31. Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

Aleko

“ K eep that up, brother, and you’ll be getting chicks around here preggos with just one look.” While Shade is giving Bear shit for doting on Gryff, I’m mulling over my cards and wondering whether I should up the stakes or fold. The safe thing to do is fold to make sure I don’t go through my stash of cash faster than a racer goes through rubber.

We’ve set up the poker table in the middle of the rec room, next to the pool table and behind the living area where most of the brothers hang out, drink, and get their dicks wet. Tonight, it’s only us. No smoking, no drinking, no women. Well, except for Kincaid at the table playing against me, Boner, Shade and Grinder.

Bear, stoic as ever, responds to our Sergeant at Arms with only his middle finger from the hand resting on Baby P’s back, scowling like he just pooped on his parade.

Speaking of…

Raising my gaze up at my son, I see his sleeping face turn slightly red, his brows pinching, his body tensing before going lax all over again.

The effect is immediate.

“Fuck me, Psycho. The hell you feedin’ that kid?” Boner, who is sitting closest to Bear’s comfortable position on the couch, brings his t-shirt to his nose, covering it up like it’s a riding scarf.

“Tittie milk. I only had a little, once a few years back, and it gave me the shits for hours.” The room goes silent as we all stare at Grinder and his nonexistent filter. To be honest, I don’t even want to know where he got breast milk because the opportunities for him are endless. “Here’s the thing.” Grinder pushes his tokens to the middle of the table then looks at his cards, all the while explaining the benefits…or not, of human breast milk consumption. “It’s not as healthy as social media gurus like to tell us.”

“Tell you , maybe. I’ve never fucking heard of anyone saying anything about drinking some poor woman’s milk.” Shade is shaking his head, probably just as done with this conversation as we all are. “But I do know, this is not a conversation I wanna have while you do your abra-fucking-cadabra shit and taking all of our money.” Grinder’s specialty is getting us distracted during the games so he can cheat his way through the deck. Sometimes he gets us so fucking drunk we just hand him over our money without realizing what the fuck is happening. Not tonight, Satan. Not tonight. There’s a no alcohol rule for me and Bear since we’re handling the baby, and the others have barely started on their beers. He can’t dupe us when we’re sober.

I don’t think…

“No shit. Quit ya yappin’ and fuckin’ play.” Boner’s laughing as he kicks Grinder’s knees under the poker table.

“Y’all are lacking some basic cultural shit.” Ignoring Grinder’s tsking, I fold and get up because that baby ain’t gonna change itself.

“Come on, Bear. Gotta clean him up or else he’s gonna get a rash.” Bear grunts at my words but hands him over anyway. No way would he risk the baby’s well being.

“I want him back.” I don’t think my best friend understands that Gryff’s mine.

“Don’t get greedy, Brother. I wouldn’t want to have to revoke all privileges.” I have to swallow my chuckle when I hear Bear growl behind me.

Gryffin stirs, the first signs of his unhappiness beginning with a whimper, until I bring him to my chest, his ear to my heart, and soothe him with my voice.

“Hey, little Nugget. Time to change that stinky diaper.” We’ve equipped all of the common bathrooms with changing tables because I’m too fucking lazy to go up to the suite to change him. It’s time efficient and one thing’s for sure: when you’re a new parent, it’s all about the least amount of unnecessary effort and making sure our lives are easier. It helps that we have so many people around willing and able to babysit.

Placing Gryff on the table, I lean over and kiss his forehead as he squirms, his legs and arms pumping like he’s ready for the baby Olympics.

“Whatcha doin’, little Nugget?” Popping the buttons to his onesie, I take both ankles with one hand and lift his tiny butt to push the fabric up and back. “Dang, that’s some potent poop you’ve got there.” I’m surprised how easily I can auto censor my language and how quickly it goes back to normal when I speak to my brothers or Cherry.

I make quick work of changing his diaper and just before I close up the adhesive tapes, I kiss his little belly and inhale his fresh, clean baby scent. Fuck, it never gets old.

