The MC’s Promise (Bikers and Babies #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

MOJAVE

Rooster was going to get his ass kicked.

I thought about intervening, warning him off, but Rooster was Rooster.

He was a troublemaker, and that wasn’t going to change, even if his older brother pounded on him every time he screwed up.

Instead, I watched idly as he, Malcolm, and Xander hunkered down at the top of the stairs, waiting for Vegas to get back from his errand.

I had a decent view out the front window and saw when they pulled into the parking lot. When I noticed it was Vegas’s old lady heading toward the door with their daughter in her arms, I moved to intercept her. I didn’t want an innocent baby caught in the crossfire.

“Aw, come on, Mojave. Move!” Rooster complained as I opened the front door. I ignored him, ducking outside, and heading for Sierra. I stopped her in her tracks, using her daughter as a distraction.

“What did the doctor say?”

Her smile was all sunshine as she happily explained, “It’s all good. Just a cold. I didn’t know this, but some cold viruses cause rashes in babies. But it's totally normal.” Her grin turned sheepish. “I think I got a little anxious and let it all go to my head.”

I’d take her word for it. I didn’t know anything about taking care of kids or babies. I wasn’t around the crew’s kids enough to get that kind of experience. The only reason I was here today was because Prez said he had an announcement.

“The doctor said that’s normal too,” Vegas insisted, putting his hand on her lower back as he came to join us. When he reached out to take the baby, I stopped him by putting my hands out.

“Can I hold her?”

They both looked surprised, which was fair.

I didn’t interact with the kids very often.

But I didn’t want him holding the baby when he went inside.

And thankfully, Sierra was a kind person who seemed determined to connect with everyone in the crew.

She didn’t question my motives, just carefully handed off the baby with a smile.

“I’m going to put it out there now that she’s in a hair-pulling stage,” she warned. “You’ve got long hair, so keep it out of her reach.”

Vegas chuckled, kissing her cheek before heading inside, leaving his old lady and kid out of the line of fire. Not that he knew that yet.

I waited, only half listening as Sierra fussed with the burp cloth and made comments on teething. She was worried about the baby drooling on me. It was fine if it happened, leather was easy to clean, but this was her first kid, and she was only six months old. I didn't hold it against her.

A series of thunks and splashes smacked against the front door, making Sierra’s head whip up. It was quickly followed by Vegas’s bellow.

“Dammit, Rooster!”

“Is everything alright?” Sierra asked, still frowning at the door.

I nodded, carefully handing her back the baby since I didn't have to worry anymore about her getting hit. “They’ve been waiting inside with water balloons for the past half hour.”

Her jaw dropped, and she blinked a few times before she burst out laughing. She only laughed harder when Vegas came back outside, with several wet spots on his clothes and a determined look on his face.

“Where’s the damned hose?” he growled.

Dex, one of the new prospects who had been cleaning a few of the bikes, held it up. “Right here.”

My eyes narrowed as I watched Vegas stomp off and grab it. When he headed back toward the house, I realized what he was doing and sighed. “Prez will hurt you.”

“I’ll blame Rooster,” he growled. “Stay away from the front door, sweetheart. I don’t want them getting you, too.”

Sierra just chuckled, turning to me with a curious expression. “Is that why you came out here to talk? You wanted to keep me away from the prank?”

I felt no need to lie to her, so I dipped my chin. Vegas, who had stopped to yank more of the hose toward him, came back over to clap my shoulder. “Thanks, brother. I owe you one. Want to help me hose down the resident troublemaker and his little cronies?”

“No, thanks,” I replied, taking a step back.

I enjoyed watching my brothers tease and play with each other, but I never joined in.

I couldn’t. It hurt too much. My gaze flicked to my bike, and I felt a familiar swell of anxiety in my chest. Prez wanted everyone here to discuss some future events or whatever they had planned.

I was supposed to stay and listen. But the more people who arrived, the more trapped I felt. I wanted out.

“Go,” a familiar voice said. When I glanced over my shoulder at Killian, his smile was resigned. He gripped my shoulder once he stood beside me in support. “I’ll let you know what happens. Go for a ride, clear your head.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I headed for my bike without looking back, ignoring the stares and worried looks my crew gave me whenever I was around them too long. I knew what they thought. And they weren’t wrong.

I left for the military and came back broken.

