Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Prophet
“Thank fuck that’s done and over with,” Data says as we sit off to the side and enjoy the reception.
I grin because most of my brothers have changed out of the pink dress shirts, but since Becca has made it a point several times to tell me she’s glad we match, I decided to keep mine on.
“You look so handsome, Prophet,” Becca says, coming up to me once again.
“Thank you, Becca,” I reply. “You look like a fairy princess,” I tell her, taking in the poofy gown she’s wearing.
It doesn’t escape my notice that her braids have the same color ribbon as my shirt in them, nor do I miss the bow on the back of her dress that’s almost as big as her. “Mama Marnie says because it’s Valentine’s Day, we have to wear pink!” she exclaims.
Personally, I’d have gone with red myself, but nobody asked me for my opinion.
Then again, ever since last year when Rosa and I broke up the way we did, I’ve been a bit…
surly. Except where this little girl is concerned, that is.
There’s something about her that reminds me of the countless foster kids my grandmother helped raise.
Most of them went on to have extremely successful lives thanks to Granny’s unwavering love, including me.
She raised me and my younger brother when our parents died, and I developed my love for all things artistic, as well as working out because of her.
I do miss my brother, Elijah, but he made choices as an adult and as a result, he paid the ultimate price.
I know I’m a bit of an anomaly to my brothers.
I’m a licensed tattoo artist, but I also used to be an MMA—mixed martial arts—champion.
I’m honestly glad that we’ve got the tattoo shop opened now, and Data has narrowed down a few buildings to start the combat sports gym.
Things are definitely looking up in my professional life, even though personally, I’m a grumpy asshole.
Well, to everyone except the three little girls who have charmed every one of my brothers.
“Well, I think you’re beautiful in pink. Me, not so much because I’m a guy,” I reply.
I hear a voice clearing and turn, startled to find a curvy blonde standing there, a baby in her arms. I don’t recognize her at all, but I’m shocked into silence when she asks, “Are you… are you Eli Benson?”
“I am,” I reluctantly reply. “Who are you?”
“Phoebe Carter,” she says. “Here, she’s yours,” she states as she thrusts the baby into my hands.
“I can’t… no, that’s not right, I won’t continue to keep you in the dark like Rosa wanted.
Since she’s not here anymore, I don’t have to.
Everything you need to know is in the papers that are tucked in the diaper bag.
I’m sorry I interrupted your day since it looks like you’re about to have a party or something. ”
With that, she turns and rushes out the door, leaving me with so many fucking questions and absolutely no answers.
I rear back as I watch her scamper away. There’s one question that keeps reverberating around in my mind, and that’s, What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?
“Who’s this?” Data asks having returned from the bar with fresh beers in hand.
“I don’t know,” I admit, “but she’s cute as hell. The woman who gave her to me said she’s mine, though, Data.”
“Did she give you any information?” he questions looking off in the direction where the woman disappeared.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I answer, “Yeah, she said it was in the diaper bag.”
Right now, I feel like I’ve been transported to the twilight zone or something. Becca looks at me and asks, “Is she your little girl, Prophet?”
“I think so,” I reply, gazing at the baby’s face. She’s the perfect blend of Rosa and me and my heart suddenly starts beating so fast I feel a bit faint.
“Come and sit down, brother, we’ll get this figured out,” Data says.
“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea.”
“Prophet?” Colt asks as he walks over to where I’m sitting with Data as he looks over the papers that we pulled out of the diaper bag while I feed her.
My daughter.
Camille Rose Cortez. Of course, I’ll be getting that changed as soon as possible since I am listed on the birth certificate. Data has his ever-present laptop, as well as a notebook and he’s jotting shit down that I’ll need to take care of as soon as possible.
“What’s up?” I question.
“There’s a… there’s a woman sitting in her car outside of the gates and she’s been crying ever since she left. I didn’t know what to do, so I left Preston up there and came to find you.”
Shit. I bet it’s the woman who brought Camille to me and then left like her ass was on fire. There’s no way I want to take the baby outside since it’s a bit chilly, so I look around the room and spy Rebel and Holly. “Pres? Need y’all for a few minutes.”
I’m unsure how no one has actually come up to the table yet, unless it’s the fact that the alcohol is copiously flowing.
I know that Esther and Paul are keeping an eye on Mina, Ruby, Becca, and little PJ so the adults can enjoy themselves, but the fact that Data and I have been sitting here and I’m holding a baby, and nobody has nosed their way into the situation is a bit strange.
