Page 3 of His Biker Daddy

We started to argue, and it wasn’t until Cash said that he’d seen the text that it dawned on us we’d been played. The fire at a shop that the club runs that morning, then the text about a hearing being pulled up out of nowhere. Yes, I’d told Everly they could put it on the docket at any time once the DNA results that proved the fucking mayor was her biological father so she can claim the inheritance from her grandparent’s will of the biggest company in town were in, but even still, they can’t just call it for that same afternoon. That was on me for not being clearer, so I took the punch without argument while Spawn and Victors backed Tate down.

I was definitely feeling my forty-eight years at that moment. I mean shit, the guy’s nine years younger than I am, but he’s fucking built like a bull whereas I’d have been a lion—at least ten years ago I was. I’ve let some of the muscles soften over the years while Tate works out in the gym nearly every day. Apparently before he claimed Everly as his two months ago, it was every day, but since he’s brought his little girl home, he’s let it slip.

Not that I blame him at all. If I had someone to curl up with every night, play with during the days, I sure as shit wouldn’t go to the gym again. Especially if that someone was Cash.

Which is saying a fucking lot for this old man.

I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Not before I got here and sure as shit, not with some young pup like Cash. Even if he does have the most perfect fucking body I’ve ever seen. And I have seen just about every last inch of it in the last month since I got here.

That first day, I swore he was trying to figure out why they should trust some flamboyant gay dude from another club to help the pres’ woman. When I saw the way he treated her, I figured he was in love with her but hiding it because against Tate, he’s got no chance. He’s the adorable puppy that everyone wants to pet but don’t take home because he needs too much training, whereas Tate—he’d be the rock-solid fully trained guard dog that’ll kill you if you so much as breathed on what’s his the wrong way.

It wasn’t until I got to dinner that night that I realized I’d perhaps slightly misjudged things. The way he and Everly put their heads together and whispered was definitely not a romantic gesture—on either side. At one point, Everly’s head lifted, looking straight at me and the frown she sported had me chuckling a bit, wondering if Cash wasn’t telling her about out little chat next to the supply closet.

I’d never wanted to push someone onto a desk and spank an ass as much as I had then. Wanted to pull down those jeans that cupped it just right and see just how little he was and how much I could get him to grow.

I’m no fucking saint. Far from it. I’ve fucked a straight guy or two…or ten, in my time. Coerced them into it, with threats or blackmail about what would happen if they didn’t give in and do what I told them to do.

Half of them were guys that wanted to join the club so badly they said they’d do anything. So, I made them prove it. Three of the others were guys that owed the club money, and we knew we’d never get it. Not even through legal means and we were allowed to threaten any sort of punishment we wanted.

Generally, if I went out to ‘collect’ it wasn’t the person that got dicked that we wanted to make pay up, it was another client that was late on their payments and could afford to pay, they just wouldn’t. They were there to see what happened if they continued to refuse.

The last two…it was more of an ‘us or them’ type situation. They busted into a bar one night, coming at me and a couple friends with bats. We ended up hogtying them to the bats before using our own to teach them a lesson—and I don’t regret a fucking second of it.

I was curious about Cash after Everly said he was sensitive. I thought it was a fucking joke, but now, I know it’s not. I can see it in his eyes every time I’ve pushed him away, but it’s for his own fucking good. If I take him, I’m not going to let him go. Because despite my assumptions that first day, I know he’s not interested sexually in Everly—or any other girls.

He loves Everly but it’s like a sister, an equal. And having spent the last month watching her and Tate, and seeing Cash and Everly together, thinking of them as equals is really fucking getting to me.

I’ve always been into punishment, domination, and humiliation. I suppose it came from growing up gay in a fucked up alpha boy neighborhood. I went to law school to thumb my nose at my father who kicked me out at fifteen when he found me with another guy. He told me I’d end up in jail on the bottom of a dogpile one day.

He lived just long enough for me to shove my law license down his throat.

Part of me gets Cash, knows where some of the hurt inside him comes from—at least now that I’ve learnt about the shit his father used to tell him. It was only two years between him learning Cash was gay and his death, but it seems that he never forgave his son for adding on that sin atop of not being the alpha he wanted.

