Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Isolde
Forcing myself to stay still long enough to pinpoint the sound, I burst into motion, and race up the stairs.
“Where are you?” I whisper before pressing my lips together.
No noise, stay quiet, and find the target. Which is apparently a fucking child.
A gasping scream of a baby draws me to the right, and I wonder who the fuck would have brought their kid in here. This place isn’t even fit for people.
There’s a closet inside one of the rooms where I murdered one of the bikers on the second floor, and I rush to open it. A baby that may be only a few months old is in a bassinet inside the small space, chewing on her fist as if she’s hungry.
“Come here,” I say, putting my gun back in my thigh holster before picking her up. There’s a mostly clean blanket inside of the bassinet and a diaper bag on the ground. Grabbing both, I wrap the blanket around her and turn to leave.
No one is around, but I can hear the fire above me. Walking quickly out of the room, I hold the baby to my chest as I run down the stairs and jump down the last. The smoke feels as if it’s following me as I run, and for all I know, it is.
I need to get out of here. An obstruction is now in front of the door that wasn’t there before: a large biker who seems to have come inside to see what was going on.
“Almost there, sweetheart,” I rasp, my left arm supporting her against me as I reach for my gun.
“Fuck! I’m not with them. Devon asked me to come check on the club house and you once we saw the smoke. Isolde, seriously. I’m an Anarchist,” he promises.
“Then why are you in my way?” I ask, nodding as he realizes what his damn body is doing. “Back up and let’s get out of here before the rest of this place goes up in flames. Show me your tattoo on the fucking porch.”
Glancing at the bundle in my arms, he frowns before forcing his giant boots to move backward.
“What do you have there?” he asks.
“Who would have brought a baby here?” I ask, shoving him back with my shoulder to get him to move faster.
Finally out on the porch, I bounce a very upset baby that is now crying again.
“A ba…I swear, there weren't supposed to be any kids in here,” he says.
“I asked you another question,” I grunt. The diaper bag on my shoulder can’t be doing me any favors, but then my mask is definitely making this guy uneasy.
“Here,” he says, pulling up his sleeve to show me his club tattoo on his shoulder.
“You can live,” I grunt, moving around him to walk to my vehicle.
“What are you doing with the baby?” he asks, rushing to follow me.
“Taking her with me. If she’s a Reaping Maurader’s kid, she’s not safe here,” I remind him. “The sweet butts have either run screaming naked down the street or they’re passed out in the yard. I used Toad’s asshole as the accelerant for the fire, and now you’re up to date. Bye!”
Hitting the key fob to open the car, I ignore his deeply disturbed look. I don’t know his name, and I don’t really care.
“You don’t have a car seat,” he curses. “Follow me back. You’re clearly attached to the screaming tiny person, and we can help you figure out how to take her with you. Do you know anything about babies?”
“Nope,” I sigh. “I figure the internet is how people learn though.”
“Shit on a cracker,” he curses. “Follow me. Please?”
Glancing down, I nod. “She’s hungry. I can tell by how her head is bobbing and she’s sucking on her fist.”
“Yes. This is good. I don’t think you’ll suck at this as much as I thought you would,” he says.
There’s no other way for me to drive other than to hold her, and I feel awful about it the entire way.
Thankfully, there’s not much traffic out here, and the biker rides in front of me.
No one blinks as I drive behind him through the gates with a baby in my arms and a biker princess in my goddamned trunk.
This was not the day I thought I would be having. I have a long drive ahead of me with Brea and a baby now.
Parking the car, I hum to the baby and realize I’m still wearing the mask on my face. Can babies get scared of masks?
Shoving my seat back, I cradle the baby in my arms to see what her reaction is.
“We’re going to feed, change you, and then see where we land. Okay, sweet girl?” I murmur, pushing open the car door and grabbing the diaper bag.
The baby, while fussy, doesn’t scream at my mask, and I choose to view that as a win. I only know Devon. I refuse to show my face to the rest of his club.
“Isolde,” he says, running up to me.
“I have to get her fed and comfortable before you can ask for a debrief,” I say, standing. “Can you turn my car off and grab my phone?”
“Ah, yes,” he says, glancing down at the baby in my arms.
“This is your fault by the way, so get moving,” I snarl. I don’t care if he’s the president at this moment. Devon better get on the same page as I am right fucking now.
As soon as I’m out the door, he leans in to turn off the SUV and grab my phone.
“I need a guard on the car. I have Brea in the trunk,” I say.
