needed to change, he needed a damn shower.
His father probably hadn’t left for the garage yet. Hopefully, he’d be in a generous mood this morning and could watch the baby while he jumped in the shower quick. He yanked the puke-covered shirt over his head, turning it inside out, and threw it over the back of a chair. He lifted Dyna back out of the bouncer and put her against his shoulder, remembering, once again, to support her neck and head. Both Cassie and Stella had beaten that into him with an invisible club.
He moved down the short hallway of the small two-bedroom unit, which was the bottom half of a two-family house, and opened his father’s bedroom door, not bothering to knock. “Hey, Da—”
Christ.
Some very pale, naked chick was sprawled on her belly diagonally across Dutch’s bed. And worse, his father was just as naked, but his hand was planted on her bare ass cheek.
He quickly covered the baby’s eyes, then looked closer to see if he recognized the woman. Girl. Whatever.
She was pretty damn young, whoever she was. But then, most women his father boned were a lot younger than him.
He narrowed his eyes. This woman was definitely not a sweet butt, unless she was a new one Cage didn’t know about. However, he’d been out of the loop for the past few days. If she wasn’t a sweet butt, Cage had no idea where she came from. He had to assume from Crazy Pete’s, since Dutch went there last night for a few beers.
Turned out, he not only came home with a buzz but pussy to boot. His old man still had impressive skills when it came to sweet talking some strange into his bed.
Go, Dad, he thought dryly, then grimaced.
He quietly closed the door and uncovered Dyna’s eyes. He looked straight into her face. “You’re never doin’ that at that age.” He headed down the hallway. “Fuck that. You ain’t doin’ that ever.”
He needed to get the fuck out of his father’s house and soon. But, for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t take Dyna to the bunkhouse.
He needed to seriously figure shit out.
But first, he needed to survive whatever the exec committee decided. In his opinion, being saddled with a surprise baby should be enough punishment. Though, they wouldn’t give a fuck about his opinion. Or that he regretted taking Sarah’s virginity.
But whatever the punishment was, he’d take it like a goddamn man.
He glanced down at Dyna.
Because he needed the club. He needed his family.
He didn’t even kid himself.
There was no fucking way he could do this on his own.
Cage heard a groan. Then realized it came from him.
He opened his eyes just a slit and saw nothing but sky. A stretch of light blue. A few white puffy clouds. A red-winged blackbird flying overhead.
With his fucked up luck the bird would shit on him while he laid sprawled on the ground. Helpless.
His temples throbbed. A trickle at his lip meant his mouth was bleeding. He might even have a couple of cracked ribs.
He would definitely have more bruises than he’d be able to count.
Everything fucking hurt.
He wasn
’t even sure a bottle of whiskey and a handful of Percocet would help. Not that it mattered, he could find the first but he didn’t have the second and doubted Aleve would be enough.
With another groan, he carefully rolled over to his belly because he couldn’t sit up. He wasn’t even sure if he could lift his hand enough to wipe away the blood on his mouth. Not yet. He still had to tell his own body to breathe.
Breathe through the fucking pain.
He’d been in plenty of fucking fights before.
He’d been jumped before.
He’d been sucker punched once or twice.
But he never remembered having to simply stand and take a beating until he fell to the ground and then take some more.
All without defending himself.
Not once.
To make things “fair,” the exec committee decided that Cage’s punishment for breaking the rule—the rule Sig also broke—would be the same price the VP paid.
All those months ago, when Sig had gotten caught with Rebecca, her two brothers had thrown a horse blanket over his head and beat the fuck out of him with a pipe or some kind of club.
So, Cage stood at the edge of the field just beyond The Barn while a heavy blanket had been thrown over him and someone—he assumed Judge—had beat the fuck out of him with something long and hard. Not a baseball bat and not a steel pipe. Maybe a wooden club of some sort.
Cage wasn’t sure because he’d been facing the open field away from where all his brothers gathered since he didn’t want to anticipate whatever he had coming to him.
Though, it was hard not to.
He pressed his palms into the dirt and lifted his head, making sure he still had feeling in all of his limbs. Making sure he wasn’t paralyzed or even had any broken arm or leg bones.
He didn’t. Thank fuck.
He watched as one drop of blood dripped, then two, making a tiny puddle in the dry dirt below his face. That blood came from his nose.
He turned his neck and shifted his jaw slightly to test it. Sore but functional.
This whole thing could’ve turned out a lot worse than it did.
He inhaled another painful breath.
Then another before slowly pushing himself to his knees.
He was covered in dirt. He was leaking blood.
But he still had his colors.
He still had his brotherhood.
He still had his family.
He’d heal from the beating. But he might not have recovered from losing everything that was important to him.
He didn’t realize how important they all were until Dyna showed up at the garage in a cardboard box.
Discarded and unwanted.
That was when he realized he needed everything he currently had and needed to make sure not to fuck that up.
So, when he was told what his punishment was, he only nodded and accepted it.
He didn’t argue.
He didn’t walk away.
Instead, he strode to the edge of the field, shrugged out of his cut and held it out until someone came—he didn’t see who—and snagged it from his fingers. Then he waited.
When he wobbled on his knees, Rook and Rev rushed up and grabbed him under the arms, helping him to his feet, but not letting go.
“You look like hell, brother,” Rook said under his breath.
“Feel like it, too.” He tried to smile but his mouth hurt too badly and he could taste the metallic tang of blood along with a little bit of grit.
“No Amish pussy’s worth that,” Rev muttered.
A-fucking-men.
“That was the point of havin’ everyone here to watch it,” Trip announced loudly.
