Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC Book 5)

by Jeanne St. James

  Reilly arched an eyebrow. “Well, to make your fantasies more accurate, I don’t wear thongs.”

  “No? What d’you wear?”

  Reilly shoved the push bar to the back door with both hands, flinging it open. “Nothing!”

  Cage stood there for a second, then rushed after her.

  Within twenty minutes, they were pulling into the garage lot on his sled with Reilly wrapped around his back.

  All four garage bay doors were wide open, which was normal for June.

  What wasn’t normal was Rev, Whip, Rook and Dutch standing in a half circle around a large cardboard box on the ground.

  Either they were inspecting some part that had been delivered or a litter of kittens someone dropped off overnight, which happened way too often. Assholes dumped their cats at their place thinking they’d need them for the storage yard to keep the rodent population down.

  Cage was usually the one tasked with taking the abandoned animals to the local humane society. It was either that or taking them over to Tioga Pet Crematorium and...

  No, those kittens didn’t ask to be born or abandoned.

  Just like him and Rook. Unwanted by someone who was supposed to take care of them. Who was supposed to love them.

  Cage rolled his sled into the spot next to Rook’s and shut it down.

  “What’s going on?” Reilly asked as she dismounted and pulled off the brain bucket Reese insisted she wear. His attention turned from the men to her as she bent over, giving him a nice view of her perfect, juicy peach of an ass, and shook her long blonde hair out before flipping it back up.

  “Don’t know. You see what I see,” he murmured.

  As his gaze fell back on the group, he realized all of them had turned to watch him and Reilly.

  Or maybe just Reilly.

  A whoop whoop made his heart jump into his throat as a Manning Grove PD cruiser rolled into the lot and up to the garage crew.

  What the fuck was going on? What the fuck did Rook do now? Did that asshole break parole?

  “Someone going to jail?” Reilly whispered.

  “Beats the fuck outta me.”

  She nudged him with her elbow. “She was legal, right?”

  “Didn’t even know her fuckin’ name, Reilly. How the fuck would I know how old she was?” He grimaced. “Hope to fuck she was.”

  “Better hope so.”

  Yeah, he more than hoped so. Unlike his brother, he’d only done a couple short bids in the county jail. Mostly for stupid shit when he was underage. Rook tended to like those longer state or federal vacations with bars. And not the drinking type of bars.

  On his last not-so-tropical getaway, Rook became prison pals with Dodge, who now helped manage Crazy Pete’s.

  As he strode across the front lot with Reilly on his heels, the black-and-white’s driver’s door opened and one of the too-many-badge-wearing Brysons unfolded from the seat.

  Matt Bryson, to be exact. The pig who, along with his doctor wife, adopted Red’s baby, Levi, last November. He stepped up to the half circle.

  “What the fuck,” Cage heard the cop whisper as he joined the group and stared down into the box. Reilly shoved her way in, too.

  Cage glanced down and scowled. “What the fuck is that?” It certainly wasn’t a fucking kitten.

  “Holy shit,” Reilly whispered. “A baby.”

  “Looks like a newborn,” Bryson said, raising his face and his gaze circling all of them. “Is this where you found it?”

  “Yeah,” Dutch answered. “Came in through the gate and then the back door this mornin’, so I didn’t spot it.”

  “Saw the box when I came in the front door earlier,” Whip said. “Didn’t check it right away thinkin’ someone dropped a part off or somethin’ overnight.”

  “Has it cried at all?” Bryson asked as he pulled back the green blanket the baby was wrapped in and ran a finger over its pudgy cheek. Its eyes were open and it made a little noise that sort of sounded like a kitten’s mew.

  “Nope,” Dutch answered, his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows pinned together.

  “It doesn’t look sick. But I’m calling EMS to come get it and take it to the ER.”

  “You need to find its mother,” Reilly said, squatting next to Bryson and also touching the kid.

  “Yo, Captain Obvious, maybe you shouldn’t touch it,” Cage told her.

  “It isn’t a fucking baby bird!”

