Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

RAFAEL

When I'm at the clubhouse, I make sure one of my brothers is with Omari and Little Raf, especially when Omari is out running errands or having fun with the baby. Omari said that fucking Brock dickhead stays mainly in the Southside, but I don't give a fuck. They're never alone when they leave the house.

Since Omari came home after taking a beating, that voice in my head telling me I'm a failure has gotten louder and louder every day, proving that I haven't changed. I haven't learned from my past and gotten better. I failed Omari, just like Elena said I would fail her the last time I spoke to her.

A knock sounds through my office door, pulling me out of my spiral. "It's open," I shout, turning back to the order form for alcohol for Inferno.

Jace pokes his head inside. "This a bad time?"

I shake my head and look away from the computer screen, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Nope. What's up, hermano?"

Jace steps inside, plopping on my couch. "It's Pete's turn to sit with Omari and Little Raf, but no one has seen him. He was supposed to relieve Brian, but he ain't show and ain't answer his phone. You talk to him?"

I sit up straight at the news. "Not since a few days ago. He asked for some time away to handle some shit, but didn't say what. He should have been back, yeah?"

Pete said he had some personal business to handle, something he was supposed to do a while back but never did. He never said what it was, but I didn't pry either. I don't like people asking about my shit, so I try to do the same.

"Yeah. I dropped by his house but he wasn't there," Jace says.

Wheels spin in my head, trying to figure out where Pete could be. He's one of the members that doesn't really have a life outside of the MC. Much like me. So for him not to show up when he has a shift is bad news.

"Take a few guys and ride around town, see if you spot his bike."

Jace leans forward, leveling me with a serious gaze. "Prez, this is prospect work, man." He holds his hand up, asking me to wait while he pleads his case. "I know what happened with the other two bitches that prospected with us. I was here when Rax shot Telly that tried to rape Finn and helped when that snitch, Sam, ran the gauntlet. But they came on their own. I want to put someone forth. My neighbor is interested and has been for a while. He's a good guy. A little young, but smart and loyal. Ain't afraid to get his hands dirty. Let me put him up for consideration."

While I don't want to admit it, we do need a prospect in the MC. We need new members to swell our ranks. But the last two, Sam and Telly, put a sour taste in my mouth.

When Rax came back to the clubhouse for his going away party before he was to head to Cuba to start a new life, Telly tried to rape Finn and disrespected Rax on top of that. For his insolence, Rax put three bullets in him. His bitch buddy, Sam ratted Rax out, landing him back in prison for a few months. We had to come up with a plan to get Rax out of prison again and in the meantime, we tracked Sam down and had him run the gauntlet—a punishment when the offending party has to get past all of the ranking members as we beat him to within an inch of their lives. After Sam got to the end, Finn shot and killed him.

My lips twist as I remember that whole fucking debacle. I told Zeke it would be a long while before I took on more prospects. But it's been over a year. Maybe this one won't fuck up. Jace will have to answer to me if he does.

"Bring him in so we can talk. If I feel like he has what it takes to be a patched member, I'll give the kid a shot. But if he fucks this club over, I'll strip you of your rank and kill him myself. Entendido?"

Jace's face pales, but he nods. "I accept those terms."

"Good. Now go find Pete."

He leaves my office and I grab my phone, calling Pete instead of shooting him a text. I want to hear his voice, not get some generic ass message. I don't like that one of my guys is MIA and no one knows where he is.

The phone rings five times before it kicks over to voicemail. I growl in frustration as I listen to the recording. At the beep, I say, "Hermano, you better be dead or in the hospital to not answer my fucking call. Hit me up as soon as you get this." I hang up and toss my phone on my desk.

Not only is Pete on my mind, but Omari is too. I didn't want to leave him today. After what that piece of shit Brock did to him, I don't like not being with him. My brothers can handle keeping him safe, but they're not me. If it weren't for all the hangarounds that walk around with their ass and tits out half the time, I'd tell Omari to come here so I can make sure he's safe. But the clubhouse is no place for a baby for a full day .