“Hey, Psycho. You’ve got a text from Mac.” Bear holds out my phone since I didn’t think to bring it with me.

“Hold up a second, let me get his clothes back on.” I love that Mackenzie uses a diaper rash cream that doesn’t have a fragrance, I’d hate for anything to take away from his natural scent.

Before grabbing my phone, I finish up with Gryff and kiss his neck as he starts pulling his head to the right, searching out the nipple. “I gotchu, little Nugget, hold on, now.” Smiling, I grab my phone, activating the screen with my thumb.

With Gryff resting against my chest, I open up Mackenzie’s message thread, expecting her to tell me she’s coming home later than planned. It’s fine. I mean, she deserves some time to herself where her only worry is how many shots she can do before her head explodes.

To be fair, I’m sure she won’t drink but a glass, maybe two, so it doesn’t stay too long in her milk. We’ve got enough in the fridge that she doesn’t need to pump until tomorrow so, no worries there.

Except when I read her message, every hair on my body stands on end.

“What the fuck?”

“Dude, the baby.” Bear hears the urgency in my tone and he’s right there, taking Gryff so I can get into action mode.

Cherry: Emily crazy.back of black car East from Rockford Drive help.

“Are you reading what I’m reading?” I angle my phone so Bear can see the message, hoping I’m freaking out over absolutely nothing. Wouldn't be the first time and, knowing me, it won’t be the last. Especially with Gryff taking such a big part in our lives.

“Pull up her tracker and find her. That’s her warning you about something. Take the guys, too, I’ll stay with Gryff.” As if to protect him from anything and everything, Bear places one of his huge hands at the back of Gryff’s head and takes a step back.

“Come on.” I call out my order as if Bear needed any more prompting, but saying the words helps me organize my thoughts. All the while, I’m pulling up Mackenzie’s tracker but getting nothing. I’m guessing she sent that message early on and they’ve since found it. They…she said Emily.

I fucking knew I didn’t trust that woman. Damn it!

“Violet, I need you to take Ninja and Bandit, put them back in our suite and heat up Gryff’s milk like we did before and give it to Bear.” Taking my suite key out of my pocket, I hand it and our little rats to Violet, happy she’s taking my demands seriously as she scurries up the stairs with them.

“The fuck’s goin’ on?” Shade is already on his feet. He knows I only get this way when it comes to Mackenzie, and since Vanessa’s with my wife, he’s instantly on high alert.

“Hey! What’s this shit?” We all whip around at the sound of Hoops in the rec room, followed by Crow and Axle. None of us answer and he doesn’t wait to continue. “Candie just called saying they found Sabrina and Vanessa passed out in the private room at the club, Mac and Darlene are nowhere to be found.”

“Fuck!” I hold back my roar because I’m not about to transfer my anxiety onto my son. “Kincaid, Grinder, Boner…” I look around. “Where the fuck is Sledge?”

“What’s up, matey?” As if summoned by the fucking god of war, Sledge strolls in with a satisfied grin on his face.

“Let’s go. Mackenzie’s in trouble.” I don’t need to tell them more but I do pull up my second tracker: the wedding ring.

As soon as Glitch suggested I put some kind of fancy pants tracker inside her ring, my first reaction was hell fucking yeah and why didn’t I think of it first? For a brief second, however, I had second thoughts, afraid my Cherry Pie would blow a fucking gasket. Right now, though? I’m considering naming our second born “Glitch.” Do I understand the nanotech shit happening on my phone? No, I do not. Do I need to understand? Also, no. The only thing that matters is that her red dot is moving and I can follow.

“Gotcha! Come on!” We don’t bother getting all leathered up. Most of us are in jeans so we grab our cuts and run for our bikes.

“She’s heading East on Oleander.” I’m scanning the map as I make my way to the bike.

“You all come with me, we’re going to Rocks Off.” Behind me, Hoops calls out his own orders as we all get up on our bikes and ready to get our women.