  He winced. Her shout didn’t help his pounding head. “Don’t gotta yell.”

  “Well, don’t be an asshole.”

  Ignoring them, Bryson grabbed his radio mic from his shoulder and called for a “bus.” Pig-speak for an ambulance.

  “What’s gonna happen to it?” Whip asked, his brow furrowed.

  Bryson glanced up at him. “We’ll have to call Child Protective Services. They can deal with it until the mother’s found or someone comes forward to claim it. If someone does. But this baby was just born. He’s as tiny as Levi was.”

  Bryson did another quick inspection, then reached into the box full of blankets, picked the kid up and rose to his feet, holding it against his chest. He peeled the blanket back a little more, exposing the fact the baby wore a thick towel around his bottom area instead of a diaper.

  Something was pinned to the front of the towel.

  “What’s that?” Reilly asked. Before she could pluck it off the makeshift diaper, Bryson grabbed it and scanned what looked like a handwritten note.

  “Shit,” he muttered and his crystal blue eyes hit Cage’s.

  His dropped from the cop’s face to the note as it was shoved into his chest.

  Cage’s stomach dropped, too, when Bryson said, “Better read that.”

  Chapter Two

  Better read that.

  Cage wasn’t so sure he wanted to.

  No, he knew he didn’t.

  He had no fucking choice.

  He gripped the note as Bryson’s fingers released it. And everything around him went out of focus.

  Better read that.

  His heart was fighting to escape his chest. His mouth became as dry as a desert. An invisible hand squeezed his throat.

  “What the fuck does it say, boy?” Dutch bellowed at him. His father had an extreme case of impatience. Today wasn’t any different.

  Cage pulled the small scrap of paper away from his chest and slowly let his gaze drop from his father to it.

  Christopher,

  I kept it a secret as long as possible. From you, from everyone.

  When I couldn’t conceal it anymore, my family hid me until the birth.

  I had no choice but to give our baby up or be shunned.

  I can’t live in your world and you can never live in mine. Nor would you want to.

  I’m sorry. This is for the best.

  God forgive me.

  God forgive you.

  May God bless this child He made.

  ~ S

  S?

  Sarah?

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Fuck!

  He’d only been with her a couple times. At the end of her rumspringa, after she had decided she wouldn’t join the church. She stated a few times she no longer wanted to live the Amish life. She planned on leaving her community and living among the “English.”

  That was what she said.

  Before she changed her mind, apparently.

  She had shyly flirted with him when she came along with her cousin, Rebecca, and the others to drop off weekly supplies at The Barn.

  Then she encouraged him to sneak off a couple times...

  To show her what a kiss was like.

  And then...

  Fuck.

  She stopped coming. He hadn’t thought much about it. He certainly had no reason to go looking for her. It wasn’t a thing, it was just a fling. A little forbidden fun on both their parts.

  Trip didn’t want any of them fucking with the Amish. Especially with what happened between Sig and Rebecca.

  His prez
would be fucking pissed. Fucking furious if Cage’s fuck-up threatened the club’s relationship with the plain people.

  His eyes slid back to his father, whose mouth was moving, but Cage couldn’t hear anything coming out of it. Maybe that was for the best.

  His father was friendly with some of the elders...

  Fuck. Shit. Motherfucker.

  He crumpled the note within his fist and walked away, raking fingers through his hair. He kept going until he hit the edge of the concrete sidewalk that ran past the garage. He stopped, planted one hand on his hip and stared sightlessly across the street. Tempted to step out into the roadway when the next big truck sped by.

  This was not happening.

  How the fuck could it happen?

  No way. The note was a fucking lie.

  It was all a lie.

  He’d worn a condom both times. He swore he did.

  He had to have. He’d never risk getting saddled with a snot monkey.

  He had no desire to be a father. Especially to some Amish baby that probably wasn’t even his.

  This was all bullshit.

  She fucked someone else. An Amish guy or something and wanted to pawn the unwanted kid off on him. Pass it off as his, get the kid out of the community so she didn’t look like a slut who gave up her virginity before marriage.

  That was it.