Releasing a frustrated breath when my phone doesn't ring with a call from Pete, I turn to my computer and order the supplies I need for our businesses.

I'm working for close to an hour when the buzzing in my head gets too loud and I can't stand sitting in this office without knowing where Pete is. A knock sounds at my door and I think it's my VP and enforcer with an update. "Come in," I grunt.

Callie peeks inside, a bright smile on her face. I groan, wanting anyone but her in my office. "Hey, Prez."

"What." I don't even try to pretend I'm happy to see her. There is nothing I want from Callie, but she insists on cornering me every chance she gets.

She moseys over, sitting on the edge of my desk. "You don't play with me anymore, Prez. I was wondering if everything was okay."

"What do you want?"

Callie shrugs. "To see if you thought about what I asked. Being exclusive. As your old lady, I would make sure you're happy. You haven't been happy since Christian died." I glare up at her, making her shrink away. "I'm just saying. I can get you out of your slump."

"Get out of my office," I grunt, "before I toss you out. I'm not looking for an old lady. And what makes you think you'd be it? You fuck anything that walks in this place. Get that fucking pipe dream out of your head, Callie. Ain't gonna happen."

She huffs and stomps out of my office, probably to find one of my brothers to fuck.

I call Jace and Zeke to my office.

When they step inside, I asked if they got a bead on our mechanic. Zeke shakes his head. "Nope. I went by his place a few hours ago and the F-350 wasn't there. Chance says he didn't get picked up and thrown into the drunk tank last night. I tried the emergency room, but they said they couldn't give me information on a patient unless I was next of kin. I went up there and sweet talked a nurse to see if he was a patient, but she said there was no one there by his name. So, I got fuck all."

"Same here," Jace adds. "When Pete ain't here, he's at home. He's not at either of those places, so I don't know, Prez."

"Fuck," I mutter, pushing my hair back from my face. "Alright, I'll ride around to see if I spot him. I don't like that he hasn't been in touch."

We clapped palms before I scoop up my helmet, my leather jacket, and my cut. I head outside and, after I put my gear on, I throw my leg over my chopper and start her up.

I drive around town, looking for Pete and letting the wind clear my mind. It's like everything is coming down on me fast and I'm barely keeping afloat as I try to handle everything going on. Christian dying, Elena dying, getting Little Raf, his allergic reaction and ER stay, Omari being beaten and Pete missing. It's like every curve ball that can be thrown at me is hitting its target. I'm not sure how much more I can handle before I break.

I'm not really paying attention to where I'm heading. Just riding and thinking. When I refocus on my surroundings, I find myself on Christian's street, the familiar road sending a pang through my chest. I never thought I'd be back here. Since he died, I've stayed as far away from things that remind me of him as I can—besides the clubhouse.

I'm in for a shock when I drive past Christian's house, intent on paying my respect, but finding Pete's truck there instead.

What is Pete doing here? The club members have been slowly but surely cleaning Christian's house out for resale. Christian made mortgage payments months in advance, so it's not like we've been in a rush. Maybe he's here cleaning?

That doesn't explain why he didn't answer my call or missed his shift looking after my family.

I pull onto the curb and turn my bike off. After I take off my helmet and rest it on the seat of my chopper, I march up to the door, banging on it loudly. After a few seconds, I hear locks disengage and my blood boils. He's been here, fucking chilling, when someone could be after Omari and hurt Little Raf in the process. What could be so important that?—

"Jesus, fuck, hermano. What happened?" I ask Pete when he opens the door. His face is an amalgamation of black and blue, his lip is swollen and his nose has a bandage over the bridge. Where his hair flops over his forehead, I can just make out the white gauze taped there.

He focuses tired and hurt eyes on me, appearing dazed for a few beats. "Prez? What's up?"

"Pete," I growl, pushing past him into the house. "The fuck are you doing here, not answering your fucking phone?" I look for somewhere to sit, but there is no furniture in the living room anymore. I keep walking until I get to the bedroom. I stop dead when I see the state of it.

