Donnchadh

by Lynn Hagen

  They were also wearing leather vests, though Getty hadn’t seen the back of them to tell if they had some sort of gang insignias on them.

  But what the hell did he know about bikers? Diddly squat. Except for what he’d seen on television, and all those bikers had been brutal and cutthroat. These guys looked as if they fit that bill in spades.

  The bearded man staring curiously at him had a patch on his vest that read President.

  Getty was in real freaking trouble.

  The guy hunkered down, resting his arms on his thighs. “Who’re you?”

  His voice was gravelly but held no animosity. And now that the guy was closer, Getty saw kindness in his blue eyes. He still didn’t trust any of them.

  “I’m G-Getty. I think I’m lost.” He swallowed heavily and looked around. “If you and your men don’t mind, I’d like to leave now. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

  Getty was still on his ass, huddled against the wall, and ready to piss himself. Even the women in the room looked deadly. Slutty, but vicious.

  They made the way Bimbo dressed look saintly. Their skirts barely covered their lady parts, and their boobs were bursting out of their tiny shirts. They looked as though they could kick Getty’s ass without breaking a nail.

  “I’m Rocco.” The guy held out his hand covered in silver rings with skulls and crossbones, and Getty was too terrified to take it. But he was even more afraid not to. That beefy hand could curl into a fist and smash his face in.

  Rocco pulled Getty up from the floor and guided him to a table.

  “Can I leave?” Getty wished like hell Donnchadh was there. He was bigger than anyone in the room and would kick all their asses if they laid a hand on him.

  Please don’t lay a hand on me.

  “Someone get Gettysburg something to drink,” Rocco said to the group.

  “No, really. I’m fine.” Getty held up his hands. He didn’t want anyone getting him anything. For all he knew, the bartender would grab the dirtiest glass and use it because he’d invaded their little clubhouse. He looked at Rocco. “How do you know my name?”

  With an intense stare, Rocco shrugged. “Getty could only be short for one thing.”

  Getty wasn’t going to argue any point with Rocco. The guy scared the crap out of him. If Rocco wanted to call him Bergy, Getty wouldn’t object, though he would hate that version of his name.

  Someone plopped a huge mug in front of Getty. The beer sloshed around, some spilling on the stained table.

  Rocco kicked his booted feet up onto an empty chair beside him. He slouched and scratched at the thick beard around his jaw. “Did your mother finally tell you about me?”

  Getty had no clue what Rocco was talking about. He lifted the mug and sucked down some of the beer. He didn’t want to be rude and leave the beer untouched. Besides, he wanted to wet his dry throat. “How do you know my mom?”

  A smile curved the side of Rocco’s lips, making his blue eyes sparkle. “I know your mom because we slept together twenty-eight years ago.” He leaned forward, and Getty leaned back, refusing to believe anything this nutjob had to say. “I’m your old man, Getty.”

  Chapter Eight

  Donny lifted himself up to the large beam that held the chains. They might not be able to get the chains off Cadeym, but he would try to break the beam. That way they could at least carry the warrior out of there.

  Hondo saw what he was doing and jumped up, grabbing the beam as if he were about to do pull-ups. The others joined them, and the wood groaned under the tremendous weight before cracking and finally giving way.

  Panahasi caught Cadeym before the warrior hit the floor. Now all they had to do was figure a way out of the building. Donny was dying to get back to Getty, to make sure his mate was still safe and secure.

  He also wanted to curl into Getty’s arms and wash away the terror that had taken hold when he’d spotted the hellhounds. Not too many things crippled Donny, and he’d never had anyone to take comfort in, but right now fear was riding him hard.

  “Stay between us,” Donny said to Panahasi. “We’ll make a wall of protection around you while we figure out how to get out of here.”

  They filed out of the room with Donny near the front of their group. He stopped dead when he saw the hellhounds gathered at the east stairwell.

  Donny had been overconfident in Fever’s Edge, taking risks he shouldn’t have taken, and had nearly paid the ultimate price. Now he had something to fight for, a mate he desperately wanted to get back to, a life he wanted to build with his shorty, and he wasn’t going to let those mutts take that away from him.