“Got it,” he says, looking around.
“Not a prospect,” I add. “They were all asleep at Reaping Marauders after their party. It was child’s play killing them.”
“Barely a challenge, huh,” he commiserates. “Martyr! Come watch her car. I don’t want you to say that it’s a prospect’s job or I’ll let her carve you up. You’re the babysitter today of her car and cargo.”
The alpha who came out to see me at the rival’s club house pales as he hurries over.
“She’s fucking scary,” Martyr says. “Using her to threaten me isn’t very nice.”
“Well, I don’t feel nice at the moment,” Devon says. “Did you find this kid in the clubhouse?”
We’re already walking away and into the building, and while a few people flinch at my face, he doesn’t. Devon knows that I need my privacy.
“Elaine, I need some help,” he calls out as he walks through the main living room area. There are couches all over, a couple of pool tables, and best of all?
The floor isn’t sticky.
A woman who is in her fifties hustles over to us, questions in her eye.
“She’s hungry,” I explain. “I need to see if there is formula in the diaper bag, but I don’t know the first thing about making a bottle.”
Elaine tilts her head in even more confusion, but Devon growls under his breath.
“Let’s look,” she says instead of asking anything, gesturing toward the couches. Dropping the diaper bag beside me, I pull my go bag over my head with a wince as well.
Immediately, I check for a wet diaper and find that her diaper is soaked.
“I’d be pissed off too if my diaper was wet,” I mutter, laying her down on the couch as I move over.
Her body is still on the blanket, and I scowl at Devon.
“No one has fucked on this couch recently,” he sighs. “Elaine makes everyone clean up after themselves too.”
“Thank god for Elaine,” I say, opening the soaked body suit and diaper. “I was going to drop the package off at a shelter in Minneapolis, Devon, but with the baby I don't know how well she’ll travel.”
The president doesn’t blink an eye as Elaine helps me change the diaper and put her into a new long sleeve onesie. The buttons are complicated as fuck, and I wonder if there’s something with a damn zipper.
This is ridiculous. Picking the baby back into my arms, I pat her back as I watch Elaine make a bottle. This diaper bag had all of the essentials, but is missing a decent parent.
How the fuck did this happen?
“Give me the address of where you want the package to go,” Devon says, watching me as Elaine hands me the bottle.
“If she won’t take this, I’ll warm it up,” she says softly. “She’s such a little thing.”
“That she is,” I say, still irrationally angry.
Well, maybe not irrationally. I think I’m well within my rights to be enraged.
Taking a breath, I cradle the little person against me and run the nipple of the bottle along her lips. Formula slips out and then she opens her mouth and attacks it. My lips twitch in amusement as I gaze down at her while she eats, her little hands attempting to help me hold the bottle.
She wiggles as she eats, almost in a version of a baby happy dance.
“I wish I knew how old she was,” I say softly. “Based on size, I’d say two or three months maybe? Who the hell puts a baby in a closet and passes out naked?”
“That’s a loaded question,” she says. Glancing up, I can see there’s a knowledge that comes from experience and age, even though she doesn’t quite understand how or why I’m here.
“Give us a moment, Elaine. She’s going to need a baby seat, please. Possibly clothes and—”
“The baby car seat is fine. I just need to get home and then I can get her what she needs,” I say.
“I’ll still run and see what I can do,” Elaine promises.
“Some of us do have families,” Devon explains, though I knew that. The satellites show houses behind the clubhouse.
Research keeps me alive. Except…
“We talked about this, Devon,” I remind him. “No innocents.”
“The RM Club didn’t have any kids,” he yells, his hands fisting his hair. Of course, he’s talking about them in past tense because they’re all dead now.
Everyone clears out of the clubhouse, and it becomes our own private meeting room.
“Could there be some sort of visitation? Though, why you’d drop your baby off at a clubhouse is beyond me.”
“Even that idea is far-fetched. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am about this,” he swears. “Isolde, you are the last person I’d ever lie to. My men are probably all shitting themselves from your mask alone.”
“I hope they wipe after,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Will you take the package to Omega’s Haven in Minneapolis? And no, I do not mean the baby. I want Brea to have the chance to start fresh. My hope is that she’s smart enough to take it.”
“I knew you didn’t mean the baby. Yes, I’ll send my best men to take her. We’ll dump her at their front step and ding dong ditch like the good alphas that we are,” he smirks.
There’s no amusement in his face despite this, and his blue eyes are troubled.
“What are you planning to do with the baby?”