Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(43)

“Yeah. Well, he knew about us, our history. Knew he could use me to get to you.” Joker stiffened up, staring me down. I hugged Alex closer, glaring back just as angrily. “Obviously, I wouldn't have screwed you over. I didn't know how to break the news, Jackson. I had to play along, at least for a little while, anything to stop him. He threatened Alex, told me he'd kill him right in front of me!”

I forced my voice to a hush, feeling him stirring in my arms.

“Alex, huh?” Joker said, ignoring my bullshit. “That's a great f*ckin' name. Strong name.”

“Right,” I said quietly, before I glared at him again. “Seriously, how was I supposed to tell you what was really going on? Every time I came by, you made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with me. You wouldn’t even sit down and talk.”

“That's before I knew you were sitting on the biggest f*ckin' secret in the world,” he growled, standing up. “Whatever, f*ck it. Let me hold him. I'll put him down for a nap. Gotta learn sometime.”

The big, awesome biker towered over us. Reluctantly, I sighed, and lifted my baby, offering him up to his father for the first time.

I was ready to jump in at a moment's notice, if he held him the wrong way, or moved too fast.

It never happened. My heart plunged into my stomach and smashed into a million bits, just watching them together.

Alex rested his head on Joker's thick, muscular arm, suspended against his leather chest with that wonderful, manly scent.

Father and son. One.

A sight I thought I'd never see, that I'd tried to keep for so f*cking long...

God. What the hell was I thinking? If only I'd come to him sooner, told him about the little boy.

Maybe he wouldn't have been dead for so long. Maybe I wouldn't have suffered alone.

It was too late for that. Tears clouded my eyes as I watched him holding the boy, rocking him gently in his arms, staring down at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

More precious than the bike that took him everywhere. Maybe even more than the big, hairy dog I'd seen at his side the other day.

I stood up cautiously and followed him into his room. I'd halfway expected guns on the wall, or a thousand sharp things sitting around, but there was nothing except an old guitar in the corner, a couple posters of bikes and classic cars, and a big, thick bed with a headboard going halfway to the ceiling.

I had a flash of us laying down together, instead of him putting our son down for a nap, making that headboard rock as I straddled him, hands on his immaculate chest, sinking down onto the only cock I'd ever had inside me.

No. Hell no. There were so many strange, twisted things running through my mind right now I had to fight, but I definitely had to go after this, tooth and nail.

“Make sure you check up on him often. He isn't used to sleeping in a bed like this.”

“We'll only be a little while. Promise.” He laid the boy down and tucked a sheet over him. We both stood there, watching as he drifted off, blissfully away from the tortured hearts and real life killers hanging over us like swords.

“Outside, Summer. Now.” The growl in my ear was almost inhuman. Joker put his thick, rough hands on my shoulders and squeezed.

So much for savoring the small, miraculous heartwarming scene on the bed. I turned around and walked out, leaving his hands on me, stopping in the hall while he slowly pulled the door shut behind him.

Then, he looked at me, and I was completely alone with those feral, angry, beautiful eyes. “Why'd you lie to me, Summertime?”

“What else could I do?” Shaking my head, I swallowed, preempting another stone from forming in my throat.

“That's your defense?” he snorted. “Tell me again. Why'd you f*ckin' lie to me?”

Shit.

He didn't wait for an answer. Snarling, he grabbed my hand, and jerked me deeper into the apartment, into the bathroom with him while he slammed the door shut.

“You f*cked me over, you f*cked yourself, and you f*cked our son, keeping him from me. He's really mine, ain't he? Don't even f*ckin' deny it!”

His rage paralyzed me. Before I knew it, I was up against the wall, his chest on mine, both his hands planted on each side of my head, caging me in completely.

“Yes,” I said softly, wincing as what was left of my heart ripped in two. “He's yours. He's only two, just had his birthday a couple months ago. We made him that summer, Jackson. The last few happy nights I ever had in my life...”

“Last? I don't f*ckin' know 'bout that. But you can be damned sure that every last night you're gonna have is mine now.”

I gasped. What the hell did he mean? He talked like he was entitled to make me his property!

“I'm not your prisoner. I'm –“

“Summertime, shut your f*ckin' mouth and listen. Long as my kid's under the gun, he ain't going anywhere with you. You're not taking a step outside this apartment unless I say so, neither. The Deads are coming. I'm getting the club together,” he said coldly. “Murdering every last one of those filthy, sick cocksuckers. It was always personal, ever since they did Freddy, but now they're doubling down on my son?”

I flinched when he shook his head, his hands turning into fists next to mine. My ears heard the faint sound of plaster starting to crack, felt the pressure of the wall behind me caving in.