Biker Baby (The Kings of Mayhem MC Book 3)

by Penny Dee

  “He’s not just some guy, he’s the baby’s father. And don’t you think he deserves to know?” Seeing the pained look on my face, she gave me an empathetic look. “Look, you of all people know how hard raising a kid by yourself can be.”

  She wasn’t wrong. My childhood had been a disaster thanks to my hair-brained, selfish mother. It was the kind of childhood that made you not want to have children. I saw firsthand how easy it was to crush someone’s self-worth and confidence. My childhood was lonely. I grew up in a one-bedroom apartment in Vegas with a mom who was always out cruising the casinos and bars for her next meal ticket.

  I spent most nights home alone, and on one of these nights, after watching a Martha Stewart show about cupcakes, I decided to learn how to bake. Mom wasn’t home to supervise or to tell me how to do things, and one time my eight-year-old self almost burnt down our tiny kitchen. But thanks to some fast thinking I was able to stop a disaster from unfolding. Although, the stench of burnt cake and wax paper was hard to get rid of. Not that Mom noticed when she got home hours later, reeking of booze and too drunk to care.

  By the age of nine, I was an enthusiastic cupcake baker who knew her way around the kitchen. Money was tight. So I would use the walks home from school to wander through parking lots of the casinos looking for spare change so I could buy ingredients for my next baking adventure.

  I was also really good at English, so at school I started my own essay writing service, selling five-hundred words for five bucks. Some weeks I made up to twenty-five dollars, which meant I could afford to buy some baking books and experiment with different recipes and ideas.

  My mom made my childhood lonely and sad, but her abandonment gave me the love of baking, and as a result, a rewarding career.

  And probably the best mothering skills in the world.

  Because I wasn’t going to be anything like her.

  I took another sip of my tea. “I want to tell him. I do. But I just don’t know how to do it.”

  “Stop having sex with him would be a start.”

  “I’m serious, Autumn. I don’t know how to bring it up.”

  “So am I.” She gave me a stern look. “You need to go over there right now and tell him you’re having his baby.”

  Autumn was right. I needed to tell Caleb. So when she left for her college night class where she was studying business, I tried calling Caleb but there was no answer.

  So I took a shower, put on fresh clothes, and tried to steady my nerves with a cup of ginger tea. When I rang his phone a second time again, it went straight to voicemail. He was busy. It was only five o’clock so he was probably out and about, or doing club stuff. I didn’t really know anything about him, so it was hard to guess, and it did little to help my nerves. Because now that I’d made up my mind I was telling him today, I wanted to get it over with.

  I splayed my fingers across my stomach. So far I only had a slight bump, but it wouldn’t be long and I wouldn’t be able to pass it off as a food baby or too many egg rolls. My body was changing and I would have to start telling people sooner rather than later.

  To hell with it.

  I stood up quickly.

  I needed to stop by the grocery store anyway, and the clubhouse wasn’t that far away from it. I could stop by on my way, tell Caleb he was going to be a father, pick up milk, and still be home before Autumn got home from her night class. I picked up my bag from the kitchen counter, and with a stomach full of butterflies and my head full of all the words I was going to say to Caleb, I left for the clubhouse.

  I arrived just at sunset and was walking into the clubhouse when I ran into Maverick.

  “Hey, Teetotaler.” He flashed his big white smile at me. “Where’s that hot patootie girlfriend of yours. She hasn’t called me.”

  “Didn’t you just see her this morning?”

  Autumn said he didn’t leave her place until she’d fed him breakfast and given him a blowjob in the shower.

  “That was hours ago. Said she was going to call me. Tell her I’m beginning to feel used.” He made a heart-shape with his fingers and held it up to his chest. Then the six-foot-seven biker attempted a sad face as he broke his finger heart like it’d been blown up. I had to admit he did look kind of adorable. Then he grinned, a deliciously perfect smile and squinty eyes as he turned and disappeared out the door.

  Shaking my head, I headed for Caleb’s room, but as I approached it, a sudden tingle of anxiety washed over me.

  What if he wasn’t happy to see me?

