Finn's Future (Dead Knights MC #2)

1. Kate

Kate

The baby fussed against my chest, a sad sound that stabbed deeper than the bruises aching along my ribs. My arms trembled with exhaustion, my body numb from the cold, but I clutched him tighter as I stumbled up to the iron gates.

I’d taken a taxi with what little money I had left, but it dropped me off six blocks away.

A man in a leather vest blocked my path, his eyes flat and cold. He looked me over once, taking in my bloody lip, swollen eye, torn hoodie, and crying baby, and his mouth curled.

“Turn around,” he said. “This ain’t no shelter.”

“No.” My voice broke. “Please. I need Caleb Kane. He told me . . . he told me if I was ever in trouble and I couldn’t get hold of him, to come here, to Reaper.”

The man shook his head, already turning to walk away. “Ain’t no Caleb here.”

Panic surged, and my legs threatened to give out. “No, he’s here,” I insisted, my voice breaking. “He has to be. He told me?—”

“People say a lot of things,” he muttered.

“I have his child.”

The man stilled, then his grip on the gate tightened.

“What did you just say?” A female voice cut across the lot. A woman strode towards us, tan boots hitting concrete with purpose. Her dark, wavy hair swayed as she walked, and her eyes were glued to me.

“What did she say?” she asked.

“She says the kid’s Caleb’s,” the man replied, unimpressed. “Showed up outta nowhere?—”

“I’m not lying,” I cut in. “He told me to come here if I was in trouble. I tried calling, but I couldn’t?—”

The woman’s gaze snapped to mine.

“Tell me what you told him,” she demanded, nodding to the man at the gate.

“Caleb,” I whispered. “I need Caleb. He’s the father.”

Something flickered across her face, but it was gone almost instantly.

She stepped closer, close enough that I could see the tension in her jaw.

“You got proof?” she asked.

“No,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “Just him. Just . . . what Caleb said.”

The man at the gate snorted. “Yeah, that’s not enough.”

“Open the gate.”

He frowned. “Lucy?—”

“I said open it.”

For a moment, I thought he might argue, but he moved off to the side, mumbling something about the Pres killing him.

The gate groaned open, and relief hit so hard, my knees almost gave out. I stumbled forward, barely catching myself. Hands grabbed me, keeping me upright, and Lucy reached for the baby.

“No!” I tried to pull back.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Lucy said, firm. “You fall, you drop him. Let go.”

Every instinct screamed at me not to, but my arms were shaking too badly to argue. I let go, and Lucy took the baby, bouncing him gently.

“What’s your name?”

“Kate. Kate Johnson.”

“You walk into a place like this,” she said, “you better be telling the truth.”

“I am,” I whispered.

“Let’s get you inside.”

The smell of smoke hit me as I crossed the threshold. The room fell silent. Heavy stares pressed against my skin, the kind that made me want to shrink away, but I couldn’t. Not when Noah sniffled softly in another woman’s arms.

“Maria,” the woman called.

A figure appeared from the back, older than Lucy. A braid fell over her shoulder, and she had eyes that softened the moment they landed on me and Noah. The two women spoke in whispers, with Maria’s eyebrows shooting into her hairline.

She took my hand, her grip steady and warm. “Come with me, Mija,” she said gently. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

They led me down a narrow hall and into a small room that smelled of soap instead of smoke.

The clubhouse’s infirmary occupied a converted storage room at the back of the building. A single cot sat against one wall beneath a harsh fluorescent light, its thin mattress covered by a clean but worn sheet.

Metal shelves lined the room, packed with first aid kits, bandages, antiseptic bottles, and painkillers.

An IV-stand stood beside the bed, while a rolling cart held sutures, gloves, and neatly organized instruments.

The sharp smell of disinfectant barely masked the lingering scent of leather that seemed permanently embedded in the building.

Maria eased me onto the edge of the bed, already gathering a first aid kit. Lucy stayed close, cooing at Noah. Her eyes were sharp as knives, watching the door and me all at once.

“Finn, call Reaper. I need him home,” she said to the man who appeared at the door. He nodded and pulled out his phone.

“Who are you?” I asked her.

Her eyes met mine, tears glistening in them. “I’m Lucy, Caleb’s sister.”

I was about to reply when Maria pressed a damp cloth to my split lip, her touch careful but firm. I hissed at the sting.

“Shh,” she murmured. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word felt like a lie. I wouldn’t be safe until Caleb was with us.

Movement tugged at the edge of my vision. The man she called Finn was back, lingering in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered. He watched me as Noah settled in Lucy’s arms. He didn’t speak, just hovered like he was on guard.

I blinked at him, half-delirious, half-defensive. “What are you staring at?”

“Figuring out if you’re a problem.”

Maria’s hand cupped my chin, drawing me back. “You’re bruised bad, but nothing’s broken,” she said. “You need rest.”

Rest. My body begged for it, but my heart kept hammering. I wanted to ask again for Caleb, to demand they bring him to me, but the weight in Lucy’s eyes made my throat close.

So, I bit back the question. For now.

Lucy placed a now sleeping Noah next to me on the bed, and I reached out, brushing my fingers against my baby’s fist. His grip closed around me, strong despite everything, and I whispered the same promise I’d been whispering for miles.

“Mama’s got you. Mama’s not letting go.”