Chapter 10
Saint
Once we made it to the clubhouse, I was this close to putting a bullet in his head.
Motherfucker hadn’t stopped whining.
Thankfully, by the time Jury pulled the truck into the lot, I was able to open the door and escape the fucker.
I grabbed him by his collar and headed into the clubhouse.
His pansy-ass pleading didn’t stop.
Nor did it stop when I took him to the shed, opened the door, and watched his face pale.
And I shit you not, I smelled fuckin’ urine.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I closed the door and then led him bodily to Nuke’s office, who opened the door with a smile on his face.
Once I had the fucker in the chair, I tagged the papers Nuke handed to me, then I slapped them down atop the desk and said, “I’d rather break every bone in my body before I allow any harm to come to her. I know you can’t say the fuckin’ same. So, sign the fuckin’ papers, or else you’ll spend time with me in that cellar.”
Fucker didn’t argue.
Didn’t complain.
Nothing.
But he signed the papers.
That was when Merlin opened the door and handed me a folder with a smile on his face.
I took it from him, then handed it to the rat bastard.
He took it, his hands shaking, then he opened it, and his face paled.
I grinned evilly. “You ever try to come after them, you ever breath a word about this MC to anyone? And I mean fuckin’ anyone. All that shit gets sent to the feds. You were afraid of what might happen to you in that cellar. Oh, son, that ain’t nothin’ compared to what happens to rapists in prison.”
After he was escorted out with the folder in his hand, I placed a call to a father who wanted to get his hands on him after he hurt his daughter. That was his right.
Then I looked at Nuke and said, “Might wanna burn that chair.”
He lifted a brow and asked, “Come again?”
“Fucker pissed himself when he saw the shed,” I said with laughter in my tone.
Nuke froze for a split second, then said, “Fuck you. Take care of it. Fuckin’ bastard. I liked that chair.”
***
Not once did Ophelia or Soraya ask me about Peter.
Not once.
Not while we ate.
Not while Secret Santa presents were open.
And not when they curled up against me on the couch and fell asleep.
Their bellies full.
Hearts full of love.
And safety.
Right there in my arms.
“You want help moving them?” Nuke asked.
I shook my head, “Nah. But grab a couple of blankets so they don’t get cold, yeah?”
He jerked up his chin, and within a few minutes, he was returning with two blankets.
Once he covered them up, stepped away, then stopped, looked down at me and said, “Proud as fuck to know you, Saint.”
I jerked up my chin. I got his message. I got it loud and clear.
And for what he had put into work before I had said anything about it, I was proud as fuck to know him too, which was why I told him as such.
“This wouldn’t have been possible without you. Thank you, Nuke. Proud as fuck to know you too.”
Ophelia
Thankfully, since the judge in the county owed the club a few favors, they called one of them in.
The next day, one day before Christmas Eve, Saint’s arm was wrapped around my shoulders as we stood before the judge and waited.
For two things.
***
Hand in hand, we walked out of the courtroom to see Soraya sitting beside Kettle.
The moment she saw us, she jumped to her feet, then raced over to us and quickly asked, “Is it official? Is it? Am I a Christopher now?”
Saint brought my hand to his lips, placed a kiss on my rings, then he dropped to his haunches.
I smiled at the two of them, Saint wasn’t put on this earth to help me make Soraya.
But he was put on this earth to be her father.
He leaned forward and brushed his nose with hers, “You bet your cute little behind you’re a Christopher.”
That night, we partied at the clubhouse.
The party was a two-part thing.
The first was that Soraya officially became the first-second generation of Soulless Outlaws Motorcycle Club.
And the second... our reception.
I didn’t need the fan fair.
Neither did Saint.
And neither did the brothers of the MC.
That was why, after he told me he asked Soraya’s permission to marry me, he went and got the rings.
My head was leaned back into his chest as we swayed while we watched Merlin and Tempie dance. Over the past couple of weeks, Soraya and I had gotten to know Merlin.
He had asked us why we had been afraid of him.
Soraya hadn’t been. But I had. And she fed off that fear.
I told him that if my father ever had a sibling, I knew he would be identical to Merlin.
We talked that night.
And gone was my fear,
Saint had a glass of whiskey in his hand, his chest rumbled as he took a sip of his whiskey then, with that deep rumble in my ear, he asked,
“Penny, for your thoughts?” that deep rumble said in my ear.
I smiled, my eyes were still closed, my nails lightly skimming over the forearm that was wrapped around my chest, “How’d you know?”
My body moved slightly when he chuckled, “May not have known you long, but don’t mean I don’t already know you.”
Now, it was my turn to chuckle, “Just thinking about everything that’s happened in such a short amount of time. And about Merlin.”
It was a few moments before, hesitantly, he asked, “You regretting anything?”
Like he said, he may not have known me long, but he knew me.
And I knew him.
Leaning my head back until my eyes could look into his, I brought my free hand up and caressed the side of his face, feeling that neatly trimmed beard against my palm, “There is nothing that has happened since I came to this town that I have regretted. And not in a million years could I ever regret finally finding the other half of my soul.”
His hazel eyes with flecks of green in them stared down into mine, and then his mouth was lowering, his soft lips gently caressing over mine.
I smiled against his lips and leaned my head back slightly to whisper, “Is there anything you regret?”
I felt his lips smile, “Since you and my little princess got to town... not a god damned thing.”
***
It was Christmas Eve, and the club had a tradition of sorts.
We were loading up in his truck, and as Saint buckled Soraya into her booster seat, she asked, “Daddy?”
My head was turned so I could watch them, he asked, “Yeah, princess?”
Her little head was titled to the side, “How come they don’t call him Santa Claus?”
He winked, “It’s a Cajun thing. So, it goes like this. A long time ago, a lot of people who were French moved to the United States. Many of them settled in Louisiana. And in French, Santa Claus is called Père No?l. Translates to Papa Noel.”
She nodded, “Okay.”
Once he was in and buckled up, he put the truck in drive, and then fifteen minutes later, we fell into a convoy of sorts.
All headed to the same location.
Along the bayou, the people there have a tradition on Christmas Eve. Another meaning behind Papa Noel is that he spreads joy while flying. Therefore, the people light bonfires to help guide him from town to town.
And what a magnificent sight it was. Hundreds among hundreds of bonfires could be seen all along the bayou.
Soraya and I had our arms swinging back and forth when I asked her, “What’s your favorite?”
“The bonfire that’s shaped like a reindeer. That’s so cool,” I smiled down at her.
And then I heard her giggle as Saint swept in behind her, lifted her up, and placed her on his shoulders. Then he asked, “What’s cool?”
“The bonfire is shaped like a reindeer,” she said happily as she clapped.
I looked at the brothers who were behind us, and then I teased, “You don’t want to walk with your brothers?”
He winked at me, “Nah. Spent enough time with those fuckers. The rest of the time I got on this earth, I’m spending it with the two beings who matter most to me.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Ooey-gooeyness. That was the only way to describe how this man made me feel, how this man made my heart feel.
I smiled, “Sounds good to me.”
We walked and walked and walked. Mugs of hot cocoa warmed us up.
Little bites of Crawfish-Stuffed Mushrooms.
Taking in everything.
And when Soraya fell asleep atop Saint’s shoulders, I offered to take her.
He growled at me.
Which had me laughing.