OLIN (A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga Book 3)

by Debra Kayn

  Whether it was the change of temperature or the different atmosphere, Trik's cries slowed to hiccups, jolting his whole body. Olin inhaled deeply. His experience with kids came from his sisters, nieces, and nephews. He'd never had to feed them before or change their diapers. They never relied on him for comfort.

  He'd never felt so inadequate in his whole life.

  Carrying Trik, he walked around the front yard, his boots kicking up clouds of dandelion seed heads. If Ashley were here, she'd be bitching him out for spreading the weeds.

  He walked faster, kicking out with his boots and feeling better letting off some steam. Right now, he'd let the damn weeds take over every single inch of land he owned.

  He was pissed.

  Pissed off more than he'd ever been at Ashley.

  "Olin?" called Lindsay from the front door. "I don't think all those wishes floating around are good for the baby. We don't even know if he's allergic to anything yet."

  He stopped. Wishes?

  He wished Ashley were here.

  She belonged to him.

  Their son needed her.

  His mom's car came down the road. He walked to the driveway. Through all of his life, he'd made mistakes and luckily survived. He was still breathing.

  But, tonight, he'd failed. He couldn't breathe. Drowning in fury, struggling in mourning for his relationship with Ashley, and scared shitless, he needed help.

  He was forty-six years old and had to call his mom because he had no idea how to take care of his son.

  Karla got out of the car and limped toward him. He took in his mom decked out in an oversized shirt with a pair of pajama bottoms, wearing flipflops.

  "Your ankle still hurts?" he asked.

  "Normally, no. But, I was ready for bed when you called and put my flipflops on because I could hear the baby crying in the background. It's the shoes that don't support my foot." She held out her arms. "Give me my grandson."

  He handed over Trik. "If you take him inside, he'll start screaming. I can't get him to drink from the bottle."

  "Of course, not." Karla kissed the baby's cheek. "He's always had a breast, and he's a Stanton. He wants what he wants."

  He followed her to the front door. "What am I supposed to do? He needs to eat."

  "He will." She walked inside and never hesitated at finding Ashley's sister in the room. "Hi, Lindsay."

  "Thank you so much for coming. I'm at a loss on how to help Olin with Trik." Lindsay moved the pillow on the couch for Karla to sit down. "The bottle beside you is still good."

  "Okay, little man. Let's see if we can get you to drink enough to calm you down." Karla picked up the bottle and frowned. "Where did you get this?"

  "It's Ashley's breast milk," said Olin.

  "No, the bottle." Karla hummed, holding Trik to her cheek.

  "It's one of the bottles from the baby shower," said Lindsay.

  "Olin, call Jett and have him bring over a couple of Arik's infant bottles." Trik started crying, and Karla stood, bouncing him on her shoulder. "Your son is used to Ashley's breast. He doesn't want one of those long, stiff nipples. I know Sydney has the right ones from when she pumped and had to use a bottle."

  He called his brother, relayed the message, and disconnected the call. "This will work?"

  "It will...eventually. He'll be so hungry, he'll latch right on if it's the right size and softness." Karla made soothing baby noises, rubbing Trik's back. "Look at you, giving your daddy a hard time. I bet you're going to be stubborn like Chief."

  Olin sat down in the chair on the other side of the room. He had no confidence that having his son at the house with him was going to work. The crying, the changing, even the damn bottles were out of his skill range.

  "Oh, oh...don't you do that." Karla sat back down, put Trik on her thighs—facedown, and bounced her legs. "Don't you cry, baby. Your Uncle Jett will be here soon, and you're going to want to drink and then take a nap. Your daddy needs a break."

  His mom lifted her gaze. "How many hours does he sleep before he needs another feeding?"

  "How the hell am I supposed to know?" Olin rubbed his hands down his jean-covered thighs.

  "You're going to have to learn everything from scratch." Karla raised her brows. "You can do this."

  "Ashley said he eats every two hours," said Lindsay, saving him from a lecture.

