Page 42 of Naughty Santa Daddy

“Dinner’s ready.” Her cousin appears.

Using him as a lifeline, I beckon him over. “I’ve got to run to the club.” I keep my voice light, but from the tightening of his facial muscles, I know Enzo isn’t stupid.

With only a slight pause, he turns and winks at Alex. “You really want this asshole, Alex? He can’t even face a family dinner with your mamá and papá.” He chuckles, then grins. “Not that I can blame him. They’re already talking about wedding plans, and his,” he points at me, “Granny is going on and on about dressing you as a Christmas fairy.”

“Sounds like I had a lucky save.” I force a laugh as I prod Alex. “Go, eat. Try to limit the amount of tinsel and glitter, okay?”

She looks like she’s going to argue with me, but Enzo takes her arm. “Come on, I’ll back you up. If I’m going to be a groomsman, I’m not dressing up like a fucking elf.”

I pull her back, kissing her in a way that means she’ll remember me. Before she can gather her wits and argue, I turn and leave. I didn’t want any lingering goodbyes. Our bodies and minds already know what we feel about each other, with no need for verbal professions of love. Any entreaties to stay safe are as reliant on the determination of our enemies as much as on anything we can do to protect ourselves. I do take a moment to stare into her beautiful face, memorizing it in case it’s the last time I see it. Onlydeathwould keep me away, but if that’s how it turns out, then so be it.

There’s nothing more important than the safety of her and my child. I try not to look back as I make my exit, but it’s difficult.

On the way to the club, I have to remind myself to keep to the speed limit.I’m on parole, remember?I’m anxious to get back and find out why Miller wants me. I’m eager to see Carlo andWash along with everything connected with them six feet under; then we’ll be free.

Parking the truck, I notice Drake outside waiting for me. He greets me, “You took your time. I suppose you drove like a fuckin’grandpa.”

Once again, resisting the urge to show him just how unlike a grandfatherly figure I can be, I ignore his comment. “What’s going on?”

He grins. “While you’ve been getting your dick wet—”

“I’ve been meeting her fucking family and settling her in,” I interrupt.

“As I said, while you’ve been dipping your wick, some of us have been hunting.” He tilts his head to one side as if waiting for something.

I don’t disappoint. “And?” I growl. “Or do I have to beat answers out of you?”

Drake snorts as if that would be possible. Finally, he gets to the point. “We’ve got Dawg. Miller thought you might want to be here when we question him.”

“Well, why didn’t you fucking start with that?” Brushing past him, I turn to walk into the clubhouse. Maybe now we can begin getting some answers and putting this business to bed.

Chapter 15

India R. Adams

India R. Adams

Goliath

On a mission to kill, literally, I charge into the clubhouse. I groan my frustration, noticing a roadblock. “Now what?”

Cowboy is eyeing me from under his worn hat. “Hear me out?”

I can’t stop my nostrils from flaring. “Make. It. Quick.”

A grin forms, and it’s full of amusement. “The fucker is right.”

Tilting my head side to side for a crack of patience, I ask, “Who?” but I never get an answer. Cowboy turns on his boot heels and heads into church.

Following him, I try to calm myself by promising to soon be throttling, stabbing, and torturing answers out of Dawg.

Inside, everyone is at their seats—exceptfor Wash. I stand behind his empty chair, wishing he’d been captured, too, and with Dawg, waiting for me. Preferably in a room where Prez don’t mind some blood splatter and dead bodies.

Leaning over the empty chair, I rap my fingers on the wooden table as if giving myself a drum roll. “Lead me to Dawg.” I lick my teeth while gripping the back of Wash’s seat he will never fill again. “I’m ready toplay.”

Studying me, Miller is leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. Only a finger moves as he points tomychair, silently commanding me to place my ass in it.

With an agitation I can barely contain, I do as I’m told. Not without bitching about the delay. “Fucking killing me here.” Once in my chair, I sarcastically tuck my legs under the table then place my arms on the wood while exuding a smile of warning. “Can we move this along?”

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