“She’s—” He swallowed the mine. Since when was he in a rush to claim a snot monkey?
“Keep me updated,” Bryson ordered, then folded himself into his pig mobile.
Cage stood there until he left. Then he turned to see his brother, father and... possible daughter gone.
“Christ,” he muttered.
His fucking day went sideways from the moment he opened his eyes this morning.
He had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any better.
He just hoped it couldn’t get any worse.
But he wouldn’t fucking bet on it.
Chapter Three
“Trip ain’t gonna let you keep this kid in your room at the bunkhouse, Cage. You think of that?”
Cage shot a frown at his brother who stood next to the cardboard box on Reilly’s desk, staring down at his could-be niece. “Did I think of that? Are you fuckin’ serious? I haven’t had a chance to think about shit. Got no idea what the fuck I’m doin’. My life just fuckin’ crashed and burned. Haven’t had time yet to think about anything, much less where this kid’s sleepin’.” He blew out a breath. “Maybe Bryson was right...”
“With what?” his father asked.
“Lettin’ CPS take her ‘til we know she’s mine for sure.”
“She ain’t gettin’ in the state’s hands, boy,” Dutch growled. “Once they got their claws in her, it’s hard to rip them back out. Had CPS sniffin’ ‘round after your momma left us.”
What? Cage had no idea.
“No way was I lettin’ them have what belonged to me. Fuck that.”
“So, you only wanted us because we were your property,” Cage concluded.
“No, asshole, wanted you because you were my fuckin’ sons. Convinced your useless snatch of a mother to stop swallowin’ my loads so I could have you two. I wanted you boys, not her. Thought she’d feel differently after you were born. Thought that motherly instinct would kick in. It didn’t. Look at you now, you ungrateful shits. Raised you, fed you, put a fuckin’ roof over your heads. Gave you fuckin’ jobs...” He grunted and stopped his grumping when the baby moved in his arms.
Cage was surprised as fuck when Dutch glanced down and his pissed-off face turned soft.
“She ain’t got a dick so can’t name her Dutch Jr... Gonna name her Duchess, instead.”
He was gonna do what now? “No, Dad. You ain’t namin’ her what you’d name a stray dog. You ain’t namin’ her Duchess.” Cage just about shuddered.
His old man grinned and pressed the tip of his finger to her little button nose. “Yeah, Pap’s baby girl, Duchess.”
“Her name ain’t Duchess,” Cage growled.
Dutch shot him a frown. “Then what you gonna name her?”
Good question. “Nothin’. Not ‘til I know she’s mine. And I recommend you not get attached, Dad. What if she turns out not to be blood?”
“Then I’ll name your next fuck-up Duchess.”
There wouldn’t be another fuck-up. He’d wear two fucking wraps if he had to. Or, fuck it, just give up sex.
Yeah, no. The last option wasn’t a viable one.
He could stick to oral and anal sex. Yeah, that sounded like a better plan.
“Where the fuck is Reilly? Gotta feed Duchess.” Dutch hooted. “Can’t wait to see you change her for the first time, either.” He chuckled as he put the baby carefully back in the box amongst the blankets. “Gonna videotape it.”
“On what? Your Betamax video camera?” Rook asked with a snort. “Just use your fuckin’ smart phone.”
“Phone ain’t so fuckin’ smart,” their father grumbled.
“Smarter than you, old man,” Rook said.
“Swear you don’t like breathin’, do you, boy?”
“You make a lot of threats for someone who can hardly roll outta bed in the mornin’,” Rook reminded him.
Dutch grabbed his junk and shook it. “Can’t roll outta bed because of my kickstand. Musta got your small dicks from your momma’s side.”
Rook’s mouth flattened out. “We’ve all seen your dick, Dutch, and—”
Reilly rushed into the office, out of breath, her hands full of plastic shopping bags. “Would’ve been nice if someone would’ve come out to help.”
“Didn’t know you were back,” Cage answered.
“You can’t hear that thing pulling in?” she asked with wide eyes. “That car is loud.”
“It ain’t loud. It purrs like it should. Like a woman when I’m eatin’ her pussy,” Cage told her.
Reilly put a finger to her lips and said smartly, “Bet you don’t remember Tonya purring like that.”
“Who the fuck is Tonya?” Dutch asked.
“Nobody,” Cage answered quickly.
“So, anyway, while I was at Walmart, someone hit your convertible with a cart,” Reilly announced like it was no big thing.
He spun on her, his mouth hanging open. “What?”
She grinned. “Just kidding.” She leaned over the box and brushed her fingers over the baby’s sparse downy hair. “But I don’t think that car will work for hauling this little one around.” She straightened. “You should get a minivan. And sell me that car on payments. It’s badass.”
No shit it was badass. That was why he restored it. He was the one who stripped it down to the frame and restored it part by part until it was even better than the original. “I ain’t sellin’ that fuckin’ car. It’s my baby.”