Jemma pushed the stroller over the uneven ground past the pavilion and to the back of the building that housed both the club’s church and quarters. She rolled Dyna through the rear steel door.
What she had noticed as she walked along the outside of the building was the lower level had no windows. Neither in the barn or the bunkhouse portion. She found that interesting and wondered if that had been done for a reason.
At the very front of The Barn were large windows on the second floor and two large windows at the back where the apartments overlooked a field. Plus, a couple along each side. One for the apartment in the back and one, she assumed, where the meeting room was.
She wondered if that was done for safety reasons. She’d have to ask Cage.
The bunkhouse was as quiet as expected since it was the middle of the day and even though the occupants were bikers, they had to do their part by working.
Trip had said the other night at Crazy Pete’s that everyone had to pull their weight. He didn’t want any “lazy motherfuckers” as part of the club. He also quoted a saying about idle hands being the devil’s workshop. Jemma took that as Trip doing his best to keep his brothers out of trouble and out of prison by keeping them focused.
The fucking man was smart. And driven. He also wasn’t going to take any shit from anyone inside or outside the MC, or let his brothers get caught up in shit which would take themselves or the club down.
He had his work cut out for him since Jemma learned most of the guys had done more than their share of time behind bars. They weren’t strangers to making or getting into trouble.
But something the club president said the other night stuck with her. A club didn’t exist without members. And if those members spent more time in jail than out, it could weaken the club and effectively destroy it.
He certainly learned from the Originals’ mistakes. Jemma also wondered if Trip had been part of a more solid and grounded club in the past and got his cues from it.
It didn’t matter because the club wasn’t Jemma’s reason for coming home. The tiny human in the stroller was. And Cage’s daughter would never wear a Fury cut.
Thank fuck.
Jemma took her time wandering through the bunkhouse, peeking into rooms as she went. The large shared bathroom, the room with bunkbeds, the single rooms with private bathrooms, then another bathroom right outside the door leading into church.
That one was smaller than the one just inside the back door and it didn’t have a shower. It was probably used when there were parties or pig roasts. Or by guests.
She imagined any guests to the farm had to be invited. As much as Trip kept a tight grip on the club, she couldn’t see parties being a wild free-for-all.
Many parties at the old warehouse had been total clusterfucks. There were many times Jemma didn’t recognize most of the people inside and outside the building. She knew now that some of the females had to be underage. Some of the guys, too. It wasn’t like the Originals cared that a sixteen-year-old would be doing drugs or drinking with them. Or that a sixteen-year-old girl brought along her fourteen-year-old friend.
They probably thought bikers were cool or badass and would be fun to party with.
Sure they were.
Those girls probably didn’t leave with the same attitude about bikers that they showed up with.
Hearing Trip, and knowing Judge and Deacon, she knew that kind of shit wouldn’t be tolerated here. Teenaged girls weren’t going to wake up the next morning bloodied and bruised and full of cum from a few different men.
Jemma stopped dead when her pulse began to race. She squeezed her eyes shut until she could get her heart back into her chest. When she did, she glanced down at Dyna. She would grow up in a club and she didn’t want Cage’s daughter to think that shit was normal.
Or okay.
It was far from it.
At the end of the hall across from the smaller bathroom was a grey swinging door on the left. This had to be where Cage pilfered all the farm fresh food. She swung the stroller around and backed through the door. Once she had Dyna safely through it, she parked the sleeping baby to the side and out of the way so she could take a good look around.
Impressive couldn’t even begin to describe what the kitchen was like. She’d never worked in a restaurant but she figured this kitchen—with all the commercial appliances and stainless steel—had to rival one. It had a walk-in cooler and also what looked like a huge freezer. Loads of storage shelves and cabinets full of all kinds of food lined a couple walls
Was it sparkling clean?
Hell no.
Take a whole bunch of bachelor bikers, let them eat, drink and cook and it was going to be a mess. The double sinks at the far end of the kitchen were overflowing with dishes, mugs, cups, pots and pans. So was the counter next to it. Of course, not one of those plates had been scraped clean.
She wondered whose responsibility it was to keep the kitchen clean. Whoever it was hadn’t done their job. But even so, it wasn’t worse than what a restaurant kitchen would look like at the end of a busy night.
Since Cage didn’t have money for groceries, she planned on doing some “shopping” and grab stuff she could make for the next few days for both breakfast and dinner. Plus, grab some mid-day snacks.
Not surprising, plenty of fruit and vegetables were available to choose from, but when it came to the junk, like snack food and sodas, most of it was slim pickings. She’d have to shake a box or a bag first to see if it was even worth taking. Anything she found completely empty or with just crumbs at the very bottom of the package, she tossed in an already almost full metal trash can.
She probably spent a good ten minutes perusing their supplies and picking out stuff she could use, but making sure she left enough behind for the rest of the guys. Just in case one of them decided to make a fruit tart or a spinach quiche.
She snorted.
In truth, more than enough food was available. And most of it high quality like what Cage had brought back for breakfast two mornings ago.
The deal they had with the Amish more than paid off. It was genius.