  Donny grabbed the knives in the sheaths that were strapped around his thighs then rolled his shoulders.

  “We kill them all,” Hondo snarled.

  “Wonder Twin rings?” Donny winked at him.

  Hondo grinned. “Activate.”

  “Watch their bite,” Panahasi shouted as he handed Cadeym off to Phoenyx and joined them. They’d all armed themselves with blades before they’d gone to the Black River.

  Donny had been too paralyzed with fear to use them earlier. He’d been consumed by terror and had allowed it to nearly swallow him whole.

  But he kept thinking about his mate, keeping Getty in the forefront of his thoughts. He used that thought to fuel his rage as he snarled and barreled forward when the hellhounds bore down on them.

  Donny clashed with one of them, shoving one of his blades into the hellhound’s mouth to stop it from biting. He rolled with the large Rottweiler and hit the wall, swinging an arm around its neck.

  “This is for the son of a bitch who bit me.” Donny drove the blade into its skull, just behind its ear, and dropped when the hellhound burst into dust.

  He coughed and waved his hand in front of his face, sucking in some of that dust. Fuck. He’d just inhaled bits of a hellhound. Now he felt dirty on the inside.

  He was shoved forward when another hound leapt onto his back. Donny swung around, propelling himself into the wall, slamming the hellhound into it.

  When he pulled away, one of the hound’s claws was stuck in his hair.

  “You did not just touch the dreads,” Donny snarled, shoving his blade backward, embedding it in the dog’s gut. “Nobody touches the hair except my shorty.”

  He dislodged the claw and tried to stab the hound in its head, but it dodged away, slid on the floor, and spun to bare its teeth at Donny.

  Those teeth.

  Memories of that night tried to take hold, tried to render him powerless with fear, but Donny shook it off and let his rage take over, let it consume him.

  Hondo joined him. Fireballs bounced in the palms of his hands. Donny noticed blood on Hondo’s upper arm. “You good?”

  “Baby scratch,” Hondo said. “Caught my arm on a locker.” He nodded toward the hellhound. “Let’s Wonder Twin him back to fucking Hell.”

  Donny ducked when a hellhound went sailing over his head. Deandre must’ve used his telekinesis to do that.

  Ten Takeo swooped through the corridor, landing punches on any hellhound in his way.

  “Why can’t I freeze time?” he heard Kane shouting.

  “Let’s do this,” Donny said before rushing forward. He jerked sideways when flames shot past him and set the hellhound on fire.

  “We really need to work on our coordination,” he said to Hondo. “You saw me running first.”

  Donny watched as the hellhound dropped and rolled. With the floors being so wet, the fire went out. Donny didn’t wait for the Rottweiler to regroup. He struck, shoving the blade deep into its head.

  This time Donny jumped back before the dust could infiltrate his lungs. He wasn’t swallowing a hellhound for a second time. He still had the bitter taste from the first one lingering in his mouth.

  And fuck, that sounded so damn dirty.

  Donny spun and saw Phoenyx trying to fight off a hellhound while still keeping hold of Cadeym.

  He ran toward the redhead, blade in the air, but h
e was knocked sideways. Donny slid down the wet hallway, slamming into a set of lockers.

  Shoving his boots into the steel, he leapt to his feet just as the hellhound clamped its jaws down. Donny cracked his neck from side to side, held his blades beside him, hilt first, and narrowed his eyes.

  “You fuckers just don’t know when to quit.”

  The hellhound transformed into a human. The bastard smirked at Donny. “You don’t remember me, do you? It’s a shame you survived my bite. I guess this time I’ll have to make sure I finish the job.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Deandre said from behind the hellhound. “This time I won’t fail him.”

  Donny wanted to argue that Deandre hadn’t failed him the first time, that it had been Donny’s arrogance that had gotten him bitten. But knowing this asshat had been the one to nearly take Donny’s life infuriated him.

  Instead of letting Deandre defend him, Donny tackled the bastard and took him down. He wasn’t in his hound form, so Donny didn’t fear his bite.

