Page 44 of Naughty Santa Daddy

Feeling all kinds of shit inside, I hold Drake’s stare until Miller adds, “I know you don’t have to search deep to know we’re right. It’s in your DNA—”

Out of nowhere, even while Miller keeps talking, I think of Alex and all that is in her DNA.

He continues, “—You will always do right by the club, your family—”

Famiglia…What this club is to me is what her family is to her.

“—Time for you to spread those wings, Goliath.” He finishes, and the word hits me like a punch.

Wings…

Back at Alex’s apartment—more like penthouse—her father had mentioned something about birds, also. He’d been leaving the room—where he had chewed me a new one—and mumbled,“I adore the eagle. You prefer a pigeon,”before glaring at me from over his shoulder.

Assuming the old man had cracked under all this pressure and worry for Alex, I ignored his odd remark. Then I went straight to his eagle and clipped her wings, demanding she stay hidden.

From the very first day we met, I knew my woman had been trained. For what, I didn’t know, but now it is all becoming perfectly clear; Alex’s father only let her live on her own to see ifall her training—upbringing—being prepared to lead, was to see if she could.

And… she has, even with enemies trailing her.

‘Papá’ is proving to have bigger balls than me. He’s known, all along, who she is and what she’s capable of.

Me, on the other hand, has been in complete denial. I’ve been trying to control, protect, and claim a woman who is beyond capable of doing so herself. Her dad has been letting her spread herwings, pretending to be overprotective, only to see if she would cower.

She hasn’t wanted to. She’s even offered herself as bait, but because of me, she is letting her father down.

I can’t let her do that. Nor can I letmyfamily down.

Exhaling in acceptance, I know damn well this decision will change so much. I look at my childhood friend, “Thank you for never wanting to hold me back. For supporting my decisions, even as hard as it was letting me take the fall.”

Getting to his feet, he rushes around the table and pulls me into an embrace only brothers can understand. “Your character is something every man should strive for.”

Surrounding us, I hear fist after fist hitting leathered-covered chests, as if our brothers can’t agree more. The sound fills me with pride, with a sense of honor I can’t convey in words. But right then, I make a silent promise to be the best motherfuckin’ VP they’ll ever have.

“VP!” They bark the title in unison, the conviction coming straight from their MC hearts.

***

Being a part of a one-percenter club is a dangerous way of life. Leading one, you have a constant spotlight on your back. At the moment, I wish that spotlight was in my eyes so I don’t have to witness this trainwreck between my brothers tossing randomshit my way. They’d be lost without Prez keeping their bullshit straight for them at times. They’ve been spoiled by the club girls in my absence, I can see it now.

Cowboy is holding my cut in one hand and my new Vice President patch in his other, utterly clueless about what to do next. He shrugs to JD. “Super glue it on?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I wouldn’t be surprised at this point if Cowboy thought a goddamn Christmas fairy came down and attached our patches while we slept. Miller wanting this patch in its proper place is keeping me from where I want to be. I have important shit I need to handle that has to do with Alex.

JD’s jaw unhinges in disgust. “Super glue it on? Are you stupid?” He peers about. “I’m sure it’s an iron-on.” Searching behind the bar, he asks, “Do we even have an iron?”

In complete disbelief, I look to Miller. He’s gotta stop this madness before I end up punching someone. Where were these assholes when they got their patches? Did the club girls handle it for them? Surely not.

He rolls his eyes. “I know. We’re completely fucked with these boys.”

I’ve accepted the new position. I’ve done what’s asked of me. Now it’s my turn, and I’m losing the small amount of patience I’d held on to through church. Arms flailing angrily, like my current twisted-up state of mind, I yell, “I have a man to fucking torture!”

“I have a stripper!” Drake calls in excitement as he drags some poor girl—who has clearly just been on stage—through the club’s front door. She’s in an elf costume, go figure, but she’s got nothing on my gorgeous, pregnant elf I’ve left safely at home.

The stripper’s pissed. “Exotic dancer, asshole!”

Practically giving up, I slap my forehead. “God help me.”I just want to torture Dawg. I need anyone trying to hurt my ol’ lady dead and rotting six feet under.

Ignoring us both, Drake flicks a tassel hanging from the dancer’s costume. “See? I was in her bed when she needled that thing on her boob cover—”

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