Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(68)

“Patience, patience, my f*ckin' ass.” I snorted.

When I looked up, feeling the sweat beading on my brow, Summer stood in front of me. “You're doing good, baby. Let me help. It's the least I can do.”

I hated looking weak, especially in front of my own damned woman. But f*ck, I didn't refuse taking her hand, helping her steady me on this damned contraption.

Not the manliest shit in the world, but it brought us together.

It did something. Soothed the hurt we'd suffered over Alex getting kidnapped, dried all the tears she'd cried when I was laid up a week ago, half dead from fever.

Bingo stood by the door, watching me. When I moved a few more inches, he tilted his head up, barking several times, like he was trying to pump a brother up.

“Take him slow,” Laynie told Summer. “Dust wants to see him out back. Here, let me walk behind you.”

The old nurse grabbed Alex, carrying him along with us, while Summertime opened the door. We slowly trundled down the hall, passing the empty bar, heading for the first church session I'd had in f*ckin' forever.

Halfway there, Alex yawned in Laynie's arms, and then belted out a sound that stopped us in our tracks.

“Da-da-da!” he giggled, clapping his little hands.

My shoulder burned like a complete motherf*cker as I whipped my head around. Damn if it wasn't worth it.

The kid watched me like I'd just flown down from the moon and handed him a chocolate bar. He admired me. Fuck, he knew who I was, finally, his own flesh. His old man.

“Oh my God,” Summer gushed, throwing her arms around my neck, kissing me on the cheek. “It's about time! I've been waiting for him to say it forever.”

My lips quirked, sly as ever. “And we're celebrating with a peck on the cheek? Come on, girl, just because I have a walker doesn't mean I'm eighty f*ckin' years old. Give it up.”

Laughing, she leaned in. I pushed my fingers through her hair, holding myself up with the one good arm. I'd crawl over rusty nails to taste these lips.

Really f*ckin' taste them.

I drank her deep, kissing her like I hadn't for weeks, because I'd been too f*cked up. My lips were hungry, making up for lost time. Even my dick came outta its coma, straining in my pants.

Fuck, my lust didn't know my own limits. I didn't care.

“Shit, bro, there you are!” Sixty interrupted the perfect moment a second later. “Everybody's waiting for you! Need a hand?”

“Nah. I'll take it from here,” I said, watching him approach, Lion at his side. Two scruffy bastards, the opposite of the sweet, suckable face I remembered how bad I wanted to ravage.

“Later, babe. We'll catch up later,” I promised, looking back over my shoulder.

I saw Laynie pass the kid to his ma. They stood there the whole time while the brothers helped me along, underneath the neon red beer sign, smiling like I'd just handed her the world.

If only she knew what I was planning to drop on her later, as soon as I got my full strength back, or close enough to it.

Woman didn't have a clue. She wasn't the one who should've been there, looking at me with those, loving puppy dog eyes.

She'd given me everything. Her and that kid. Family.

Soon, I'd be giving it back.



*

Grandpa sat in his wheelchair next to Dust, our guest of honor, who hadn't been to the clubhouse in at least a solid year. They were all gathered around the old fire pit, all the boys, full patch only.

“Christ, Joker. They really busted you up bad,” the old man said, shaking his head. “That why I'm here?”

“No, Grandpa. It's fine. You're here 'cause some other f*ckers got what they deserved. Prez, show him.”

Dust nodded to Firefly, who stood up from a big rock. He'd been sitting on the torn scraps we'd pulled off Hatch in the end, right before we poured gasoline all over their clubhouse and lit it the f*ck up.

“Take it,” Firefly said, nodding respectfully to Grandpa.

His old hands shook when he took the scraps. He needed about another minute to realize what the f*ck he was holding, turning it over, studying it.

“Shit. No, f*ck, no. You boys bullshittin' me?” He looked up, staring at me, and then moved his eyes along the brothers, one by one.

“No bullshit,” Dust said, reaching over to squeeze his hands. “These came straight off Piece's killer. Joker heard the f*ckin' devil admit it himself.”

Grandpa lost it. He slumped back in his wheelchair, clutching the dead man's patches, staring through the tangled branches reaching over the clubhouse to the sky.

If he were younger, maybe he would've screamed.

Fuck. I walked over, forcing myself to through the pain, shaking my head at the brothers who were halfway off their seats, ready to help me.

Didn't f*ckin' need it for this. I had the strength.

This was a moment for the brotherhood, for my family, written in blood. I crouched down on the empty seat next to him, threw my arm around his shoulder, squeezing him as tight as I could.

“God. Fuck. Damn.” Grandpa shook when he said each word, overwhelmed. “Finally. I can go to my f*cking grave in peace, seeing this.”

“No f*ckin' way, old man,” I growled, waiting 'til he looked at me, seeing the tears in his old eyes. “You've got at least a few more good years, being a great grandpa, before we let you bite the bullet.”