Chapter 14
DONOVAN
Smiling down at Imogen, I hitched her securely onto my hip. “You okay, baby girl?” I crooned.
She looked up at me with big eyes and babbled, “Nana.”
“Nanna’s gone to pick Uncle Callum and Aunt Maeve up from the airport,” I told her.
“Caca. Vava,” she replied.
“No, baby,” I corrected gently. “You mean Dada. Say, Dada... Dada.”
“Nana,” she repeated, then finished her sentence off with, “Rara.”
I suspected my daughter was on a mission to yank my chain until I lost my goddamned mind because she attempted to say everybody’s name except her old man’s.
Nana was, of course, Nanna. Rara was Rosie. Caca and Vava were Callum and Maeve. Tata and Shasha were Tadhg and Ash, even DJ and Gabby got a Gaga and a Jaja.
Dada didn’t get shit unless Imogen was filling her diaper.
“Imogen,” a deep voice called over. “Say Karma.”
She swiveled her little neck like a baby owl toward the guy, clapped her hands, and screeched, “Kaka.”
“Good girl,” he praised, shooting me a cocky grin. “See. She loves her uncle Karma.”
My lip curled at him, then I bent down and whispered, “Please, baby. Say Dada for me. Dada. Dada.”
She swiveled her head back toward me, gave me a bright, big-eyed, toothy smile, and gleefully shouted, “Nana!”
“Fuck!” I muttered.
“Faka! Faka!” she squealed, clapping her hands together.
I winced.
Oops.
Karma busted out a laugh.
I sighed, my gaze holding Imogen’s all too knowing devil-may-care expression. “Are you ever gonna say Dada?”
She giggled, placing her hands on my cheeks, her blue eyes—just like mine—staring into a place inside that was filled with joy just because she was in my arms, “Lavva.”
I smiled smugly, because who the fuck cared about a Dada when I got a lavva? I kissed the top of her downy little head and murmured, “Love you, too, bábóg.”
The top of her skull hit her nook between my neck and my chin, and she sighed contentedly.
Karma’s eyes softened, and his mouth tipped up. “You’re a good dad.”
“Fatherhood’s the best thing to ever happen to me,” I declared, running a hand over Imogen’s back. “Can’t recommend it enough.”
“She’s lucky,” he muttered, his eyes fixated on my girl’s face. “Could’a gone a different way when her ma died. Believe me, Donovan, some kids aren’t so fortunate.”
Karma was a street kid who came to the Demons when he was just sixteen. He and his best friend, Seraphina, ran away from the kids’ home they were at, and somehow became caught up with the Burning Sinners, an old MC that used to terrorize the area.
Luckily, they came across the Speed Demons and ended up living with Abe and Iris Decker, who back then were part of the club, but it could’ve gone a whole lot differently, especially since it turned out the Burning Sinners were trafficking women and children.
Iris couldn’t have kids, so had jumped at the chance to foster and then adopt Sera and Mason (now Karma).
He’d witnessed the worst of humanity growing up, so he could appreciate the love and stability Abe and Iris offered him and Seraphina.
It was no wonder my buddy saw deeper than everyone else when it came to my daughter because he’d been in the system, too.
“You headin’ over to the cookout?” he asked, shooting Imogen a smile.
“Yeah.” I checked my watch. “Gonna go pick up Rosie and the kids and head over now.”
“How’s that goin’?” he asked.
My mouth twitched because it was going well. Very well, in fact.
Life with Rosie was sweet.
I didn’t want to say it out loud; didn’t want to jinx it, but it was like someone had poured warm, sweet honey over my days.
Rosie and I bounced off each other perfectly, and our lives had slotted together so easily that even I was shocked.
She was great with Imogen, and my kid loved her, and I got along great with DJ, who was turning out to be an asset to my gym.
Gabby was trickier because she was so shy, and I didn’t quite know how far I could push things with her, but I handled her with care, and she seemed to respond well to me; plus, she loved being around Imogen.
We spent most evenings together, either at Rosie’s place or Ma’s, talking and playing board games and watching TV and movies with the kids. Mam was in her element every Sunday as she got to make her roast dinners for everyone.
My life had done a complete one-eighty in a matter of weeks, but strangely, I didn’t miss my old bachelor days. If I were honest, single life had been getting old for a while. The only reason I didn’t settle before was because I hadn’t met a woman who held my interest.
But Rosie did.
Lord, did that woman hold my attention.