I wasn’t the same man anymore. I would have stopped showing up, kept to myself, but the crew wouldn’t allow that.

They were willing to let me have my space, but if I took too much, they’d come looking for me and drag me back.

It was a fine balance to appease them. I wished I could give them more. I just couldn’t.

I drove around for a little while just to clear my head. Our crew was set up in a small town and I was familiar with every back alley and short cut. The same could be said with several towns within a few hours of us. I liked going for long rides. Exploring helped clear my head.

I drove around for a while, just breathing, taking my time getting my head back on straight.

I was driving down an alley when I noticed something not quite right.

I knew this town like the back of my hand.

We didn’t have homeless people living here.

So why the hell did it look like someone had built a house out of cardboard boxes behind the grocery store?

My crew had a fund to help if we saw people in need.

It was getting used a lot more often recently, what with the work being done on the schools and around town to fix our image, but my brothers were good people.

If there was someone homeless living in our town, they’d pull together what they could to get them off the streets.

I parked my bike nearby, my eyes narrowed as I scanned my surroundings.

A rival crew had been causing trouble for a few weeks now, and I was always vigilant about my surroundings.

Not to mention the pigs who liked to cause trouble and people in town who hated us on principle.

They were all threats and I never let my guard down if I could help it.

Throwing my leg over my bike, I headed for the little makeshift house, frowning when I noticed just how small it was.

Maybe I was wrong and it was just boxes piled weird?

Some of the guys said I was paranoid. I sometimes made a big deal over nothing.

But when I came closer, I heard shuffling noises that made me think something was living in there. Stray dog, maybe?

I tapped my boot against the side of the boxes to see if I could coax the thing out. A face popped out for a split second before squeaking and ducking back in again. I jerked back in surprise too. That wasn’t a stray dog or an adult in need of a hand.

It was a fucking kid.

My hand reached for my phone automatically to call Prez.

He had connections with the pigs, knew how to get ahold of the ones who could help without making the situation worse.

I hesitated though, hearing my brothers’ voices in my head, reminding me not to make a big deal over nothing.

Squashing down my instincts, I instead asked, “What are you doin’ in there? ”

The kid didn’t answer at first. I didn’t blame them.

Whatever they were going through, even if they were just messing around, a random biker approaching them probably didn’t make them feel safe.

To help a little, I squatted down, waiting for them to peek out again.

When they did, I cocked my head, raising my eyebrows.

“You hurt?”

“No,” they mumbled.

When they still didn’t climb out, I sat fully to wait.

I wasn’t going to force them, but I couldn’t in good conscience leave them there either.

I needed to get them to their parents and maybe warn them against letting their kid play back there.

There could be broken glass in the alleys and playing next to a dumpster wasn’t sanitary.

The kid disappeared for a little while, but when I didn’t leave, they eventually clambered out of their hiding place, sitting next to it with a stubborn frown I recognized. Whoever they were, they were feeling defensive.

“You don’t gotta explain yourself to me. I just wanna make sure you’re safe.”

They eyed me suspiciously, which I got. I’d be suspicious too if I was them.

I kept my face neutral, waiting for them to speak.

Their clothes were scruffy and they had dirt on their face that did nothing to hide the fact that their nose had been bleeding sometime recently.

I had questions, but I waited for them to explain themselves.

Most kids were pretty chatty once they got an opening.

“I don’t need help,” the kid finally said, crossing their arms over their chest.

Nodding once, I replied, “Okay,” but still didn’t move.

They narrowed their eyes on me. “Who are you?”

“Mojave. You?”

“Is that your real name?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s my club name.” I tipped my head toward my bike in emphasis.

The kid eyed me for a long minute before offering, “Frankie. What kinda name is Mojave?”

I wasn’t about to give the kid the story behind my club name. Not even most of my crew knew where it came from. I had it when I joined and the crew never asked for more. Only Prez and Killian knew my full name.

Pushing to my feet, I jerked my chin to the end of the alley. “You should head home, kid. This isn’t a place to play. There’s glass.”

They scrambled to their feet, but didn’t look enthusiastic about leaving. If I hadn’t been paying such close attention, I might’ve missed the anxiety that flashed across their face. It made me think that the bloody nose wasn’t an accident.

Instead of demanding answers, I shoved my hands into my pockets and headed down the alley. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”