And, again, the main reason Trip was so pissed at Cage for getting involved with one of the Amish girls. Women. Hopefully, Dyna’s birth mother had been old enough to be considered a woman and not underage. Jemma never asked.
The whoosh of the swinging door made Jemma jump and almost drop one of the bags of bounty she pilfered.
She turned and froze at who walked in.
Her mouth opened and her breath hissed out as they blinked at each other.
She had long dark hair that looked like she’d freshly rolled out of bed, wide blue eyes with slightly smeared mascara, a little bit of lipstick clung to her upper lip, and pale skin.
The reason Jemma knew she was pale was because the woman—or girl, she didn’t look very old—was completely naked. Oh, wait. That was wrong. She was wearing cute striped socks or stockings—whatever they were—that came up mid-thigh.
Jemma also couldn’t help notice the girl had small perky breasts, a completely shaved pussy, a belly ring and was willowy thin.
“Hi!” Jemma squealed like she was a high school cheerleader, and quickly plastered on a big smile.
Why did she feel guilty about being caught with her fingers in the cookie jar?
She shouldn’t. Both Trip and Judge had told her she had free rein to anything in the kitchen or the bar in The Barn. The club paid or traded for all of the food, drinks, beer and booze. Cage and Dyna were part of the club.
“Hey,” came the answer on a sort-of giggle.
The dark-haired girl inspected Jemma from head to toe. Jemma was dressed way more conservatively, like with actual clothes.
“Are you new here?” the naked woman-child asked.
“Oh, yeah. Just getting the lay of the land,” Jemma answered, trying to keep her eyes above the girl’s shoulders.
“Are you making breakfast for one of the guys?”
She pursed her li
ps. Was that normal around here? Naked breakfast served in bed? That sounded like a service a five-star hotel might provide. For a big, fat extra fee. “Do you normally make breakfast for them?”
“No... It depends. If they tell me to.”
Jemma hoped to fuck she was at least eighteen. “Do you normally do whatever they tell you to do...?” She let the last hang.
“Angel,” she answered and frowned. “Of course. Didn’t anyone tell you that?”
“Tell me what?”
“You do whatever you’re told,” Angel answered in an exaggerated way that made it seem she thought Jemma was a dimwit.
That slightly amused Jemma, so she decided to play along. “Oh. I... I just thought they meant sexually.”
“Oh no. I sometimes do laundry and dishes. And clean their bathroom. Whatever they need.”
“Do all the... Do all of you do that?”
“Pretty much.”
Jemma was no longer amused and decided she didn’t like this game. “And then if they want to fuck you, they just point at you and crook their finger?”
“Crook their finger?” Angel somehow made a confused expression look cute. Jemma wondered if she practiced it.
“You know. Like this.” Jemma demonstrated by crooking her finger at her.
“Well, yeah. But that’s the whole point of being a club girl. Except for the prospects. They can’t order us around or fuck us.” She plugged a hand on her bare hip, which, unfortunately, drew Jemma’s gaze downward, something she was trying to avoid. “Who brought you in?”
Brought her in? “Cage.”
Angel’s voice had gone from high-pitched to husky when she groaned, “Oh God, yessss. Mmm.” She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. She even did a cute little shudder.
Jemma might have imagined it, but did Angel’s perky boobs get even perkier? Maybe she had a mini-orgasm or something.
“That good, huh?”
“Most of them are really good.”
Most. She assumed with Angel’s reaction, Cage was included in that “most.” That meant Cage had crooked his finger at Angel. Presumably more than once.
That shouldn’t annoy her, but, damn it, it did. “That right?”
“You’re definitely new here if you don’t know yet.” Her blue raccoon eyes went wide. “Wait! Are you his new house mouse? I heard he got stuck with that Amish bitch’s brat.”
Jemma opened her mouth to say no, but snapped it shut. Holy shit, in reality, she was a house mouse. She was taking care of Cage’s baby, his trailer, cleaning up, and stealing food to feed his ass. All without a dime in compensation.
She wasn’t even getting any of his apparently “good” dick. Good, at least by Angel’s standards.
“I’m just helping out temporarily,” she said weakly.
“Well, lucky you. I offered to help but he turned me down. You know... since he doesn’t have an ol’ lady yet...”
Jemma didn’t know.
“It would be like a trial run,” the “club girl,” aka sweet butt, clarified.
Oh, sure it would.
Angel scrunched up her face. “But really, I don’t think I want to become someone’s ol’ lady who already has a kid from another bitch. There are plenty of other guys around here who don’t have an ol’ lady yet and don’t have that extra baggage.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and did a dramatic shiver. “You know diapers and puke and all of that when the kid didn’t even come out of my own pussy.”
Uh. “Well, I gotta go before Dyna wakes up.”
“Who’s Dyna?”
Jemma moved to where she had pushed the stroller out of the way. Apparently, Angel couldn’t see it from where she stood. As she pointed it toward her escape, Angel squealed out a high-pitched, “O... M... G!” She practically shoved Jemma out of the way, squatted—yes, squatted in all her naked glory—in front of the stroller and booped Dyna’s nose with her finger.
