by Addison Jane
Rip nudged his dad. “We need to take this as a challenge. We go bigger. I’m thinking tinsel.”
Shotgun lifted his hand and turned his middle finger to Rip before grabbing the item Shake was still holding and walking into the center of the VIP room.
The entire club was there, a large number of Exiled Eight members too, everyone suddenly quiet and captivated as Shotgun climbed on one of the bar tables. Everyone turned, attention on him—though I was very aware that for a second, his eyes were still very much focused on me.
Like I was the only one there.
Like he couldn’t see anything but me.
And when you’ve spent your life feeling like you were the child who was unloved, unworthy, and unwanted, I wasn’t sure if he had any idea what that one look was doing to me.
But knowing Shotgun.
He probably did.
“Tyler, get your ass here, boy!” Shotgun called, finally scanning the space. The young guy basically dove out of the seat he had been sitting in, moving quickly toward Shotgun. “Everyone will know this has been a long time coming.”
My mouth fell open, my hand going straight to my heart as I watched Tyler suddenly freeze mid-step, the entire room realizing what was about to happen. Crush came up behind him, ruffling his hair before giving him another shove forward.
Shotgun jumped down off the table, laying the item in his hands across it and unfolding the black sheet that had kept it safe and concealed. The leather was new, clean, ready for a lifetime of wear. Tyler stepped in front of Shotgun, his chin held high though I could see the way his eyes were sparkling. An arm wrapped around my waist, Laken laying her head on my shoulder and sniffling softly.
I laughed, hugging her close as we watched this amazing young man who we had watched grow to become a fucking man.
“You’ve been pushed to every fucking limit, and not one fucking time have you ever said I can’t do that. Never have you bitched or moaned about the shit we put you through. And trust me, I listen to these bastards complain… a lot.”
The room roared with laughter and protests for a moment.
“All because you knew that this is where you were born to be. With us. In our family. And I think I speak for everyone here… club members, old ladies, club girls, and those bastards from Exiled Eight, when I say we see you as a brother in more ways than one. The kid brother a lot of us never fucking had.”
Everyone in the room cheered, raising their glasses as Repo helped Ty take off his prospect cut, and Shotgun held up his new colors. “Welcome to the family… Kid.”
He slipped his arms in, the leather sitting heavy on his shoulders and his head hanging low.
Kid.
It was fucking perfect.
The room swarmed toward him while Shotgun—the silent type—simply slapped him on the back and murmured quietly before stepping back and allowing him to soak up the moment and his brothers’ congratulations.
Laken ducked out of my arms, rushing into the group as well while Shotgun came toward me with a silent smirk on his face. “Come on,” he urged, grabbing my hand.
I frowned as he pulled me toward the stairs. “Um… we aren’t staying to celebrate?”
“We’ll come back,” he answered sternly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You have studying to do.”
I was a little confused, frowning as I let him direct me toward the back hallway, the security pushing open the doors for us.
“And I’m going to let you do it after we talk about your little stunt out there.”
And there it was.
Damn.
It was going to be a long night.
SHOTGUN
“You think it’ll be done soon?”
Crush cleaned off his hands on a dirty rag, his lips pursed. “Babe, it needs new tires, an oil change, and a bunch of other shit. I’m getting there, but I’m only one person.”
Avery’s shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “I know, sorry,” she apologized, forcing a smile. “It’s fine.”
Avery’s chaotic soul liked its freedom. Not that she constantly had to have the ability to make a run for it, but she liked to do what she wanted when she wanted. It kept her from feeling like she was trapped. And with her car out of action for a little while, I could tell she was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.
I shook my head, walking over to where they were chatting. “If we take the tires off and change the oil and filter, will that help?” I asked Crush, who instantly sucked in a deep breath. He was under a lot of pressure, given he was one of the best mechanics around when it came to highly modified streetcars. We had a consistent flow of them through our small garage.
Tyler—or Kid—had begun learning how to help, but he still had a long way to go. So the rest of us tried to help out where possible, none of us being experts, but just knowing the fucking basics.
“Yeah, brother,” Crush agreed, nodding. “You do it, I’ll put the new tires on, and at least then it should be good to drive until I get to the other little things.”
Avery turned and looked up at me with a wide smile. “Thank you!” She beamed, which only made me laugh.
I tapped her on the ass and pointed at the clubhouse. “Go put some old clothes on,” I ordered, enjoying the instant confusion on her face. “You think I was going to do it on my own? No, baby, you’re about to learn.”
“Umm…” She leaned back and raised her eyebrow. “Not to sound as though I’m against women empowerment and all that, but what exactly is the benefit to living in a clubhouse full of engine-loving men if I have to learn to change my own oil?”
“And there I thought you were Miss Independent,” I taunted with a smirk.
“I am.”
“So, you can throw a punch and break someone’s nose, but God forbid you get a little grease on you?” The way her lips pursed together and she narrowed her eyes at me let me know precisely how impressed she was at my teasing.