  "That could change once he starts taking more milk. Plus, I imagine the prison is noisy, and that doesn't help him sleep for very long stretches." Karla looked toward the window. "I think Jett's here."

  Olin walked outside, needing to get away from the soft cries of his son.

  Jett stood at his Harley, pulling a sack out of his duffle. Olin had no idea how his brother survived having four kids. He couldn't even handle one.

  "Tough time, huh?" Jett passed him the bag.

  He exhaled loudly. "Fuck."

  Jett studied him. "It'll get easier."

  "I don't see how that's possible. The kid is going to get older, get into shit, and start talking. I don't know what the hell I'm doing." He paused. "What if I do something wrong? The kid is one breath away from..."

  "Kids are resilient. You'll figure it out. In two and a half years, Ashley will be released and—"

  "She gave him up," said Olin.

  "Nah, bro. She's putting—"

  Olin stepped back. "He's mine. That's all I'm going to focus on."

  Jett's gaze softened. "Well, if you need anything, give us a call. Sydney said Kylie can watch him at the clubhouse during the day, too, to give you a break."

  "Right." He'd forgotten about the daycare at the club. He now had somewhere to take Trik while he kept his job at the garage. "Thanks for dropping the bottles by."

  "They're sterilized, by the way."

  He looked at his brother. "So?"

  "That means, you don't have to wash them." Jett got back on his motorcycle.

  Olin walked into the house and passed the bag to Lindsay without a word because Trik was crying. His little eyes scrunched closed, and his face beat red.

  "That can't be good for him," he said, raising his voice.

  "Crying never hurts a child." Karla lowered Olin's son to her arm and cradled him against her breasts.

  Seeing Trik stop crying, turn his head into Karla's shirt, and look for his mother's milk was a scene that burned into his head. His son needed his mom.

  Damn, Ashley.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  The sharp slap of flesh on flesh came before a heavy body fell against the bunk. Ashley rolled, pressing her body against the wall and burying her face in her arms. She tried to stay out of the conflict, knowing it would be worse for her if she had to defend herself.

  Three days after being moved to Pod B, Queen, her cellmate, had started two fights and brought her opponent into the room.

  She couldn't snitch.

  She couldn't stop the women.

  She couldn't do anything but try and protect herself if they involved her.

  "Guards coming," hissed Bobo, her old cellmate.

  The women continued to scuffle near the bunk. Ashley peeked out between her arms, wishing she was in the Living Unit. At least there, the other mothers would often help keep the fighting and arguing away from the children. But, here, there were no children living in the cells.

  The Pod B she came back to was rough and filled with tension. Women who were angry and wouldn't think twice about killing someone. Which was the reason for her roommate, Queen, fighting. Apparently, she belonged to a southside gang who would hurt anyone showing involvement with the Northside gang.

  "Cell check," yelled the guard.

  Unable to get off the bunk until the two women moved, Ashley held up her hands in front of her to show that she wasn't involved.

  "On the floor." The guard came in and shoved himself between the two women. "Out. On the floor. You're both getting written up."

  "She started it," said Queen. "Send her to Ag Seg."

  "Shut your mout
h and get on the floor." The guard held on to the taser strapped to his belt while more guards rushed into the room. "Now."

  As soon as the women moved toward the door, Ashley hurried after them and laid down on the dirty floor, spread-eagled. Tears came to her eyes, and she squeezed them shut to keep from crying out at the painful pressure on her milk filled breasts. She needed to pump, something Queen wouldn't allow her to do in the room.

  Her breasts were engorged, and she struggled to get enough milk in the bags to hand over for Olin to pick up.

  Tears rolled across her nose. Her body ached to hold Trik. She wanted to smell him, feel his tiny fingers on her chest, and listen to him sigh in his sleep. During the night, she'd woke up in a panic believing she'd heard him cry and couldn't find him. The nightmare wouldn't leave.