If Angel woke up the baby, Jemma was going to boop her. She grabbed the woman by the shoulder—she barely resisted grabbing a fistful of her hair—and yanked her away from the stroller. “She’s sleeping,” she hissed.
“So?”
“So, if you wake her, you’re going to be the one to get her back to sleep.”
“It can’t be that hard,” Angel huffed.
Tell that to her father at three in the morning.
“Can you get the door for me?” Jemma asked with saccharine sweetness, trying to sound more civil because she didn’t need to make enemies right off the bat.
Angel swung the door outward and held it open as Jemma pushed a—luckily—still-sleeping Dyna past her.
She hooked a left.
“Hey, if Cage ever needs me to babysit...” Angel called out from the open doorway.
“I’ll let him know.” No, she wouldn’t, and she also doubted Cage would leave Dyna in Angel’s hands.
If he did, Jemma would never forgive him, even though Dyna wasn’t her daughter and she had no right to judge.
But, too bad, in this matter she was going to judge.
Jemma hesitated at the closed door to The Barn. “Hey, Angel?” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the sweet butt was still there.
“Yeah?”
“Just curious. Who are you making breakfast for?” It was actually past breakfast and heading into lunch. Maybe Angel was planning on a brunch spread, other than what was between her legs.
Jemma lifted a palm to stop the sweet butt’s answer and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter for who. All that matters is, it’s a nice gesture.”
As long as it wasn’t for her eighteen-year-old nephew.
Chapter Ten
Jemma pushed the stroller—now filled with a sleeping baby and a bunch of groceries, both hanging off the handles and stuffed underneath the seat—through church.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was nothing like the old warehouse.
Not even close.
At first glance, one wouldn’t even guess it was the clubhouse to an MC. No, it looked like a lodge—or something similar—with the center, see-through stone fireplace, the handcrafted wood bar and more.
Old green bus benches lined the walls and a couple sat in front of the fireplace. Two pool tables sat on the opposite side of the building from the bar. A couple dart boards hung on the walls. Bike parts and Harley memorabilia also decorated the space. Not garbage, but really cool shit.
However, one thing hanging on the wall near the bar caught her attention. She rolled the stroller a little closer, parked it where she could see it, and approached. On display, and lit by a small spotlight, was a Fury cut spread open so both the front and back could be seen.
The colors belonged to Crazy Pete. Stella’s father.
She reached up and brushed her fingertips over the old patches, tracing the sewn edges and the embroidered letters. Doing so felt like reaching into the past. She yanked her hand back as if that past seared her fingers.
If she remembered correctly, a cut was supposed to be buried with the member. Obviously, Pete’s hadn’t been. Though, neither had Ox’s because Judge wore their father’s, which was disturbing in itself. Judge had replaced the name patch but the rest was all original. The cut was the one Ox wore when he murdered his own brothers. And who knew who else.
A chill spiraled down Jemma’s spine.
Christ, she hated that Judge chose this path. Deacon, too.
If anything, during her time home, maybe she could convince them to rethink their choices. They had good women, a loving family and neither needed to be a part of a brotherhood that could potentially destroy their futures with those women and family.
Judge finally had Ry back and was discussing adopting Daisy. So, if he went to prison for something like their father had done, he’d desert his own children. Like Ox and Trixie had.
In truth, their parents weren’t a loss. Their parenting skills had been lacking, or, for the most part, non-existent. She and her brother lucked o
ut by being taken in by Lottie and Walter, who acted like real parents should.
The problem was, while Jemma had benefitted from their solid parenting, Judge had been sixteen and by that time, bad habits were already instilled in him. Walter did his best to straighten Judge out. Jemma knew her brother had loved and respected their uncle, so he tried to follow their uncle’s advice and guidance. To an extent.
Fortunately, Judge wasn’t Ox, at least not yet, and he’d be a great father to both his son and future adopted daughter. Even so, he needed to be there for them no matter what. Especially since he missed the first eighteen years of raising his son.
Jemma’s chest became tight as she stared at Crazy Pete’s cut and blew out a frustrated breath to try to loosen it. She loved her brother and cousin to pieces, and she didn’t want anything bad happening to either. Plus, Walter’s loss affected all of them deeply. Lottie had remained strong throughout Walter’s cancer and death, but Jemma was sure she’d be devastated if anything happened to her son or nephew and might not recover so quickly from another life-altering loss.
She turned and let her gaze slide through church again. It didn’t create a knot in her gut like the warehouse always did. Just the atmosphere alone had a totally different vibe. The warehouse had been dingy, dirty and dark. The upkeep done on it was minimal. While The Barn didn’t have windows, it wasn’t nearly as dark or depressing.
It also was free of bad memories.
Except for Pete’s cut, of course.
She moved behind the bar and grabbed an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels to go along with the six-pack of cola she had snagged from the pantry in the kitchen. If Cage wanted beer, he could get it himself. The stroller was already overloaded with goodies.
Anyway, coming over to the bunkhouse to grab food and drinks gave her an excuse to get Dyna out of the trailer and give Jemma a change of scenery. Even if that scenery was a naked sweet butt.
Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC Book 5) Page 14