“That’s my offer. I help you do it, or you wait until Crush has time, in what?” I paused, looking over at my brother, who was highly amused by my bargaining. “Maybe three to five years by the look of his schedule?”
“You’re a jerk,” she deadpanned, folding her arms across her chest.
“Go change,” I ordered, smacking her hard on the ass and making her jump.
“I swear…”
“What’s that, baby?”
She quickly zipped her lips and strutted off toward the clubhouse, a red handprint peeking out of the bottom of her shorts making me grin.
“I’m going to clean up,” Avery announced, looking down at her arms and hands.
I didn’t think there was a single part of her that was clean, every inch of skin covered in black smears and smudges from either the oil or the tires, and God fucking knows what else.
“I’ll come hel—”
“Hey, man, can you help me with these?” Crush questioned before I could escape the garage with Avery. The wink she gave me over her shoulder as she strutted out was something I was going to make her regret later.
In the best way possible.
With fresh new tires on the rims, I helped Crush put them back on the car, tightening each bolt by hand. “So, when you gonna make it official with her?” Crush enquired after tire number two. “You guys flirt like horny teenagers and fuck like them, too.”
I snorted out a laugh, thinking that was fucking ridiculous, but then remembering how I’d wiped a streak of grease down her nose only moments before, simply because the idea of getting her in the shower and helping wash her down had my dick straining.
“You planning on sticking your dick in her?”
His eyebrows shot up. “No fucking way.”
“Then does it really matter whether she’s wearing my patch or not?”
It did.
I wanted her in my fucking colors.
My name across her back.
But when it came to that point, I wouldn’t be taking no for a fucking answer, and I n
eeded to know she was in. And that wasn’t right now. Right now, I was still wondering whether I was going to wake up one morning and she was going to be gone.
It was her constant need to have everyone at an arm’s length because life up to this point had proven to her that letting people in eventually meant watching them walk away. And in her mind, the fewer feelings she had for them, the more likely she would be able to survive seeing them go.
It made me want to kill someone, to destroy every fucking person in her past who made her feel like she wasn’t worthy.
Was it a wonder she had become the way she was?
Constantly swinging first, asking questions later.
Throwing herself into situations without thinking about the consequences or the outcome or giving a damn about keeping herself safe. She wasn’t exactly cutting her wrists or walking in front of trains, but she was reckless with her life because she’d spent most of it being made to feel like she wasn’t worthy of having one.
I’d change that.
Slowly but surely.
“Hey, Shotgun,” Auron announced, sticking his head into the garage. “There’s a car here, and it’s being flagged by a couple of cops.”
“Goddammit,” I cursed, grabbing a rag from the benchtop and wiping at my hands as I stepped outside. I looked over, meeting Myth’s confused gaze with a shrug as the rest of the club joined us like a strong fucking family show right out the front.
The cops hung back close to the gates while a tiny Toyota cruised forward to where I was standing, pulling up a few feet away.
There were whispers and murmurs from behind me, anyone who was inside the clubhouse at the time strolling out into the parking lot. My brothers moved close to me, the group of us looking to one another to see if anyone even had a guess at what the fuck was going on.
The car’s driver got out, tugging at her rich blue blazer as she stepped out from behind her car door. “We’re looking for Marcus Hall?”
My lip curled unconsciously at the sound of my real name. One I’d been glad to be rid of the moment I got patched and was given my road name.
I edged forward. “That would be me.”
The woman’s nervous eyes scanned the crowd that stood behind me. “Is there somewhere we could sit and talk?”
“You can talk right here and tell me what the hell is going on,” I stated, just wanting her to hurry up and get the hell on with what she had to say. It didn’t worry me who fucking heard it. I had no secrets from the club, nothing to fucking hide.
She shrugged. “My name is Cara Wellington,” she announced, the second lady passing her some files before walking back to the car. She handed me some paperwork. “This is Miss Emma Drake’s last will and testament. In it, you’ll fi—”
“Emma died?” I croaked, feeling my body pull back just slightly with the weight of those words. My brothers circled me, stepping in around me, offering me their energy and their support.
I’d only just fucking seen her.
I’d just spoken to her.
She was alive and fucking breathing.
Cara started talking again, but it took me a moment to actually get my brain to process the words.
“And I need you to hear me. Miss Emma Drake’s last will and testament…”
God, I wish she would stop fucking saying that.
“… specified precisely that if anything were to happen to her, this was what was to happen. Right now, this is a temporary ruling from a judge. There will have to be appearances in court, and I imagine her husband may try to challenge this.”
Another blow to the chest, though I took it, breathing through the fucking shock with my fists clenched at my sides.
Though that all became irrelevant when the second woman pulled a car seat from the back of the car, and it suddenly felt like gravity ceased to exist.
My entire body going numb.
“The hell is that?” I muttered through this heavy weight in my gut that seemed to be the only thing holding me to the fucking earth.
