Bryson’s lips flattened out. “That’s not going to happen, Dutch.” He held out the crying baby to Cage. “Here. Maybe if you’re holding your kid, your father won’t want to kick your ass.”
Cage doubted that.
He stared down at the bundled infant in Bryson’s arms.
Dutch growled, “Take your goddamn kid, Cage.”
Reilly reached between Cage and Bryson, intending to take the baby until Dutch snapped at her, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” She dropped her arms and stepped back with her palms in the air.
Cage took a deep inhale and took the now screaming baby from Bryson, who said, “I suggest someone head out to get diapers and formula while we wait for the EMTs to check him out.”
“I’ll go,” Reilly volunteered quickly. “I just need to borrow a car.”
“Take his Impala. Key’s hangin’ in the office. His fuckin’ baby he loves so damn much and might hafta get rid of now he’s got a real one. Hit Walmart for that shit and grab a car seat while you’re at it. And whatever else he’s gonna need to deal with this little surprise for the next coupla days.” Dutch dug into his open coveralls and the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled out his wallet.
Reilly accepted the credit card and disappeared into the garage.
Cage cleared his throat and tried to swallow the lump. “Think he’s gonna need changed.” The towel and blanket around the baby’s lower half were soaked and squishy.
His father’s thick eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Yeah, they do that, asshole. They cry, shit, piss and wanna fuckin’ tit. That’s it. Get used to it.”
Cage gritted his teeth as his ’65 Chevy Impala SS ripped through the lot with Reilly behind the wheel, the convertible’s tires squealing as she shot out onto the road without slowing down. When she smashed on the accelerator, the 409 big-block roared. Then she ground a gear.
Ground a fucking gear.
Cage just might cry seeing and hearing that. No one drove his baby.
No one.
Out of all the piece of shit vehicles on the property, his father had to tell her to take his restored classic.
An ambulance with lights flashing, but no siren, pulled into the lot and parked next to Bryson’s cruiser. Two EMTs climbed out and came around to them.
“Got a call for an abandoned infant?” one of them asked Bryson.
Before the cop could answer, Dutch said, “Ain’t abandoned. He’s where he fuckin’ belongs. Just make sure he’s fuckin’ okay and then give ‘im back. My dumbass son will be takin’ care of his own fuck-up.”
Two sets of surprised eyes went from staring at Cage’s pissed off father to Bryson, who nodded.
One of them took the baby from a relieved Cage and went to the back of the ambulance. Bryson followed, a grim look on his face. Maybe he wasn’t really sure about leaving Cage alone with Dutch.
He had a good reason to worry.
Uncomfortable silence surrounded him, his father and brother.
Dutch, suddenly looking a lot older than he was, shook his head as he stared at Cage.
“Wore a wrap both times, Dad.”
“’Parently you need a lesson on how to wrap it right. Musta failed you on that. ‘Cause how else did you knock her the fuck up?”
“Got no fuckin’ clue.”
“You weren’t supposed to fuck with them Amish girls. That’s one of the fuckin’ club rules.”
“It was only twice. And before Sig got caught with Rebecca.”
“Don’t matter. The rule was in place before then. He fucked up, too. This gotta go to the table.”
Fuck.
“Broke a fuckin’ important rule which is gonna piss off the prez. He set that rule for a goddamn reason. And now I gotta look some of those elders in the fuckin’ eye and know you bent over and gave it to one of their innocent girls.”
“I doubt they know.” She said in the note she’d kept it a secret, then her family hid her away once she couldn’t hide the pregnancy anymore.
“If the pigs go lookin’ for her, they will.”
Fuck. His father was right.
“Assumin’ you know who S is,” Rook grumbled. The first words Cage had heard from his brother.
“Yeah.”
“She the only Amish snatch you dipped your dick into?” Dutch asked.
Like he’d tell his father any different if she wasn’t. “Yeah.”
“You sit on that exec committee, boy, but as road captain you don’t get a fuckin’ vote. Don’t be surprised if your ass is stripped of your colors.”
He hadn’t even considered that. Fuck. “Sig’s wasn’t.”
“You ain’t Sig,” Dutch reminded him. “You ain’t Trip’s blood. He don’t have great love for your ass, either. You forget that?”
No, he hadn’t. It had gotten better over the months between him and Trip. Hell, between him and all his club brothers. In the beginning they only tolerated him because Dutch was an Original. His old man had been part of the Blood Fury MC from the club’s inception and was there when everything went down.