  What if he was annoyed because I’d shown up without any notice?

  Why hadn’t he answered his phone?

  Suddenly hating my decision to show up unannounced, I stood there for a moment, weighing whether it was a good idea to knock or flee. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he already had plans and I was interrupting them.

  I turned to leave, but then swung back. Indecision washed over me and prickled at the back of my neck. With a frustrated huff, I turned to walk away again, but in a second of maddening confidence I strode right up to his bedroom door and knocked.

  I heard a murmur behind the door, and then it opened, and Caleb’s face appeared in the crack. He looked disheveled, his eyes hooded and heavy, his hair messy like he’d been in bed all afternoon.

  “Honey, hey,” he said, obviously not expecting me. He didn’t open the door any wider, and something about him seemed off.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to ignore the bad feeling tingling in the base of my stomach. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  He frowned, just slightly, and shook his head. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yes. Well, I guess. I don’t know actually. I tried ringing. Shit. I’m sorry.” I started to ramble. “Can I come in?”

  He paused. Closed his eyes and swallowed deeply before opening them again.

  Was that a hesitation to let me in?

  Wait. Was he … drunk?

  “Caleb…?”

  When he opened the door wider, the reason for his hesitation sat on his bed.

  A very sexy brunette.

  A very sexy brunette who appeared to be hugging his pillow to her chest.

  Nausea rolled through me.

  Fuck.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said again, feeling like a fucking fool for turning up unannounced. I made eye contact with the woman, and heat flared in my cheeks.

  Off course he was with a woman.

  Earlier, he hadn’t asked to see me tonight and this was the reason why.

  I was so naïve.

  Caleb was a gorgeous guy. He probably had a girl for every night of the week.

  This is a huge mistake.

  All of it.

  “Should I come back later?” I didn’t wait for a response. Because even after I’d said it, I knew I wouldn’t be stepping into that clubhouse ever again. “You know, don’t worry about it. Call me when you’re free.”

  I needed to get out of there. My cheeks burned with humiliation. My spine tingled with embarrassment. And for some stupid reason, tears pricked at my eyes.

  I felt like a giant fool.

  I turned to leave, but Caleb’s voice stopped me.

  “Wait, don’t leave,” he said, stepping after me. When I turned back to him, he was swaying slightly in the doorway. “I think I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong.”

  I was?

  “I am?”

  Over his shoulder, I watched the brunette get up off the bed, her long dark hair swirling around her like a dark halo as she walked toward us. She stood next to Caleb and gave me a smile. Her lips were plump, her smile warm.

  “Hi there, I’m Chastity.” She had the same bright blue eyes as Caleb. And dimples. “Caleb’s sister.”

  His sister.

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  “Chassy, this is Honey,” Caleb explained.

  He looked tired. His eyes were heavy. As I watched him soften against the door, I realized I was right. He was drunk.

  “I d
idn’t mean to interrupt you,” I said, noticing how he was gripping the door handle so he wouldn’t sway. “I should’ve tried calling you again.”

  Chastity smiled again and shrugged. “I was just leaving. I had to make sure his drunk ass got home, is all.”

  On her tiptoes, she gave her brother a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thanks for the lift to the cemetery,” he said to her.

  She winked. “Only one more year and I’ll be twenty-one. Then I won’t be the designated driver anymore and you won’t be the only one who can get drunk on this day.” She smiled warmly at me. “He’s all yours. It was lovely to meet you.”

  “You, too,” I replied.

  When she left, Caleb invited me into his room and closed the door behind us.

  “Cemetery?” I asked, worried I had encroached on some kind of family time.

  I watched Caleb move unsteadily across the room to a tall chest of drawers up against the window. He lifted his t-shirt over his head and discarded it, revealing that same chiseled chest and flexing abs I’d had my hands all over last night. Every female instinct in me lit up like a firecracker. Smooth skin. Muscles. Tattoos. The deep grooves and shadows of a flexing six-pack. He was hard to ignore.

  Pulling a clean t-shirt from a drawer in the dresser, he pushed his head through it and pulled it down over his thick torso.