“That… is your son.”
SHOTGUN
Avery stepped forward while the rest of us stood stunned.
The lady put the tiny baby carrier onto the gravel, and I watched Avery crouch down in front of it, her fingers tugging at the tiny blanket that was resting over him.
It’s fucking hot.
Why does he have a blanket on him?
Someone needs to take that off.
A million thoughts raced through my mind, but only one fucking spilled from my mouth. “No fucking way,” I growled, shaking my head and shifting from foot to foot. “The fuck are you saying?”
Cara looked at me like I was crazy.
Like she hadn’t just said the damn words.
But the truth was, my brain was having trouble processing them.
“What I’m saying is, Emma had your name added to the birth certificate, but you’ll need to sign it and some other papers to do with accepting your parental rights,” Cara announced and shoved another piece of paper in my face, a document with a lot of fucking words. “It’s going to be a process, but I need to know now what you want to do.”
I opened my mouth to speak, to tell her to get the hell out of my face. That I wasn’t fucking ready to make any kind of decision. Normal people had nine months to get used to the idea of being a parent—a father! They were giving me nine minutes. And when it was a word that came with so many painful memories and feelings, what the hell did they want me to do?
What did they expect?
My heart was pounding, my eyes constantly being drawn to the infant a few feet away that she was saying was my fucking son.
“Shotgun,” Avery cut in, looking up at me with this frown on her face. Like she was confused by my reaction. “He’s your son.”
My son.
I couldn’t help but notice the tiny hand curled around her finger. It felt like my heart was captured in them instead of being squeezed and strangled.
I snatched the papers from the lady’s hand and smacked them against my palm. It was the only thing I could do to try and gain some semblance of control back because right at that moment, all I felt was this numbness spreading throughout my body.
Taking over.
Shock settling in.
I needed to find control again.
“She didn’t tell me she was fucking married,” I growled, rolling my shoulders. “Hell, I saw her three goddamn days ago, and she couldn’t have mentioned then like… hey, I birthed your child recently?”
Though the way she acted, it made more sense now.
Maybe it wasn’t that she felt like she was in trouble.
Maybe it was that she thought I was going to figure out what she’d done.
Avery leaped to her feet. She seemed out of breath, stomping toward me. “But you know now,” she announced, her voice shaking and quiet.
“Avery…”
“No, don’t you dare.”
“I don’t even fucking know if he’s mine!”
“Why the hell does that even matter?” she shot back at me while shaking her head back and forth, her long brown hair flying around her face. “Are any of these people here your blood? Does it make you love them any goddamn less?”
There was this sickening, twisted pain in her voice. Every word she spoke was like acid, but she couldn’t not say them, no matter how badly it hurt her.
Or me.
“Yours or not, do you know who he has right now?” she challenged when I couldn’t find the words to reply. “No one. His options are a dead mother or you.”
No one else spoke up.
No one said a single fucking word as I looked at this woman in front of me. A woman I was fucking falling for hard, standing her ground for this baby whom she’d never met, that she simply believed was mine.
She was ready to go to bat for him.
Fuck what I said.
And when I still didn’t respond, I watched her face drop, her shoulders sag, and her mouth fal
l open. “Please tell me you are the man I think you are. Please tell me I’m not about to watch you turn your back on that child?”
Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and without thinking, I reached for her, but she slapped my hand away and stumbled back. It was then that my brothers stepped in, Myth grabbing Avery, lifting her off the ground, and carrying her back inside the clubhouse.
She didn’t protest, her body sagging in his arms.
I wanted to be furious, to fucking tell her to go to hell.
That she was fucking wrong.
But the truth was, she wasn’t.
That exact thought had passed my mind, and it made me feel sick. Here I was, my thoughts focused on whether the fuck this baby could be my blood when I’d lived a life that had constantly defined family as something else. Family was the people you could go to when life got hard, who would have your back, who would fight for you, who would fucking bleed for you. They were the people who didn’t care where you came from or how you got there.
My hands, they were shaking.
I knew what I had to do.
But God help me if I could fucking move my feet right at that moment.
Looking over to where Shake stood, Meyah at his side holding their little girl securely to her chest, I knew this was the point where that control I craved had to be handed to someone else. And it was when Meyah caught my gaze that I knew every single person here had my back.
Not just my brothers.
But their old ladies too.
Meyah nodded, moving without a second thought. She handed Juliet to Shake, her dad taking her carefully, smiling down at the little girl for a second before he watched his old lady walk forward and collect the baby carrier that still sat on the ground. Meyah hooked it over her arm, adjusting the blanket that sat over him before she turned and marched right back into the clubhouse.
Not looking back.
Kennedy and Laken moved next as Cara’s helper pulled two bags from the back seat of the tiny car and placed them down.
They weren’t big bags.
I couldn’t imagine it was everything he needed.
But the girls collected them and disappeared inside too.