  But the bastard needed to fear Donny’s.

  They were back on their feet, and Donny threw gut punches and uppercuts, working the guy’s body like a punching bag. He took all his rage out on him, the stark fear that he would die when he was fighting for his life, and for trapping them in the fucking building, taking Donny away from his mate.

  He pulverized the hound, slamming his fist into the guy’s face repeatedly.

  “He’s out cold.” Deandre pulled Donny back, but Donny fought to keep using the bastard as a relief to his aggression. “We need to figure out how to get out of here. He’s unconscious, Donnchadh.”

  Donny walked over and grabbed his knives from the floor, returned to the hound, who looked a bloody mess, and drove the blades into his skull. “That’s for Cadeym, you sick, twisted fuck.”

  The body exploded into dust.

  “Now he’s dead.” Donny turned and saw dust everywhere. There wasn’t a single Rottweiler in sight.

  The chains feel away from Cadeym.

  “I think we might be able to get out of here now,” Kane said.

  Donny didn’t have to be told twice. He raced down the stairwell and to the nearest exit, crashing through the door and sucking down the sweet, sweet rush of fresh air.

  “Hey, knucklehead,” Hondo said from the doorway, holding the door open. “You’re not going to find any shadows out there in that sunlight. Get your ass back in here so we can go home.”

  Donny shook his head. He was never stepping foot in that building again. “I’ll find another way.”

  He used his teleportation, giddy that it was working again, and found a nearby gas station. Donny used the bathroom as his entrance into the demon realm, wanting to kiss the ground when he emerged close to the apartment building.

  Wasting no time, he hurried to the alley beside the building to gain entrance. When he walked into his apartment, he expected to see Getty hard at work on his laptop.

  The laptop was on the coffee table, but Getty wasn’t in the room. Donny checked the entire apartment, but his mate was gone.

  * * * *

  This was Getty’s second mug of beer, and he was a lot more relaxed than when he had first gotten there. He was still waiting for someone to ask how he’d magically popped into the room, but so far no one had said a word.

  “This your kid, Rocco?” some guy asked. “No shit.”

  “I still don’t get it.” Getty waved a hand in front of him. “My mom had an affair with you? Richard isn’t my real father?”

  Getty had had his mind blown so much lately that his brain should’ve looked like Swiss cheese. But that would explain why Getty had black hair and Pete had their father’s blond. Their mother had blue eyes, so Getty had assumed that was where he’d gotten his from, while his dad and Pete had brown.

  Though Getty had read somewhere that brown was predominant, so he should’ve had brown, too.

  It wasn’t only that. Getty had Rocco’s slant nose, the shape of his eyes, and the slight upward angle of his brows.

  Rocco grunted as he rocked back on his chair. “I tried to talk your mom into staying with me, but she already had a kid and a husband. From what she told me, her and Dick were on the outs. His drinking and lack of work was what drove her into my arms.”

  Getty could see that. His father was driving him insane, and he’d only been there a few weeks. He wasn’t sure how his mom had put up with it for so many years. The drinking, the arguments, his lack of contribution to the household.

  Getty tucked his hands between his knees. “But why didn’t you try to contact her, to stay in my life if you knew I was yours?”

  A biker gang wasn’t the ideal way to grow up, but it would’ve been better than thinking Richard was his father. Anything would’ve been preferable to that.

  Too bad Pete was their dad’s legit son. Pete would’ve been over the moon to find out that he wasn’t related to Richard.

  Rocco leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I tried, Getty. Your mom committed herself to her marriage after she left me. She wanted no part of me in your life, and at the time, I was a rotten bastard who didn’t deserve you, thought you’d be better off without me. Then she moved and changed her number, and I lost touch after that.”

  Getty wasn’t sure how to feel, but at least Rocco was being honest with him and not trying to give him some bullshit excuse.

  Even now that he knew the truth, Getty still loved his father. Richard hadn’t been the best example, wasn’t worth much, but he’d stuck around, which some fathers didn’t do.