She looked good and smelled better. Most days, she made me belly laugh and gave me so much shit that my head spun with it. Rosie was smart and cool, and she didn’t care about looking like a goof. She had a devilish streak that I fucking loved because I had the same streak inside me.
Rosie simply got me in ways no other woman had before.
And I hadn’t even fucked her—at least not since the first time—even though I thought about it constantly.
Though I would.
And soon.
When I did, I was going to erase all the women, ex-husbands, and the ghosts who dared to live in Rosie’s head.
I was going to make her forget every man who came before me, and I’d forget every woman from my past. I’d fuck away every memory and replace it with just me, her, and us until she moaned my name in her sleep because that was all she knew.
That was how a man claimed a woman—not with words, or even a ring, but with his heart and soul.
I threw Karma a shit-eating grin and a chin lift, then bundled Imogen into her little pink sunhat, grabbed her diaper bag, and sauntered outside with my baby girl on my hip.
Immediately, I caught a flash through the window of a black car parked a little further up the street.
My steps faltered.
What the fuck was that?
Peering closer, I tried to see what the hell was going on. My chest jerked when another bright light flashed through the dark-tinted window of the Chevy Impala, and a cold feeling washed through me as a realization hit me square in the chest.
Somebody was taking photos.
Imogen must have felt the change in my demeanor because she lifted her head and looked around before snuggling closer into me. Maybe she had a sixth sense that something was wrong, or perhaps my stiffening body language unsettled her, because she started to whine.
My feet carried me closer to the car, and I tried to make out the shadowed figure in the driver’s seat.
Looking down at the license plate, I repeated it a few times in my head as I turned back and made for my truck, whispering it under my breath.
The second I strapped Imogen into her safety seat, I pulled my cell from my pocket and sent myself a voice note of the license number before locking the doors and striding purposefully back toward the car.
As I approached the vehicle, I heard the engine fire up. My steps quickened until I began to sprint, but as I reached the Impala, it pulled away and sped down the road with its tires squealing.
Every hair on the back of my neck stood up as I jumped into my truck, reversed, and pulled away down the street, heading in the same direction as the car, except there was no sign of it.
I reasoned with myself that it could’ve been nothing, but I couldn’t shake the bad feeling creeping through my chest.
Imogen was quiet and watchful throughout the journey to Rosie’s place.
I tried to lighten the mood by singing along with the music, but it was like my girl knew something wasn’t right.
The entire incident had unnerved me, and I couldn’t help keeping my head on a swivel throughout the drive, looking out for anything that seemed amiss.
By the time I hit Rosie’s place, I’d calmed down slightly. I grinned at the sight of Gabby bombing out of the front door and tearing down the path, heading straight for me.
“Gaga! Gaga!” Imogen shrieked.
“Yeah, alright, kid. Don’t rub it in,” I grumbled, putting the truck into park and switching off the engine.
Gabby threw the door open and called out, “Mom and Deej are just coming,” and then crooned, “Hey, Imogen. You look pretty today.”
My girl giggled.
I craned my neck to see Gabby climbing into the middle seat. “You were quick out today.”
“Yeah,” she confirmed. “I wanted to sit next to Imogen.” She hooked her pinkie with Immie’s thumb and smiled down at her.
Voices filtered in from outside. I turned my head to see Rosie and DJ walking down the path toward the truck. Rosie was carrying what looked like some kind of cake with tinfoil over the top to keep it fresh.
I opened the door and swung out, giving them a chin lift. “Hey, bud. Jump in while I have a quick chat with your mom.”
“Everythin’ okay,” he asked quizzically.
“Yeah,” I told him. “Won’t be long.”
He took the cake off Rosie and made for the truck while I pulled her away a few feet.
“Hey!” she said, leaning up and pecking my cheek. “You okay?”
I took her hand in mine and splayed our fingers together. “Have you noticed anything weird going on lately?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Can’t say I have. Why? What’s happened?”
“I think I saw someone take photographs of me and Imogen from a car parked close to the gym.”
A look of fear slid across her face. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. I saw the camera flash through the car window, even though it was tinted. I couldn’t make out who it was, and when I went over to question them, they drove away like Satan himself was up their ass. Luckily, I got their license details.”
Her thumb brushed soothingly across my hand. “Did you see anything at all?”
“Couldn’t see his face. He was driving a black Impala, but not one I recognized.”
I caught her sharp look before she could disguise it.
“Evan,” she cut out. “He’s trying to find dirt on me, and he’s using you to do it.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”