Rebel and Holly walk over and the first thing out of his mouth is, “What the fuck? Whose baby is that?”
“Apparently, she’s mine,” I admit. “Seems Rosa didn’t want me to know she was pregnant.”
“And how is it that you have her now?” Holly asks, holding her hands out. I give her the baby and watch as she expertly burps her, grinning when I hear the loud belch coming from such a tiny little thing.
“Uh, some woman dropped her off then left,” I reply. “In fact, that’s why I called y’all over. She’s apparently just outside of the gate, crying her eyes out. I need to see what the fuck is going on.”
“Go, we’ve got this,” Rebel instructs.
I don’t waste any time as I stand and head out of the clubhouse toward the SUV that I can see just outside of the gates.
When I make it to her vehicle, I don’t immediately knock on the window because she’s got her head bent over the steering wheel and even though they’re rolled up and closed, I can hear her obvious grief.
Granted, I don’t know what or who she’s grieving, but once she calms, I intend to take her back into the clubhouse so I can get some answers.
I stand there for about ten minutes before she finally sits back, her cheeks rosy from crying and tears still running down her face. Before I can knock, she turns her head and seeing me standing there like a stalker, screams as though she’s being killed.
Rolling the window down, she asks, “Eli? Why are you out here? Where’s Cami?”
Cami. It’s a cute nickname for the little girl who’s apparently my daughter.
“I’m out here because one of our prospects saw you break down when you pulled through the gates. My president and his wife have Cami,” I reply. “How about you come back inside with me, and we’ll go somewhere a bit more private so I can ask you some questions.”
“I-I-I’m sorry that I just bolted like I did. I didn’t… I didn’t think it would be so hard to hand her over, even though you’re her father,” she admits.
“Pull back into the lot and park,” I suggest. “You can see where the other cars are at, the bikes have priority and are in front of the clubhouse.”
“Okay.” Her voice is faint, little more than a whisper, but I follow behind her as she parks her vehicle and gets out.
“I uh, you’ll probably need the carseat.
Plus, I actually have furniture and clothes at my house, I just…
well, yeah, I have no reason for not bringing more other than avoiding it all together. ”
“Come on, Phoebe, let’s get this straightened out,” I calmly say as I lead her back into the clubhouse and toward the table that has Rebel, Holly, Data, and Cami.
Rebel, seeing us coming stands and states, “Let’s take this into church since there’s more room.”
“Oooo, the big bad biker president is going to let women step into the sanctity of your meeting room?” Holly teases.
He smirks at her and nods. “Just don’t get used to it, babe.”
I roll my eyes at the two of them as I guide Phoebe toward the room. I’m glad to see that no one is really paying attention to what’s going on, though, since I hate that my personal life has shown up the way it has.
Where the fuck is Rosa and why am I not surprised that she hid a child from me?
Once we’re all settled in and Data has his laptop open, Rebel looks at Phoebe and states, “Go ahead and tell us what’s going on.”
“Honey, it’s obvious she’s upset,” Holly retorts as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a packet of tissues.
“I get that, but she walked into our clubhouse and handed Prophet a baby, one who bears a strong resemblance to him, only a helluva lot cuter.”
“Thanks, pres,” I drily retort. Glancing at Phoebe, I say, “When you’re ready, Phoebe.”
She takes a deep breath, then another, and I watch her small frame shudder as though she’s trying to do a mental reset.
Meanwhile, I’ve pretty much catalogued everything about her, from her curly blonde hair to the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
She looks like the girl next door in a curvy package that screams she’s the forever kind of girl.
Which isn’t for me, especially after the debacle of Rosa and me. Except… there’s something about Phoebe that calls to me.
“So, Rosa’s my cousin,” she starts before she corrects herself.
“She was my cousin, and she was living with me. I knew she had broken up with her boyfriend, but I didn’t know who he was since she never mentioned his name or anything like that.
About a month after y’all broke up, she told me she was pregnant, but despite my best efforts, she refused to tell you.
” The look she gives me is apologetic, but she forgets, I know how Rosa can be.
“Obviously something happened, or you wouldn’t have shown up with the baby today,” Rebel states.
“A few weeks ago, I came home from work and found Rosa unresponsive after taking an unknown number of pills,” Phoebe replies.
“I called 911 and did CPR on her until they arrived, but even though we brought her back, she had suffered an anoxic brain injury. Multiple tests were done, but her neurologist deemed her to be brain dead.”