Biker Baby (Kings of Mayhem MC 3)

Today, it was hard visiting my father’s grave knowing my cousin was only a few plots away. He’d left behind a son and a pregnant wife, and the pain of it still lingered in my bones.

I splashed more water on my face.

I was feeling morose.

I closed my eyes against the pain. Unfortunately, it was a pain I was all too familiar with. Growing up in the MC, I’d been surrounded by it my whole life. But I had never shared my grief with anyone. Never spoken about how it felt living with the threat of death tingling in my bones on a daily basis.

I leaned against the sink and dropped my head, feeling the fucking weight of the world on my shoulders.

I felt her move behind me.

Felt the gentle touch of her hand on my shoulder.

Felt the warmth of her presence and the calmness it brought me.

“Are you okay?” Honey asked gently.

No, I wasn’t. But I never was on this day.

“It’s been a rough day. I’m beat, is all.”

She turned me to face her, and the moment I saw those big blue eyes I had a sudden urge to spill my story to her. I don’t know why. Probably because I was drunk and sick of this day tearing at my guts every time it rolled around. But instead, I stumbled past her, back into my room, and went straight for the bourbon bottle sitting on my dresser.

“Should I go?” she asked. “I can come back another time.”

“No,” I said over my shoulder. I didn’t want her to go. “Please.”

I watched as she sat down on my bed, and then I turned back to the bottle of bourbon and unscrewed the lid.

“So you go every year to visit your dad?” she asked.

“It’s MC tradition. We pay our respects every year to every fallen brother or sister.” I raised the bottle to my lips. “This year we’ll be visiting the cemetery a lot.”

I drank back a strong mouthful.

“Why is that? Did something happen?”

I thought about the last year and closed my eyes against the pain. Yeah. Hell happened. Opening them again, I carried the bourbon bottle over to the bed and sat down next to her. “It’s been a rough twelve months. And when I’m sober, remind me to tell you about it.”

I looked at her. I mean, I really looked at her. In five minutes, I would be seeing two of her. But for now, the one image of her was beautiful. Big blue eyes. Smooth skin. Full, plump lips I could lose hours to kissing.

Without realizing it, I started to fall toward her. Like I was going to kiss her. I was too drunk to make a move, but according to my body, that wasn’t the case. It slowly leaned in, pulled by the lure of those perfect, pink lips.

Seeing me focused on her lips, Honey shifted on the bed and tucked one leg under her.

“Did the whole club go to the cemetery today?” she asked, breaking the spell.

Realizing I was too damn hammered to kiss her anyway, I straightened. “No, it was just immediate family today. My sister, my brother and his wife, my mom and my uncle.”

“Maverick said you have another brother?”

“Chance is deployed overseas at the moment.” I took another swig from the bottle and felt it coat my lips in sugar. “But even if he was here, he wouldn’t come to anything to do with our father. Ever. Chance never forgave him for the things he saw as a kid. They had a rocky relationship.”

She nodded slowly, her beautiful blue eyes gentle and empathetic as they absorbed what I was saying without judgment or bias. “What about you, were you close to him?”

I took a moment to think. “He died before he could fuck with me like he did with Cade and Chance.”

The weight of my words hung between us.

My father never got to fuck me up like my older brothers. It was the moment of his death that lingered over me, weighing me down.

“Maybe talking about it will help.” Honey’s voice was gentle.

I frowned. It wasn’t like me to open up about this stuff. About my dad and the shit he did to us kids. What he exposed us to. How he manipulated everyone around him for his own benefit. But this girl, this beauty curled up on my bed, she made me feel comfortable. Good. At home. Like I could tell her anything.

And I’d had enough bourbon to do exactly that.

“My old man was a mean sonofabitch,” I started. “He was the president of the biggest motorcycle club in the South. And it wasn’t because he was the son of the original founder, Hutch Calley. It was because he’d taken his title. That’s what he did. He took things. Manipulated people. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. And if anyone stood in his way, then he would just mow them down.”