  “My father died thirteen years ago today.” He threw a flannel shirt over his white t-shirt. “A few of us visit his grave each year.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, taken by surprise.

  “We do some shots while we’re there,” he explained as he unclipped his wallet chain to his black jeans and threw it on his dresser. “It’s kind of a tradition.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  He gave me a fleeting smile. “Don’t be.” He leaned over as he walked past me to the bathroom and planted a kiss on my forehead. It was an unexpected, warm gesture and happiness lit up inside me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked from the bathroom.

  I let out a huff of air. Caleb had just come home from visiting his father’s grave at the cemetery. And he was clearly intoxicated. Now wasn’t the time to spring this on him.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” I said lamely. “Thought you might like the company.”

  Tomorrow. When he was sober I would tell him.

  CALEB

  I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face in an attempt to wake myself up. The bourbon I’d drank at the cemetery, and then some more on the ride home, was making me tired. Depressed. I had consumed more than I usually did. Probably because this year the cemetery was more crowded than it usually was. Last year, we’d been under attack, the focus of a personal vendetta from one of our own club members. A few of my club brothers were murdered, including my cousin, as well as an old lady, and it had rocked the club to its very core. The man responsible had also kidnapped Indy and she’d suffered at his murderous hands. But she had fought hard enough to keep him from raping and murdering her, before Cade had shown up and put two bullets in him.

  Today, it was hard visiting my father’s grave knowing my cousin was only a few plots away. He’d left behind a son and a pregnant wife, and the pain of it still lingered in my bones.

  I splashed more water on my face.

  I was feeling morose.

  I closed my eyes against the pain. Unfortunately, it was a pain I was all too familiar with. Growing up in the MC, I’d been surrounded by it my whole life. But I had never shared my grief with anyone. Never spoken about how it felt living with the threat of death tingling in my bones on a daily basis.

  I leaned against the sink and dropped my head, feeling the fucking weight of the world on my shoulders.

  I felt her move behind me.

  Felt the gentle touch of her hand on my shoulder.

  Felt the warmth of her presence and the calmness it brought me.

  “Are you okay?” Honey asked gently.

  No, I wasn’t. But I never was on this day.

  “It’s been a rough day. I’m beat, is all.”

  She turned me to face her, and the moment I saw those big blue eyes I had a sudden urge to spill my story to her. I don’t know why. Probably because I was drunk and sick of this day tearing at my guts every time it rolled around. But instead, I stumbled past her, back into my room, and went straight for the bourbon bottle sitting on my dresser.

  “Should I go?” she asked. “I can come back another time.”

  “No,” I said over my shoulder. I didn’t want her to go. “Please.”

  I watched as she sat down on my bed, and then I turned back to the bottle of bourbon and unscrewed the lid.

  “So you go every year to visit your dad?” she asked.

  “It’s MC tradition. We pay our respects every year to every fallen brother or sister.” I raised the bottle to my lips. “This year we’ll be visiting the cemetery a lot.”

  I drank back a strong mouthful.

  “Why is that? Did something happen?”

  I thought about the last year and closed my eyes against the pain. Yeah. Hell happened. Opening them again, I carried the bourbon bottle over to the bed and sat down next to her. “It’s been a rough twelve months. And when I’m sober, remind me to tell you about it.”

  I looked at her. I mean, I really looked at her. In five minutes, I would be seeing two of her. But for now, the one image of her was beautiful. Big blue eyes. Smooth skin. Full, plump lips I could lose hours to kissing.

  Without realizing it, I started to fall toward her. Like I was going to kiss her. I was too drunk to make a move, but according to my body, that wasn’t the case. It slowly leaned in, pulled by the lure of those perfect, pink lips.

  Seeing me focused on her lips, Honey shifted on the bed and tucked one leg under her.

  “Did the whole club go to the cemetery today?” she asked, breaking the spell.

  Realizing I was too damn hammered to kiss her anyway, I straightened. “No, it was just immediate family today. My sister, my brother and his wife, my mom and my uncle.”

  “Maverick said you have another brother?”