For me, that wasn’t an issue. If you didn’t man up, learn to take and throw a punch, you didn’t survive around my neighborhood. From everything I’ve learned about the Reapers, even under the scumbag president Hinton that Tate took out to keep the club from sinking down into the depths of hell that was human trafficking, there were plenty of others around that would have laid out Cash’s father if he tried to beat him to become an alpha.

Because of that, he became just what Everly said he was that first day…sensitive. He keeps it hidden most of the time, but when he’s gotten too close over the last few weeks, it’s come out when I push him away. It makes me want to pull him close and hold him tight—something I’ve never imagined wanting to do with someone.

I’ve learnt from all of the hushed conversations between Everly and Cash this past month, especially the ones the last week or so, that Cash is keeping more than just his sensitive side hidden. There’s a part of him that wants to be used, abused in a way, but even more of him wants what Everly has—a daddy tocontrol him. And that is why I keep pushing him away whenever I subconsciously let him close.

He’s too young to know what he really wants and if I give in, even just once, I’m going to fucking own the boy in every way he’ll let me. And if he tried to pull away later, to take away these feelings I’ve never felt before now that are running through me whenever he’s near—I’ll lose my fucking mind.

I’m liable to either straight up kill whoever he tries to go to, or I’ll tie him up, put him in a locked cage, until he swears he’ll never leave. The second option doesn’t sound too bad to me, but if it kills anything he might learn to feel for me beyond just the sexual hunger I know is there, I might as well kill myself. These feelings inside me that he’s ignited aren’t going away, just digging in deeper, and I can’t begin pretend they don’t exist anymore—at least not to myself.

Stealth tries to settle Tate when it’s clear we don’t have any new leads, and I put my foot in my mouth again when I stupidly tell him it’s a good thing that Everly hasn’t been found yet. It’s obvious that Tate’s not thinking everything through, just taking stuff at face value, and I get it. If it was Cash missing, I’d probably be losing my mind, ready to take offense at anything anyone says. Anyone else would get where I was coming from and thankfully, Spawn gets it and calmly explains so I don’t wind up with two black eyes.

I can see him starting to get it finally as I explain about the potential of Everly threatening them with a will that would leave the company to him and the club if she dies. Shit, I’ll make sure to whip it up if that’s what it takes, but it’ll take a couple days to get all the right people to make it look legit.

My eyes stray over to Cash where he sits, his face tight, and it makes my heart hurt for him. He’s terrified of losing his best friend, one of the people that knows him best. My thoughts are wrapped around what might happen if we don’t find Everly fastenough, but I don’t begin to miss when he says he might have a way of pulling the police chief out of town.

My blood boils listening to him tell everyone about the pictures Everly found five years ago. The girl was only fourteen and she had to see photos that likely haunt her dreams now. Especially with as much as we’ve had to deal with the man. My pressure increases though hearing him say he’s been communicating with the bastard online, keeping him ‘interested’ but not letting him pull the trigger—perhaps literally since the man’s apparently murdered at least six young gay men.

His response to Tate asking if he’s spoken to Thatcher since Everly went missing has my jaw clenched. I’m trying to drag in breaths to not bound out of my chair, stalk over and shove him onto the desk, reddening his ass for talking to another man—even if it was to try and get him where the club could handle him.

“Yeah, I figured he was in on it and if there was any time to try and draw him out, it was now,” Cash answers. “He’s hinted at a meet up several times, most of them I’ve play off, but he asked the night before Everly was taken and I hadn’t responded yet. I wrote back to him last night that I might be able to make it this weekend if he was still interested. He suggested tonight almost immediately but I’ve not given the final yes to get a place and time, but I can if it’ll get us closer to getting Everly back.”

“Where he’ll be planning to do the same thing to you with his buddies as the others. They just won’t know that we’re there as well, and we can counter their plan to jump you,” Tates states, and he nods in easy agreement.

“No,” falls from my lips, pulling Cash’s attention back to me and off Tate.

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