  The prison hadn't even let her bring one of his dirty baby blankets with her into Pod B. As yelling and commotion went on behind her, she tried to imagine Olin in the baby's room at home, standing over Trik's crib.

  Going from the pictures she'd seen, the white crib with giraffes painted on both ends was where Trik would sleep. Her son would be comfortable there. Warm. Secure. Safe.

  Far away from witnessing his mother on the cold, filthy floor. The endless strip searches. The anger. The fear.

  He'd have adorable little jeans and flannel shirts to wear with socks to keep his toes from getting chilled. Olin could sit in the new rocker that was a baby shower gift and talk to Trik as he closed his eyes to sleep, promising him a future within Brikken and regaling him biker tales, teaching him what kind of man he should grow up to be.

  Ashley's body shook with her sobs. Her son would have the life he deserved.

  If Trik got the sniffles, Olin would take him to the doctor. If he had a rash, Olin would buy him cream. If her son woke up from a nightmare, Olin would hold him, promising protection from the monsters that scared him.

  She'd given him away because Olin could provide everything Trik would ever need. Ashley's body violently rebelled. She gagged, empty and lonely.

  "Everyone up," shouted the guard.

  Ashley rolled into a ball. She wanted her son.

  Inside her chest, the pain burned like fire. She'd never survive without her soul.

  She shouldn't be here.

  She was a mother. She belonged to Olin.

  "What's wrong with her?"

  "I heard she had a baby and gave him away."

  "Bitch. She doesn't deserve a kid."

  "Everyone, move out," yelled a male voice. "Back to your cells."

  Hands grasped her wrists, and her arms were jerked behind her. She shouted her rage. The only guilt residing in her was the crime of having a child in prison.

  "I'm going to take her down to medical," said the male voice.

  He yanked her sore body off the floor. She let herself go, wanting to lie there and die.

  "Nope, you're going to walk."

  Her arms bent behind her painfully, forced her to her bare feet.

  "Roger, secure the others. I'm taking this one out of here."

  "What's wrong with her?"

  "I'm taking her to Psych."

  She blindly walked, not caring where she went or what happened to her. No punishment would be enough to make her pay for the crime of sending her son away.

  THE WOMAN AT CHECK-in at the prison shook her head. "There's no visitor application on file for you, Mr. Stanton.

  Olin held Trik to his chest. "Look again. She was recently moved out of the Living Unit and into Pod B. Maybe the paperwork wasn't moved."

  The woman looked up at the clock. "Visiting hours have started. Call next time before you make the trip, and we can verify if you have approval ahead of time."

  "Jesus Christ," he mumbled. "This is Ashley Thompson's son. She's used to having him with her. She'll want to see him."

  "Please exit the building." The woman shut the glass sliding window and stepped away from the desk.

  He gritted his teeth and looked around the vacant room. The guard at the door, motioned for Olin to leave.

  Picking up the diaper bag, he carried his son out of the building. Once outside the gate, he looked over his shoulder. Any other time, Ashley would be screaming his name if anyone dared keep him away from her.

  But, he had no idea where she was or what she was doing. Only one thing was apparent. She refused to see him and their son.

  It was her responsibility to turn in the visitor forms getting him access. She hadn't.

  She also hadn't called him on the phone the last three days.

  He walked out of the gate and into the parking lot. "Your momma needs her ass beat, son. I don't know what she's trying to prove, but she's wrong."

  Opening up Chief's truck he borrowed, he put Trik in the car seat and made sure the straps were tight. He marched around to the other side and slid into the driver's seat.

  Halfway to the clubhouse to drop off Trik with Kylie in daycare, he realized the woman at the check-in desk hadn't given him any breast milk. He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  Chapter Thirty Four

  The coldness of the cement permeated the solitary cell. Ashley sat on the edge of her cot, hugging her middle. The softness of her stomach was the only proof of what she'd gone through.

  Her baby was gone.

  She'd given Trik away.

  Her fingers curled, and she cried out, rocking back and forth.