  It was all a fucking lie. That was what he would tell Bryson. To take the kid and do whatever with it. He wanted nothing to do with someone else’s brat.

  He spun and strode back toward the group, who all stared at him.

  His gaze landed on his brother who looked almost as pissed as Dutch.

  His feet stopped moving halfway through the lot. He stood there, helpless, the note still crumpled in his fist.

  He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand down his face.

  Out of nowhere, he was standing in a yard of brown, dead grass.

  On that day.

  The day she left.

  The day she deserted him and Rook.

  Left them behind without a second thought.

  Not giving a flying fuck about what happened to them.

  Simply gave up her sons because she was done with the MC life. Done with her ol’ man. Done with her own fucking children.

  She had abandoned them all.

  His eyes popped open when the balled-up note was snatched from his hand. His father unwrinkled it and quickly read it.

  Then his dark brown eyes hit his. Cage didn’t even bother to duck when Dutch swung. His old man clubbed him alongside the head, rattling his brains for a second. “Stupid motherfucker.”

  Bryson yelled out a, “Yo! Dutch! You can’t do that shit in front of me.”

  Dutch ignored the pig in uniform. “Taught you boys to wrap your fuckin’ shit tight, didn’t I? You just made me a goddamn granddaddy before my fuckin’ time.” He jerked on his long salt-and-pepper beard. He shook the wrinkled note in front of Cage’s face. “Makin’ me feel old. Goddamn it.” He spat tobacco juice on the ground at Cage’s feet, splashing his boots.

  Dutch took the note with him when he walked back to where Bryson was holding the baby. Rev and Whip were gone, most likely ordered to get back to work by his father. And Rook and Reilly remained with the cop.

  Rook’s face was now unreadable. Reilly kept glancing back and forth from Dutch to Cage with a worried look.

  “You know her? This S?” Matt Bryson asked, gently bouncing the baby because it was now crying softly. Like a kitten. Which was what should have been in that fucking box in the first place!

  “Of fuckin’ course he knew her if he stuck his dick in her and got her knocked up,” Dutch growled.

  “You didn’t force her—”

  Rook shouted a, “Hey!” cutting the pig off. “My brother don’t need to force a fuckin’ woman.”

  Cage looked up from the now red-faced infant in Bryson’s arm. “No. Didn’t force her. She gave it up willingly.”

  Bryson stared down at the baby and sighed. “You think it’s yours?”

  “Dunno,” Cage answered honestly. “Wrapped it tight each time... Could be tryin’ to pawn her spawn off on me... Not sure.”

  “What do you want to do?” Bryson asked.

  “This isn’t like kittens, Cage. You can’t take him to the Humane Society,” Reilly said behind him, like she was being fucking helpful.

  “EMS is already en route. I can call CPS, if you want. Especially if you don’t think he’s yours.”

  He?

  No fucking way he had a son. And this was all starting to feel a little too real.

  He had drank so much last night he’d blacked out. Now he was just sleeping it off and this was just a nightmare.

  That was it.

  This was all a fucking nightmare to teach him a lesson about drinking too much.

  He’d imagined everything that happened this morning. He didn’t wake up with some random snatch in his room. Reilly never showed up, riding his ass about being late. And in a little while he’d open his eyes and see his dirty laundry still scattered all over his room.

  Yep. He was recovering from the whiskey bender he had last night.

  The baby’s cry turned into a wail.

  “DNA test would be smart,” Bryson suggested, as if this wasn’t a nightmare. “Then if he’s yours, you can put him up for adoption. Maybe Teddy and Adam would be interested.”

  Right. Hand his son over to a gay couple to raise.

  Fuck, they’d do a better job than him. What the fuck did he know about babies? Nothing.

  He didn’t want to learn, either.