With the help of Rook and Rev, Cage slowly turned around to face the rest of his brothers. He didn’t miss Whip wince when the younger brother saw all the damage.
He also didn’t miss the blank expression Dutch wore.
His gaze landed on Judge and he noticed what the enforcer held. Just what he suspected. A wooden billy club. Where the fuck that came from, Cage had no idea, but he could guess it belonged to the Originals because it didn’t look new.
No, it looked well used. It had a crack running through it and some of the wood was stained darker. Most likely from blood. The leather loop on the end was still circling Judge’s wrist.
The enforcer lifted the club so everyone could see it and a grumble came from deep within his chest. “Gonna hang this fucker in The Barn as a reminder. Ain’t gonna tolerate any of you breakin’ the fuckin’ rules. Trip has them for a reason. You don’t like those fuckin’ rules, you either pay the penalty or you lose your colors. We all get that?”
A bunch of “fuck yeahs” rose from the group. Not in a shout, but in more of a subdued murmur.
Luckily, only his brothers were there. The women were told to find something else to do and not told why, even when they asked.
They’d find out soon enough.
Trip and Judge didn’t want the women stepping in, which might have happened. The ol’ ladies could get mad all they wanted after the fact. Once the deed was done.
They had taken Daisy and Dyna into town to get Cassie’s hell-on-wheels some ice cream. And Ry was sent to Crazy Pete’s to help the prospects with the bar so Dodge could be here with the rest of their brothers. Ry’s father didn’t want him witnessing the shit Judge had been forced to do.
Someone was supposed to record it to show the current prospects and future recruits what the price could be for not following the club rules and by-laws.
Cage knew Judge wasn’t happy about having to dole out the punishment. But then, Judge held the position of sergeant at arms, so it was his job to do it. No one else’s.
He might not like it, but he did it.
His father, Ox, had done so much fucking worse. Cage doubted that fact made it any easier for the big man.
Cage hadn’t always been a fan of Judge, but he respected him. Like Cage, the man hadn’t pussed out on what needed done.
“We good now?” Cage asked Trip. The Fury prez had stepped forward from the large half circle of men who stood shoulder-to-shoulder.
The prez’s mouth was tight when he nodded. “Yeah, we’re good. Now we can discuss the rest of the shit we need to discuss.”
Cage couldn’t nod his head without his brains falling out, so he just blinked in agreement.
Yeah, that was what they needed to do next. Figure out where he and Dyna would live. How they would survive.
Decide how they were all moving on from there.
This week had been the most goddamn humbling week in his fucking life. He hoped to fuck he never had a week like this again. But at least he could look every one of his brothers directly in the eye because he hadn’t pussed out and had taken the beating doled out to him.
He didn’t just do it to keep his colors.
He did it for his daughter.
A husky female voice was heard from behind the solid wall of his Fury brothers. “I assume he’s the stupid ass who knocked up one of the Amish women?”
A few of his brothers stepped aside to let the woman through, her sunglass-covered eyes landing on Cage. She appeared to assess his condition from head to toe before those dark lenses pointed at Trip for only a second, finally landed on Judge and stuck there.
Her lips became an angry slash as she noticed what Judge still held in his fist. She jerked her chin toward Cage. “You do that damage?”
Judge’s nostrils flared enough to be visible and he grunted out a, “Yeah.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” she said matter-of-factly and turned to Deacon. “You let him do that shit?”
Deacon’s mouth opened but before he could answer, she shook her head and said, “We’ll also talk about that later,” to him, too.
If Cage could grin at that moment, he would.
She was fucking tall with legs that wouldn’t quit. Her brown hair was loose and long, a few soft waves framing her face. But her jaw was popping.
S
omeone wasn’t happy to be there.
Not at all.
“Jemma,” Rook whispered next to him, just loud enough for him to hear. Cage didn’t remember much about her since they both had been so young. Rook probably remembered her better since he was four years older than Cage.
“You’re shittin’ me,” Rev whispered, still standing on his other side, helping hold him up. “That’s Judge’s baby sister?”
Cage was thinking the same. His gaze slid from Judge to Jemma. How did such a good-looking woman come out of Ox? Did Trixie cheat on her ol’ man? He wouldn’t be surprised if she did. But her endless legs could only come from the Original, not Trixie, since the woman had been on the smaller side. At least height-wise.
“Move him over to one of the tables under that pavilion there so I can check him to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion or anything worse.”
He winced when his eyebrows began to rise at her simply walking into the midst of a group of bikers and taking charge.
As Rev and Rook began to assist him toward the pavilion, he heard Trip say, “We’re done here. You all go where you need to be. ‘Cept for the exec committee. Soon as Jemma’s done checkin’ Cage out, need to do a sit down and figure out the rest of his shit. Not upstairs. Down in The Barn since I doubt he can climb stairs right now. Plus, someone’s gonna need a fuckin’ shot or two.”
A few fucking someones. Including him.
Cage hissed and bit back a few whimpers as they made the slow, what seemed like endless, trek to one of the picnic tables under the pavilion.
Jemma must have been following because he heard her next command. “Sit him on top of one of the tables.” Once he was settled, she stepped in front of him and said softly, but firmly, “Leave us.”
“You good?” Rook asked him.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Go.”
“Cut’s next to you.”
Without turning his head, he reached out and slid his fingertips over the familiar leather and patches, giving him a little bit of solace.
His brothers’ boots faded away as they headed toward the barn, but he kept his gaze locked on the woman who stood in front of him watching him with her arms crossed over her tits and her head tilted slightly.
She waited until no one was within hearing distance and whispered raspy words that weren’t meant to be sexy in any way, but it still affected him just the same.
Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC Book 5) Page 7