  “Chance is deployed overseas at the moment.” I took another swig from the bottle and felt it coat my lips in sugar. “But even if he was here, he wouldn’t come to anything to do with our father. Ever. Chance never forgave him for the things he saw as a kid. They had a rocky relationship.”

  She nodded slowly, her beautiful blue eyes gentle and empathetic as they absorbed what I was saying without judgment or bias. “What about you, were you close to him?”

  I took a moment to think. “He died before he could fuck with me like he did with Cade and Chance.”

  The weight of my words hung between us.

  My father never got to fuck me up like my older brothers. It was the moment of his death that lingered over me, weighing me down.

  “Maybe talking about it will help.” Honey’s voice was gentle.

  I frowned. It wasn’t like me to open up about this stuff. About my dad and the shit he did to us kids. What he exposed us to. How he manipulated everyone around him for his own benefit. But this girl, this beauty curled up on my bed, she made me feel comfortable. Good. At home. Like I could tell her anything.

  And I’d had enough bourbon to do exactly that.

  “My old man was a mean sonofabitch,” I started. “He was the president of the biggest motorcycle club in the South. And it wasn’t because he was the son of the original founder, Hutch Calley. It was because he’d taken his title. That’s what he did. He took things. Manipulated people. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. And if anyone stood in his way, then he would just mow them down.”

  I resisted the urge to swig back some more bourbon because I was starting to feel really hammered. And I was probably slurring my words, but fuck it.

  “He wasn’t a good man. He was a self-absorbed asshole who put himself before anyone else. He did what he wanted. Fucked whom he wanted. Hurt whoeve
r stood in his way.” Fuck it. Another mouthful wasn’t going to hurt, and it sure beat the dark feelings swirling through me when I recalled what happened on this day thirteen years ago. I tilted the bottle to my lips and drank. Swallowing it down, I savored the burn as it seared the back of my throat and spread through my chest.

  And then for reasons my drunk ass couldn’t even fathom, I started to tell Honey everything. “I saw him die,” I said.

  She gasped softly and placed a slender hand across her mouth. “Caleb, I’m so sorry.”

  I looked away and shook my head, not at her, but at the memory of that night.

  “We were coming back from Humphrey,” I continued and absentmindedly fingered the St. Christopher medallion around my neck. “As a kid, I had a lot of ear infections, and on that day we had traveled to see a specialist about another procedure I needed. On our way home, my dad said he needed to stop at this bar real quick. Said he had to pick up something for chapel at the clubhouse later. Said he’d only be a couple of minutes, so Mom, Chastity, and I sat in the car and waited for him. Chastity was young and impatient and she started complaining, so my mom got her out and took her across the road to the park while we waited. I sat in the car. I was a moody fourteen-year-old. It was getting dark. The stars were out. And I remember looking out the window, up at the stars, when the door to the bar burst open and a man tumbled through it and onto the path outside. My dad appeared in that doorway, looming over him, and it was obvious he had thrown him through those doors. There was a lot of yelling. And I can still see it today, thirteen years later, my dad’s big booted foot as it laid into the man on the ground. I remember thinking how mean and vivacious my dad looked. How big and terrifying. He was yelling at the man on the ground. Then there was a bang. And my dad stopped yelling, and the anger on his face turned to surprise. He looked down at his chest and stared stunned at the blood stain spreading across the fabric of his shirt. When he fell to his knees, I hurried out of the car and went to him, calling out to him, reaching for him.” My breath left me in a tortured huff, and I ran my hand through my hair before raising the bottle of bourbon to my lips again. I slung back another mouthful, the searing pain in my throat and chest barely registering in my alcohol-soaked brain. “His eyes were glazed. And he had this weirdly resigned look on his face like he always knew that this was how it would end. He fell to his knees and into my arms. I was terrified and I didn’t know what to do, what to say. And then he was gone. I looked down at him and I saw his eyes go vacant as he died. He went limp, soft. So heavy in my arms. He was a big man and I couldn’t hold him. I had to let him roll onto the concrete because I was fourteen and no match for the weight of a two-hundred-pound, six-foot-five man.”