It's a mess, drawers pulled open and shirts strewn haphazardly across the bed. Even the pillow has a shirt drawn over it, like it's being used as a pillowcase.

I turn around to look at Pete, whose face is blazing red even under his bruising. "What's going on here? Did someone try to steal from Christian's house? Did they attack you after they found you here?" I'm asking questions that don't really make any sense because I can't think of a reason why Pete would look the way he does and Christian's room looks as if a storm blew through it.

Pete's bottom lip trembles as he shakes his head. Then he hisses, leaning heavily against the door jamb as if he can no longer hold up his weight. I move over to him quickly, wrapping an arm around his waist so I can lead him to the bed. He sits on it heavily, then lies down. To my utter shock, he grabs the pillow and pulls it closer to him, his nose tucked into the fabric.

"No one tried to rob this place, Prez," he says, voice muffled by the pillow. "I did this. I needed a shirt that smelled like him. But they all … most of them just smell like detergent."

"Why?" I ask, wondering what I missed.

He huffs a laugh that turns into a sob. "Because I miss him. I miss my boyfriend." Then Pete really breaks, hugging the pillow tight as agonized wails leave his throat.

Without thought, I pull him into my arms, hugging him as he releases all the pent-up pain. Even still, he hugs the pillow with Christian's shirt to his chest.

How did I not see this? How did they keep it hidden from everyone? Why did they keep it hidden? It's not like we're a homophobic bunch and they had to keep their relationship a secret. Why did they not tell anyone?

This must be why Pete has taken Christian's death so hard. We've all been struggling with him not being here with us anymore, but I did find it odd that Pete was so torn up. They were close, but not as close as me and Christian were.

Well, that's not exactly true, is it?

I keep my arms around Pete until he's hiccupping and taking deep breaths. It takes me a moment to realize Pete fell asleep.

Sighing, I ease him from my lap and tuck him into bed, making sure the pillow is under his head. We need to talk, but it can wait until after he's gotten some rest. From the looks of it, he hasn't gotten nearly enough.

Stepping into the hall, I pull my phone out and shoot a quick text to Jace.

Me: Got Pete. He's asleep, but I'm gonna hang out until he wakes up so we can talk.

Jace: Where are you? I can come sit with you.

My finger is poised over the keypad to tell Jace I'm at Christian's, but I stay my hand. This probably ain't something Pete wants everyone to know right now. If I weren't so up in my head, allowing muscle memory to drive me around town, I wouldn't know either. This was obviously a secret and I'll keep it that way until Pete wants to tell or it endangers the club.

Me: Nah, I got it.

I slide my phone back in my pocket and exhale harshly. Then I go to the living room and slide down to the floor.

Christian and Pete. I never pegged either of those as being into each other. They were a lot alike. Pete's a bit younger, in his early thirties, but he's a smart guy, like Christian was. Has his head on straight and is a loyal son of a bitch. They fit. It's probably one of the reasons Pete was interested in tattooing. Christian worked as a piercer in Reaper's tattoo parlor. I'm sure Pete was interested in working there to be closer to his man.

That's a fucking head trip, Pete dating Christian. I need answers on why they thought they couldn't tell the club and why Pete didn't ask for some help dealing with his feelings about shit after Christian died. And most of all, I need to know what the fuck happened to his face.

Blowing out a long, tired breath, I pull my phone back out and text Omari. Dios, this man is why I'm staying sane. Going home to him and Little Raf is what keeps me going every day with so much shit on my mind. Seeing them when I get home after a long day immediately puts me at ease.

Every night Omari presses himself against me, his warm weight grounds me and keeps my head in the present when the nightmares threaten to pull me back. His touch, his taste, his voice, his everything just … makes me feel better than I have in years.

My finger stops above the keyboard as realization hits me. No. It can't be. Can I be … in love with my nanny?

Well, he's more than that. He's mine, so I guess it's not an unheard-of concept. But it's fast. In the grand scheme of things, I've only known Omari for two months.