  “If this is my grandbaby, he ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Dutch groused. “If he’s blood, he stays with blood. He ain’t goin’ to the ER for CPS to take ‘im. He ain’t bein’ put up for adoption. My son’s gonna grow a fuckin’ set and raise the son he made ‘cause he was too stupid not to knock up some Amish girl who he fuckin’ knows he wasn’t supposed to fuck around with.” The last came out on a roar. His red-faced father turned toward Bryson. “Now, Matt, gonna kindly ask you to turn around while I clobber some fuckin’ sense into my own crotch fruit. Shoulda made his momma swallow that fuckin’ load.”

  Bryson’s lips flattened out. “That’s not going to happen, Dutch.” He held out the crying baby to Cage. “Here. Maybe if you’re holding your kid, your father won’t want to kick your ass.”

  Cage doubted that.

  He stared down at the bundled infant in Bryson’s arms.

  Dutch growled, “Take your goddamn kid, Cage.”

  Reilly reached between Cage and Bryson, intending to take the baby until Dutch snapped at her, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” She dropped her arms and stepped back with her palms in the air.

  Cage took a deep inhale and took the now screaming baby from Bryson, who said, “I suggest someone head out to get diapers and formula while we wait for the EMTs to check him out.”

  “I’ll go,” Reilly volunteered quickly. “I just need to borrow a car.”

  “Take his Impala. Key’s hangin’ in the office. His fuckin’ baby he loves so damn much and might hafta get rid of now he’s got a real one. Hit Walmart for that shit and grab a car seat while you’re at it. And whatever else he’s gonna need to deal with this little surprise for the next coupla days.” Dutch dug into his open coveralls and the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled out his wallet.

  Reilly accepted the credit card and disappeared into the garage.

  Cage cleared his throat and tried to swallow the lump. “Think he’s gonna need changed.” The towel and blanket around the baby’s lower half were soaked and squishy.

  His father’s thick eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Yeah, they do that, asshole. They cry, shit, piss and wanna fuckin’ tit. That’s it. Get used to it.”

  Cage gritted his teeth as his ’65 Chevy Impala SS ripped through the lot with Reilly behind the wheel, the convertible’s tires squealing as she shot out onto the road without slowing down. When she smashed on th
e accelerator, the 409 big-block roared. Then she ground a gear.

  Ground a fucking gear.

  Cage just might cry seeing and hearing that. No one drove his baby.

  No one.

  Out of all the piece of shit vehicles on the property, his father had to tell her to take his restored classic.

  An ambulance with lights flashing, but no siren, pulled into the lot and parked next to Bryson’s cruiser. Two EMTs climbed out and came around to them.

  “Got a call for an abandoned infant?” one of them asked Bryson.

  Before the cop could answer, Dutch said, “Ain’t abandoned. He’s where he fuckin’ belongs. Just make sure he’s fuckin’ okay and then give ‘im back. My dumbass son will be takin’ care of his own fuck-up.”

  Two sets of surprised eyes went from staring at Cage’s pissed off father to Bryson, who nodded.

  One of them took the baby from a relieved Cage and went to the back of the ambulance. Bryson followed, a grim look on his face. Maybe he wasn’t really sure about leaving Cage alone with Dutch.

  He had a good reason to worry.

  Uncomfortable silence surrounded him, his father and brother.

  Dutch, suddenly looking a lot older than he was, shook his head as he stared at Cage.

  “Wore a wrap both times, Dad.”

  “’Parently you need a lesson on how to wrap it right. Musta failed you on that. ‘Cause how else did you knock her the fuck up?”

  “Got no fuckin’ clue.”

  “You weren’t supposed to fuck with them Amish girls. That’s one of the fuckin’ club rules.”

  “It was only twice. And before Sig got caught with Rebecca.”

  “Don’t matter. The rule was in place before then. He fucked up, too. This gotta go to the table.”

  Fuck.

  “Broke a fuckin’ important rule which is gonna piss off the prez. He set that rule for a goddamn reason. And now I gotta look some of those elders in the fuckin’ eye and know you bent over and gave it to one of their innocent girls.”

  “I doubt they know.” She said in the note she’d kept it a secret, then her family hid her away once she couldn’t hide the pregnancy anymore.

  “If the pigs go lookin’ for her, they will.”

  Fuck. His father was right.