33. Baby Daddy
BABY DADDY
CUTTER
Me: Where are you? It’s not mine, Kit.
Me: Answer your phone.
Me: Let me at least explain. I DIDN’T KNOW SHE WAS GOING TO DO THIS.
Me: Where are you?
Still no reply. I’m practically vibrating with the need to go find her. Instead, I’m stuck here with Claire trying to wade through the carnage of the bomb she just dropped.
“Rocco is out there. He’ll be worried if I don’t get back, Liam.”
“Shut up. I’m thinking and waiting on Callan.”
“Why?” She leaps up from the bed, her eyes going to the bedroom door.
Pulling my eyes away from my phone, I narrow them on her. “Because we need to decide what the hell we’re going to do with you.”
Her face drops, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, nearly spilling her tits from the barely there red bikini top. “I won’t tell Michael about the baby. I was upset and lashing out.”
“What’s with the bandage?” I ask, ignoring her bullshit.
I can’t unhear the threat she made. She didn’t outright say she’d tell him about Nicolas, but her intent was clear.
Being around him at all is bad enough, but fucking him?
She’s lost her damn mind. Playing with fire, she seems to enjoy the danger.
Covering the strip of material with her hand, she shakes her head. “Nothing.” Her cheeks heat, and she tries to turn away from me. We’re in my bedroom. There’s nowhere for her to hide.
“Claire…” I growl, “what did you do now?”
She swipes her hands through her hair and tucks it behind her ears, lifting her chin. “I wanted my tattoo.”
“What tattoo?” Anger spreads through my limbs, tightening my hands into fists.
“My ol’ lady tattoo.”
This better be a joke. “Show me.”
Pulling the bandage away, she pouts. The dark squiggle of black ink is rimmed in an angry red.
Property of…
Snorting, I grind my teeth. I warned her never to ask me for the tattoo most ol’ ladies get to honor their men once they’re married. The only person I want to have my name is Kitty.
“They wouldn’t finish it.” Her lips twist, humiliation burning her skin to a shade lighter than her bikini.
Members have to be there to give the nod for these tattoos. Any inkers who value their business and life know better than to tattoo our insignia or road names on anyone who isn’t a brother. “It’s a good thing too or I’d have to take the tit you just paid all that money to fill.” My fucking money.
Blanching, her mouth parts. “I am your ol’ lady in the eyes of the club, Liam.”
Before I can formulate a response, knuckles tap on the door. “Cutter,” Callan calls out before entering without waiting for a reply.
Covering the black ink up, Claire gulps and takes the couple steps to put my bed between her and us.
“What the hell is going on?” he demands with a menacing growl.
I shift my stance and nod. “Ask her.”
“What the hell are you thinking?” he rumbles with fury as he steps beside me, our frames side by side, shrinking the room.
Claire’s bold demeanor vanishes. She got brave with me, forgetting who the hell I am. I’m a King before anything else. If she becomes a true threat, I’ll always protect the club first.
“Do you want to explain yourself?” Callan gives her the opportunity.
“I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t even know Michael,” she stammers, placing a hand over her stomach.
“You get one shot to be honest. And be grateful Cutter called me and not Pres. He’d have Monster pulling answers from you one tooth at a time.”
A wretched sob gurgles from her throat. “Rocco needs a mother, Liam. You can’t let them hurt me.”
“Calm the fuck down. No one is going to hurt you.” I blow out a frustrated breath. Scrubbing a hand across my forehead, I check my phone again.
Nothing.
“That’s not true.” Callan takes a step closer, folding his arms and tilting his head. “Do you really think Michael Carnell would let you keep his kid?”
Bristling, a crack of fear flashes over her features. “It’s my decision.” Her eyes dart between us like a ping-pong ball.
“Don’t be na?ve, Claire. You fucking know better than to act ignorant. You’re a biker bitch who’s married and already has a kid. Michael Senior would never allow you to dirty his bloodline,” I say coldly.
Lips trembling, she angrily swipes a fallen tear. “I don’t have to tell him.” Her complexion turns almost green. She looks like she’s about to throw up.
“No, you don’t, but if he finds out on his own or through someone you’ve told, you’re still going to end up in a body bag.” Callan lays it out straight. No tiptoeing around her.
“Liam,” she says my name like a plea. “I didn’t fuck him without protection. He insisted on wearing a condom” I’m not surprised. Michael is stupidly rich and in the public eye. Bitches try to get pregnant by him just to claim a check. If I were him, I’d double-wrap my junk.
“You’re trying to scare me.” She pulls open my dresser drawer and yanks out one of my shirts, dragging it over her head like it’s a piece of armor that can prevent the words from penetrating. Vibrations shake her entire frame.
Take it off! my mind yells. Even though the paper says we’re married, her helping herself to my clothes pisses me off. If Kit does come and sees her in my shirt, it’s not going to go down well.
“You should be scared. And not just of the Carnells. You should be scared if Pres finds out about this kid’s paternity,” Callan informs her.
“Don’t tell Jericho about the baby,” she whispers.
“You’ve already announced it!” I bark, jabbing a finger toward the window. “Thinking it would bind me for another eighteen fucking years!”
“We don’t need to tell him about the father. This will all go away if you just say it’s yours.” She tightens her jaw. Spiteful eyes glare at me like I’m the one in the wrong here.
“Don’t put this on him. This is your mess. He’s cleaned up after you enough. Let’s not forget why the fuck Nicolas ended up dead. Do you really think you’ve been doing him a favor by not telling the Carnells about it?”
“I gave this club my loyalty. It’s a huge secret to keep.”
