Page 29 of Providence

Apparently, Cara had decided that a tea party needed appropriate headwear. Raphael’s tiara was wrought in the finest silver painted plastic money could buy, huge gaudy plastic jewels stuck on the front. It kind of matched his slightly pink wings.

“I feel like I should take a picture of this for Hope, but I’m slightly worried I’d get smited,” she laughed under her breath. I turned back toward her, pulling her into my arms and kissing her softly, the baby tucked safely between us. He was staring up at me with his clear violet eyes, and I hoped he wasn’t judging me for kissing his mother.

Just to make sure, I leaned down and kissed his head too. He smelled like baby powder and puke, and honestly, it was kind of growing on me. Sera smiled, kissing me one more time before handing me the baby.

“I should probably go and save Raphael before she adds a tutu to that tiara.”

I pouted, because honestly, who doesn't want to see that? She laughed as she slid the door open, walking down the steps and across the green grass like a vision. Honestly, she had an ass sculpted by a fucking artist, and I didn’t care who knew it.

She stopped in front of the table that currently held the tea party participants, and instead of freeing Raphael, she somehow got dragged down into it. Soon enough, there was a tiara on Sera’s head too, and Cara looked like she couldn’t have possibly been any happier.

I propped the baby on my chest, resting my head against his soft, downy hair.

Madoc had lucked out in the mother department. She had a huge heart but she took no shit, and she tugged at my inner monster like no one else. Maybe that was why she’d ended up with a harem of murderers, I don’t know. She was like a monster tamer in a cage with wild beasts, beating us back with a chair until we were ready to curl up and purr at her feet.

I felt a wave of emotion from the baby, the sensation similar to when Hope read my mind, but less defined. Like when you didn’t know if you were hungry or sick, it was more of a sensation than anything I could really put my finger on. I pulled away and looked at the baby, who still looked exactly the same as he had a moment ago. Small, squishy, unnaturally solemn.

I probably imagined it. He was barely two weeks old.

I bounced the baby against my chest, lulling him to sleep. Yeah, I’d definitely imagined it.

15

Judas

Isat behind my desk as Trigger ran through the financials and the mountain of fucking problems that seemed to crop up whenever I was away from the Clubhouse for more than three seconds.

Solomon was out, dealing with our members and their issues, fixing bikes and generally being the smiling fucking face of this Club. Goliath sat across the room and scowled, his arms crossed over his chest like he was thinking about committing mass murder.

“The Cartel is starting to creep into our territory. It’s only a street or two, but we probably should send G and a couple of guys out there to make a point. As soon as we look weak, they’ll make a grab for more territory.”

“We’re not weak,” Goliath growled, this conversation not helping his mood even a little. “I’ll just go put them down like the pieces of shit they are.”

He stood, like he was about ready to go out and murder their entire shitty gang right now. I pointed a finger at him. “Sit down. I think we should do something about them once and for all. I would like to spend the next few years enjoying life, not engaged in petty fucking spats with fucking women trafficking cokeheads.”

And that was the crux of it really. Cain hated the Cartel with everything he possessed, because they trafficked women up from the border. He’d advocated wiping those fuckers out for years, and I’d held back because quite frankly, it wasn’t our problem. We weren’t choir boys out here. As long as they stayed in their lane, then I was good with it.

But they were getting fucking cocky, pretending like they were getting a foothold in our streets, and that shit wouldn’t stand. This was Damnation territory. We didn’t try to expand our territory. We didn’t have a thirst for power that plagued most clubs like ours.

We wanted to fucking live by our own rules, and that was it. But that didn’t make us soft. And it certainly didn’t make us fucking weak.

“Call Church for a week from today. Trigger, come over for dinner on the weekend. Cara keeps asking where you are, and I’m pretty sure Marco wants to use you as target practice.”

Trigger laughed, the crazy fucker. “When you put it so nicely, how could I say no?”

He picked up that damn cowboy hat and stuck it on his head, throwing us his signature smirk as he left.

Goliath huffed from the couch. “Maybe I’ll help Killer end him.” He gave a half grin and it hit me in the fucking chest like a shotgun blast. I went so many years without seeing it, and now, every time it curled his lips like that, I want to jump across my fucking desk and kiss the man I used to know.

Instead, I push some paper around. “Cara is going to give us gray fucking hairs when she hits her teenage years. Pretty sure we could convince Marco to send her to an all girls boarding school.”

Goliath made a rude noise. “You say that like we will be one big fucking family, Judas. I didn’t fucking agree to that.”

I looked at him, and I saw the fear in his eyes. The anger was still there, the black-tinged hatred that colored his every expression. But it wasn’t intense anymore. When he walked into the room, it didn’t feel like he chased out the light. “Why can’t we be a family, G?”

I knew his reasons. I was fighting this feeling in my chest with just as much passion, because I knew where it could end.

In pain and misery.

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