  His little blanket gone. Probably laundered of his sweet, innocent scent and given to another inmate who had an infant in prison.

  She mewed, gritting her teeth. Her mind was coming undone.

  The days spent serving her sentence were lost to her. She had no idea how long she'd been in prison or how much time had been spent alone in Ad Seg. The only people she'd seen were the three different guards.

  She saw their eyes in the peephole on the door and seen their hand as they slid a try in the food slot three times a day.

  The doctor came once a week and evaluated her. She remained silent, afraid that if she spoke, her words would be used against her. In her state, she feared the prison employees would use her behavior against Olin. That the authorities would go to his house and remove their son from his care.

  "No, no, no," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

  Olin wouldn't let that happen. He'd ride to the ends of the earth with Trik to keep him safe. She knew that with all her heart. It was the reason she'd let her baby go.

  Trik was safe. Olin would love him. He'd watch over him and make sure their son thrived and grew.

  Her head fell forward, and her chin hit her chest. She grasped on to Olin and Trik, needing to hold on. If she accomplished one thing in her life, she wanted them to be happy. Olin deserved so much for always being there for her. He was the one steady person in her life that had stayed, for no reason other than he loved her.

  Trik, an innocent in his mother's crime of wanting and loving him, needed his father and the lifestyle he could provide.

  She had to hold on.

  Hold on.

  Her legs numbed and she continued to rock. The prison warden was wrong.

  She had no plans to hurt herself because it took everything in her not to die inside.

  Life inside a prison cell threatened to destroy her, but the damage, the pain, the defeat coursing through her came from being away from Olin and Trik.

  "Olin," she said, her throat burning.

  She needed him.

  "Olin," she screamed.

  She couldn't do it. Her body rolled forward, and she landed on the hard cement. The air sucked out of her, she moaned.

  The emptiness consumed her. She wanted her baby.

  Sobs abused her sore body. Why couldn't she be happy? Why did she lose everyone she loved?

  She couldn't do this.

  She couldn't.

  Olin.

  Trik.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Lindsay sat down a
nd put her hand on the glass partition. Six months after sending Trik home with Olin, Ashley held the phone to her ear, knowing if she put her hand on the divider keeping her from her sister, it would still be impossible to touch Lindsay.

  "Oh, my God, Ashley. Why haven't you let anyone see you?"

  Ashley moved her tongue off the roof of her mouth. It'd been a long time since she'd willingly joined a conversation with someone else.

  "Please, talk to me." Lindsay sniffed. "I haven't seen you for six months. You haven't even seen Olin or your son. Then, I'm finally allowed permission, and they escort me here..."

  Six months? Had it been that long?

  "Nobody has even received a phone call from you." Lindsay looked around the bare cubicle they used for no contact visits. "What's going on, Ashley?"

  Ashley took in the shorter haircut on her sister. After her psych evaluation, they'd put her in solitary on suicide watch. Her days and nights blurred, and sleep became her only escape. She couldn't tell anyone how long she'd spent time in the cell alone. The medicine they gave her numbed her from counting or asking why she was by herself under twenty-three-hour watch with only an hour out in the yard by herself a day.

  "It was hard after..." She swallowed, reassuring herself that Olin had Trik. He was safe. Loved.

  "Oh, sis." Lindsay's fingers slid down the glass. "I've been finding out more about the hormones and depression after having a baby." Her sister's eyes teared. "Is that what happened?"

  Ashley stared down at the stainless-steel shelf in front of her. Nobody would understand what it felt like to give her child away. It was worse than ripping her heart out because she was still alive and hurting.

  "Nobody can blame you from totally losing it in a place like this, but you have to pull yourself together."

  Olin could and would blame her. She knew him better than herself. If it'd been him that walked away from raising their child, she would never forgive him. It'd hurt her on a level that would be irreparable because it would be unfathomable.

  And, she'd done that to him.

  "Is Trik growing?" she whispered, needing to know.