“It’s your huge fucking secret to keep. If you did loosen those lips, the Carnells wouldn’t thank you for it, they’d blame you, and anything Pres would do is nothing compared to what Michael Senior.
He’d keep you alive as long as possible, inflicting so much pain and misery, you’d forget you ever had a life outside of the torture until you’re so far gone, you’d barely resemble a person. ”
“I’d never tell anyone.” Her ass hits the bed, legs weak and body shaking.
“We can’t take that risk. You went and made shit way more complicated. Michael Junior is already asking questions about Nicolas being here. We need to stem the bleeding.”
“It’s not Michael’s,” she says, almost inaudible. “I was lying about that.”
I don’t believe my ears. A burst of anger rushes through me. “What?” I ask, fury making my voice shake.
Callan stills beside me, the killer in him speaking without words to the killer in me. She’s playing games. Challenging us.
“Are you even pregnant?” he asks incredulously, his face screwing up like the words taste bad in his mouth.
“Yes.” Hair falls around her face as she bows her head.
Music from outside suddenly gets louder, filtering through the vents as the party continues without us. I should be out there with Rocco and pining after Kit, knowing she’ll be waiting for me at the end of the day. Now, it’s all fucked.
“Why all the drama and lies?” Callan cracks his knuckles, asking the burning question.
“I was scared. Liam’s leaving me. He’s fucking your sister. Did you know that?” The words leave her lips like poisonous darts. If he didn’t already know, they might have stuck. But fuck her and everything I’ve done for her. She’s a selfish, toxic cunt who will take and take to get what she wants.
“And you’re knocked up by someone else. What’s your point?” He doesn’t take her bait, and her chest deflates.
“Whose is it?” I ask. “And don’t fucking lie to me, or it won’t be Monster taking teeth.”
Wiping her face with the hem of my shirt, she mumbles, “Rodney’s.”
My brain filters through every club member, trying to remember their given names to see if it rings a bell.
“Who the hell is Rodney?” Callan looks at me in question.
Hunching my shoulders, I shake my head. “I have no fucking clue.”
“He’s not a brother, and I didn’t know his age.” She picks at her fake nails, chipping the red paint.
Groaning, I throw my ass into the chair on the other side of the room. Resting my elbows on my knees, I cover my face with my hands.
“What does that mean?” Callan’s voice holds confusion.
“He’s a minor,” Claire clarifies.
I lift my head as Callan’s eyes clash with mine, his brow nearly reaching his hairline. “For fuck’s sake.” He blows out a sharp exhale, rubbing the back of his neck.
“How young, Claire?” I ask.
Jumping up from the bed, she crosses her arms. “He doesn’t look like a minor. You’d never be able to tell.”
“Until you see him on a school bus?” Callan harasses, looking down his nose at her.
“He drives,” she says with disdain.
“So, seventeen?” I ask.
“Yes. But he looks much older and has a job. How the hell was I supposed to know?”
“What kind of job? A fucking busboy?” Callan continues to mock her. I’m unamused by the U-turn this conversation has taken.
The fact remains: she tried to use Michael as a way of controlling me. She’s a liability. You can’t claim to be loyal then lie and manipulate when you don’t get your way.
“I don’t need judgment from you. Half the whores who come to party here are underage.”
That’s bullshit, and she knows it. Before she wormed her way into a ring, she was a club slut. Diamond cards every bitch who passes those doors. And regular girls are vetted. We don’t play around with that shit at our club. That’s bad news for everyone involved.
“You’re treading on real thin ice. Think before any more lies pass those lips or I’ll cut them off,” he warns her.
“I’m sorry.” She sits back down, remembering her place.
“Who is Rodney, Claire?” I ask, over this bullshit.
“One of our neighbors.” She frowns, squeezing her eyes shut.
“One of your neighbors or one of your neighbor’s kids?”
“He lives with his dad.”
“And you couldn’t have fucked him instead?” Callan asks, perplexed.
“I didn’t seek him out, it just happened. I drank too much wine, and he was working late.”
“Working late where?” I question.
“At the house.” Heat creeps up her neck. “He does the gardening.”
“You fucked the lawn boy?” Callan covers his mouth with his palm, holding his lips.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I get to my feet. “I’m done with this conversation. This is a you and him problem.” I fucking knew it wasn’t her doing the flowery shit.
“You’re really going to leave me?” She has the balls to ask.
“I should have never been with you in the first place.”
“I’ll keep the secret about Nicolas,” she says, nodding to Callan and me. “I promise.”
“Yeah, because you’re scared of what will happen to you if you don’t.
It’s not the Kings you need to fear, Claire,” Callan points out.
He’s not going to let this lie, though. We need to have that conversation when she’s not in the room.
“I need to go make an appearance out there. You good here?” he asks, swinging the door open.
“Yeah. I’ll be out in a bit.”
I close the door behind him and turn around. Claire’s wild, fearful eyes peer up at me, her hand gripping my cut so tight, her fists have turned white.
“You have to protect Rocco,” she begs, her teeth clattering. “If you don’t want me anymore, I’ll accept that, but please don’t give Rocco up.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Every hair on my body stands to attention. My heart rate kicks up. I’d never give my kid up, and she should know that. I love that kid and have always provided for him. Nothing will ever change that.
“Michael’s not the father of this baby.” She tremors, her breath coming out in wisps.
“Good.” That’s real fucking good news.
“No, it’s not fucking good, Liam.” She shakes her head, a grimace marring her features. “Michael’s not this baby’s father.” A silent pause seems to last forever, all the air condensing around us. “He’s Rocco’s.”