  And he was somewhat angry that Rocco hadn’t fought harder to be in his life. Everyone went through dark periods, finding themselves in places that weren’t good.

  But honestly, Getty wasn’t sure how to feel.

  “Did you even try to find me?”

  “Buddy,” one of the men close by said. “He spent the better part of ten years searching for you. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

  One of the women draped herself over Rocco, which irritated Getty. They were heaving a private moment, and he didn’t need the lady taking away Rocco’s attention.

  “Do you mind?” Getty asked. The second pint of beer was giving him liquid courage. “I’m trying to have a conversation with my long-lost father.”

  In truth, Getty was ready to get out of there. Big deal. Rocco was his biological father. It wasn’t as if he was any better than Richard. What Getty really wanted was Donnchadh. He missed his warrior to the point his heart ached.

  “He’s yummy, Rocco. Can I break him in?” the floozy asked. Her hair was teased—who the hell teased their hair anymore?—and all she had on was a tight leather vest that barely contained her boobs. Her lipstick was the wrong color for her skin tone, and Getty wanted to gag at the thought of her touching him.

  Even if he’d been straight, she would have never been his type.

  “Stop scaring my kid,” Rocco said. “He can’t handle your gifts, Gina.”

  Yep, Getty was ready to get out of there. Now he wished he’d never met Rocco. It was bad enough to think he had one loser father. Now Getty had two.

  Why couldn’t Getty have landed in Keanu Reeves’ house or Dwayne Johnson’s? Why couldn’t his mother have had better taste in men? And now he was thoroughly pissed at her for not telling him about Rocco.

  Then again, after meeting the biker, Getty kind of understood why she’d wanted to forget that part of her life.

  Now Getty wanted to forget it, too. It wasn’t because of the biker environment. Getty was sure he could’ve gotten past that. It was the fact that Rocco was acting indifferent to meeting his son for the first time.

  Like some friend had just dropped by.

  Getty shoved the mug away and stood. “It was really nice meeting you.” Not. “I have to get to work, so I’ll look you up.” In a million years.

  “No.” Rocco stood and towered over Getty. Now why couldn’t he have inherited his father�
�s height and build? “I insist you stay and party with us. It’s not every day I get to meet my son.”

  Someone must’ve started the jukebox, because old time rock-n-roll started playing as the place turned lively. All Getty wanted to do was get out of there. This totally wasn’t his scene, and Rocco cared about meeting him as much as he would care about handing some sobbing kid an ice cream cone from the ice cream truck.

  He’d done his nice deed by saying he’d wanted Getty, but that good feeling was over. He was already dancing with Gina. More like sexing her, and that was something Getty didn’t want to witness.

  He started for the door, but one of the bikers grabbed his arm in a bruising hold. “The Prez said for you to stay and party. Nobody turns down his invitation.”

  The guy’s breath smelled like he’d been eating from a sewer. Getty prayed his nose hairs weren’t singed. The guy was missing a front tooth, and now that Getty was looking at him, the guy’s eyes were slightly crossed.

  “Let go of me.” Getty tried yanking his arm away, but that was futile and made the guy laugh. “You’re hurting me.”

  The room fell silent except for the music. Getty turned his head, and his heart jumped out of his chest.

  Standing by the bathroom hallway was not only Donnchadh but two other men who were just as big as him.

  “Let my fucking mate go,” Donnchadh snarled. His expression was murderous, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

  Getty was about to burst with the depth of his feelings toward Donnchadh. Even though Getty had left the apartment knowing full well how much his warrior wouldn’t like it, Donnchadh had come to rescue him.

  He could kiss the shit out of Donnchadh right now.

  “How the fuck did you guys get in here?” Rocco snarled.

  Men began to move forward, but the three warriors didn’t flinch. Donnchadh’s gaze was still locked on Getty’s.

  “Fine, if you won’t put him down…” Donny stormed across the room, gripped Bad Breath’s wrist, and snapped it back. The guy howled as he cradled his arm against his chest.

  Donnchadh looked at Getty. “Are you okay?” He brushed his knuckles over Getty’s cheek. “Are you hurt?”