Page 14 of Digg

Yeah, I’m well aware the baby isn’t my biological child, but I learned early in life biology means fuckall nothing when it comes to family. If it comes to it, I’d die for any of my Ghost Born brothers without hesitation. For any of their partners, too. On the other hand, the only way I’d piss on the woman who is actually blood kin to me if she were on fire is if my dick spat diesel.

“Still not sure why we’re doin’ errands for the Russian. He’s not the boss of us.” Ace’s whine sounds tinny through the helmet speaker that connects us while we ride.

“What are you, five? It ain’t an errand when we’re working for the same outcome.” My own words echo back to me over the connection. Deeper. Grouchier.

“Oh, whatever. Now, you’re a team player? Fuck off, ‘Lo,” he scoffs.

It’s been ages since I got out, and Ace still barely tolerates my face. And okay, I probably should have thought more about how hurt Ace would be when I let myself get arrested. The kid’s got trauma heaped on trauma that’s let to a serious problem with even casual touches. For whatever reason, the aversion he’s got to being touched eased up when it’s me doing the touching. Or rather, it had before my jailtime.

Hugs, fist bumps, even nudging his shoulder into mine when one of the other guys did something stupid? None have been okay since I came home. Even more telling, he told me he doesn’t want the Prince Albert piercing I’d promised I’d give him for his nineteenth birthday anymore.

When he’d first approached me about wanting a piercing, shortly after Shaw and Konrad had come home, taking guardianship of Ace while he was still a minor, it was because he wasn’t comfortable letting a stranger do it. Because he trusted me, he wanted me to be the one stabbing needles through his skin. Now I’ve got scarred up holes all over my body from learning how to pierce so I can safely do the ones he wanted. Even got licensed to do the shit.

Believe me when I say piercing my own cock so I could be damn sure I knew how to do it before doing his ought to prove how much I love the kid. Now, I’m riding my cycle with a hard dick, thanks to the motor’s vibrations turning the metal hoop through the tip of my cock into a nonstop sex toy.

So if anybody has the right to be irritated right now, it’s me. And I fucking am. I resent every minute I have to spend away from Frankie. Especially the minutes wasted doing stupid shit anyone else could have done. Shaw sent Ace and me, and I get it. He wants us to fix our shit because the attitude the kid is throwing is impacting everyone in the house.

I get it. He’s holding a grudge. Dunno how the fuck this little fieldtrip is supposed to chill out his ass, but I do what I’m told. At least, I do when I’m still on the prez’s shit list from the last time I didn’t.

“Let’s just focus on the job, okay? You can continue your whining when we’re on our way back to the house.”

“Fine. Whatever. In a hurry to get home to your woman and precious baby?” His sneer drips with scorn, and look, I get it.

“Fucking shit, Babe. I’m fucking sorry.”

“Don’t call me that. Rules, asshole,” he snarks.

“Club business, kid. Means now is exactly when I should call you that. Are you so scared of being replaced by Frankie and the baby you’ll stay pissed at me forever?”

I know I’ve hit the nail on the head when he shuts up and gives me the silent treatment. On one hand, I get it. The kid’s life has been a series of upheavals and changes he had no control over. I disappeared for half a year and then brought home a pregnant stranger and told everyone she’s mine. That’s serious turmoil for a guy only starting to figure out adulting.

The rest of the ride is quiet. Ace talks to me only when necessary, and I do the same. Just because I grasp the motivation behind his behavior doesn’t mean I’m evolved enough it doesn’t piss me off. Finally, we get to the warehouse Anatoly identified as a location of interest, get the all weather parabolic mics set up to record activity, then get the hell out of there.

We’re about ten minutes from the clubhouse when the call comes through, our miked-up helmets, answering Shaw’s ringtone automatically. Before either of us has a chance to bitch at him for nagging us about taking too long, he interrupts and blows my world apart.

“How far out are you? There’s something wrong with Frankie. Jax and Blakely are rushing her to the hospital now.”

Chapter

Seventeen

FRANKIE

The emergency room hadn’t allowed anyone to come back into the restricted access treatment area with me. Blakely had to wrap herself around Jax like a koala on a bamboo shoot to keep him from shoving his way through the locked doors when they wheeled me through the narrow opening. Their protectiveness is a balm on my soul and a reminder that this baby is going to be born into a true family who protects its own. Since I was young, my brother was the only person in my corner. Until now. From the moment Arlo brought me to the Ghost Born clubhouse and introduced me to his chosen family, they’d adopted me into the fold.

As pissed off as they were at Arlo for going rogue when he got arrested and sent to jail, none of them held it against me. Well, Cameron still looks at me like he’s uncertain if I’m a sentient being, and Ace has a perma-scowl going. Arlo swears it’s nothing to do with me. Honestly, I believe him. Ace is barely more than a child, despite not having much of a childhood, so his grudge against Arlo is understandable. Abbie, Cameron’s girlfriend, says Cameron is suspicious of everyone. I can tell there’s a story there. Maybe, one day, I’ll know what it is.

Thoughts of the found family that’s claimed me as one of their own helps to keep my brain from spinning into hysterics with worry. My fingers fiddle with the plastic admissions bracelet fastened around my wrist. The pain still comes in waves, and at first, I thought it was the practice contractions I read about in the pregnancy books.

One of the first things the nurse did, once she got me situated in this ER room, was to strap a fetal monitor around my stomach. It reads the baby’s heartrate and measures contractions. So far, the resident who’s seen me for triage says the baby’s heart is perfectly fine, and they don’t see any signs of Braxton Hicks contractions. The resident said an on-call OB-GYN would be by soon, but for now, they’re confident neither the baby nor I are in distress, so it could be a while.

The door to the room is open, and I can’t help but keep one eye on the shadowy hallway beyond it. As silly as it might be, I just want to see Arlo stomping his way back here to be by my side. My heart lurches at the realization of how much he’s come to mean to me in such a tiny window of time. Mark never made me feel this way.

Not once in the eternity we were together did I ever feel as safe or cherished as Arlo has made me feel. The man makes sure I know he’s claiming me as his own. He cares for me as if I’m his personal treasure. Dammit, why can’t he be here, right now, standing between me and this terrible fear that something’s wrong with the baby?

“You’re sure it’s not labor?” The hushed male voice in the hallway sounds familiar, and I’m pretty sure he’s talking about me.

“Yes, sir. The fetal monitor shows mom and baby are both fine. No signs of contractions. Best estimation is that it’s symphysis pubis dysfunction.” That voice, I’m pretty sure, belongs to the resident who examined me.

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