But Omari doesn't know everything. I haven't told him what a fucking failure I am. He reassures me that I didn't fail him since I didn't know that Brock bitch was a threat, but I knew Papa was. I failed my mother and, by extension, Elena. I can't burden Omari with my feelings then tell him that. He'll leave me and Little Raf.

I'll tell him what happened soon and then he can decide if he wants my love or he wants to leave.

Deciding to dwell on that at a later time, I shoot off a quick text to Omari.

Me: Hey. I might be late getting home. I'm with Pete and he ain't doin' too good. I'll keep you updated .

Then I add another quick text.

Me: Are you okay?

The dots are already dancing at the bottom of the screen when I send the second text.

Omari: That's okay. Is he okay?

Omari: And I'm fine. Me and Little Raf are hanging out with Brian still. He says someone else will be coming over to relieve him soon.

Me: Sounds good. Pete will be okay.

At least I hope so. I feel a certain way that he didn't talk to me about him and Christian. It makes me feel like I failed him as his president. I didn't see that he was hurting so much, that he was feeling this loss so much more than the rest of us. Add Pete to the list of those I failed.

An hour later, just when my ass is screaming at me to move and get some blood flowing, Pete staggers out of the room, his face looking worse and his gait even more off than it usually is.

When he sees me sitting on the floor, he stops and stares. "Figured you'd have left by now," he said is a sleep gravel voice.

"No, hermano. Come sit. We need to talk. "

He blows out a hard breath, but he lowers himself gently to the floor. He hisses when he bends his knee but waves me off when I move to help. "I'm okay, Prez. Someone just got a good shot in."

"Who?" I growl.

Pete looks at me with red eyes and says, "I fight, Prez. Underground. Last night was a tough one and I got my ass beat when my opponent realized my knee was fucked up."

I hiss. "Who is this guy?" I ask, wanting his name so I can fuck him up myself.

With a small smirk, Pete shakes his head. "I don't know, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. It was a fair fight." I cross my arms over my chest. Pete grins at me. "It's kind of weird to see you pout, Prez."

"I'm not fucking pouting," I snarl but he's not buying it. "We gonna talk about the other thing or you gonna pretend you didn't drop a bomb on me?"

Pete sighs, lying on his back on the floor. I do the same, staring up at the ceiling. It takes him a few minutes, but he finally starts speaking. "I don't know how it happened. One day, we were just hanging out and drinking, the next, we're together and in love."

"How long were you together?"

"Almost a year." He glances over at me. "Christian wanted to keep things quiet. Said he liked having me all to himself. And I agreed. Sneaking around was hot." He lets out a shaky laugh. "But that meant every time we were together, it was behind closed doors. My biggest regret is never going on a date with Christian. Never showing the club and the world he was mine."

"I'm sorry," I say around a lump in my throat. "I'm sorry you lost him and I'm sorry I didn't know. I should have."

Pete chuckles sadly. "Nah. We were really fucking discreet. No one knew. I regret that now. "

"What do you need? Is there any way we can help? Any way I can help?"

He exhales. "Yeah. Don't give me shit if you see me beat up? Fighting keeps my mind off shit. And I make pretty good money."

I chuckle. "Maybe you need more training, brother." I roll over and sit up on my knees. "If you're going to do this, you need to keep me in the loop. Tell me when you fight and where it is. If you can't do that, you can't fight." He opens his mouth to speak, but I talk over him. "Glad you agree. Let your face heal up and go back to physical therapy for your knee. It won't be a fucking weak spot for your opponents if you work it out."

Pete rolls his eyes, but nods, sitting up and mirroring my pose. "Your nanny, he's yours, right?" I give a clipped nod, not sure where he's going with that. "That's good. It's good that you claim him out loud. Don't be like me, Prez. Don't live your days with regrets by not living out in the open with him, looking for shirts that smell like him if he's gone. Yeah?"

"Sí, hermano. I won't. Come to me if you need anything. I know I fucked up by not knowing you were in pain. As your president, I should have known. It won't happen again, entendido?"

Pete smiles sadly at me. "You're the best president there is, Prez. I don't blame you. You're always there for us when we need you. I just need to remember I can need you."