With my phone popped into the holder, I’m following the tracker toward the outskirts of town. As fast as we’re going, we seem to be catching up to them but not knowing the final destination makes me nervous. No, it terrifies me because I have an idea of where they may be headed and there is no scenario where that ends well.

Lowering my head behind the bike’s windshield, I give a flick of my wrist, downshift once, then let her rip while mentally flipping off law enforcement. Even if they try to follow us, I’d leave them in the dust within minutes. Hell, they know my bike and my plates, they can come pick me up at the compound once I’ve got my wife safe in my arms.

The next time I look down, I notice the tracker has stopped and, fucking hell, they are exactly where I anticipated. Behind me, my crew is following in formation as though I’m their president. Not because I outrank them, I definitely don’t, but because I’m the one most eager to get my Cherry Pie home to our son.

Thankfully, Gryff is safe with Bear so that’s one less worry I need to think about.

As we take the turn off Gordon Road, I have to follow the map from the tracking app because I’m not familiar with this part of the Rockford Beach International Airport. Usually, to drop off or pick up, we use Airport Road, but Emily is taking them to the private runway, which can only mean one thing.

She’s trying to kidnap my wife and holy fuck, the heat of rage that travels up my spine transfers to my bike because just as I turn onto Aviation Drive, I see the fucking black car and a Cessna, probably M2, all engines on. As we get close enough, the stairs are pulling up the front, seconds away from getting airtight, which means they’re ready to take off any minute.

We’re still too far away and by the time we’re close enough that I can see the shadows inside the porthole windows, the small, probably six or seven seater, is already moving forward.

If that plane takes off, I might lose my Cherry Pie forever and that cannot…no, that will not happen. Not ever again. And this bitch, Emily, will not be the reason my son grows up without a mother. Fuck that. And fuck them for thinking I wouldn’t go to the ends of the world to get her back.

I’m at the tail end, the plane picking up speed, but I’m not sure what to do here. At this point, I could easily pass the Cessna and force it to a stop, but that’s assuming they will fucking stop. My other option is to force it to stop by any means. Once that plane is in the air, it’s game over.

Squeezing Philia with my thighs to keep her steady, I reach back and pull out the gun from my holster. I’m right handed, right eyed, which means my holster is too, so letting go of the throttle makes me lose precious seconds on the plane’s speed.

As soon as I’m holding the gun with my left hand, I pray to all the fucking gods that I don’t fuck this up. Kincaid and Sledge are on one side of the plane and Grinder, Boner and I are on the other. With me slowing down, they both pass me by, and once they’re out of range, I shoot the first shot.

Obviously, I don’t want the plane to fucking explode, but I also do not want it to take off so I aim for the fuselage, which means the entire middle length of the plane is fair game. I just need to make sure I don’t accidentally shoot Mackenzie or Darlene, and with zero visibility, that risk is real. My boys do the same and Kincaid gets original, shooting out the front tire. It’s Boner’s last bullet that catches the wing on fire, causing my heart to stop beating and scaring the fuck out of me.

As we’re speeding alongside the plane, it doesn’t seem it, but we are already going well over a hundred and fifty miles per hour and I’m guessing they were reaching take-off speeds. When the tire blows out, the plane skids to the side and we all have to get creative to pull on the brakes and avoid getting trampled by the fucking Cessna.

Grinder peels to a stop while Kincaid burns a neat half circle before coming to a complete halt. I’m not sure what the others do because I’m suddenly gliding sideways, my jeans burning across the tarmac and my leather cut protecting me from some serious injuries. The sparks are all around me with the side of the bike scraping against asphalt. I release both handlebars and let myself get dragged by the velocity of the fall across the grass on the side of the runway.

Once the plane is no longer moving, I ignore the pain that’ll no doubt catch up to me later and run like a fucking madman to the plane.

At the top of my lungs, I make my fury known.

“I will blow this fucking plane up to kingdom come before I let you take my wife. Get out, now, or you all fucking die.”