twenty-nine
There came a time in a man’s life when he had to take the road less traveled. Blake Mahone, president of the Spartan Riders, put up two middle fingers at that. He wasn’t a pussy, and neither were his men. Come to think of it, neither was his wife.
They were all a bunch of proven ball busters who stood up to any challenge that stepped to them, and they stood tall and stared it right in the eyes, daring it to make the first move.
Many times, it could have gotten them all killed. Shit, there were a few moments it almost had. But their efforts, their bravery, finally paid off. Peace at last, peace at last! At least, Blake prayed that was the case. For the first time, he was feeling hopeful that this was the end of the drama. The seemingly never ending piles of shit that kept showing up at his doorstep. He was so over it.
While he didn’t like the man one bit, Blake had to admit to himself that he was grateful the son of a bitch, Manuel Contreras, had turned state’s evidence. That meant he got off with a slap on the wrist, bullshit warning instead of the life sentence he deserved, but considering the exponential benefits that would pay off in spades from that single act alone, who could really complain?
He was aware that the time might come around again to deal with the guy, when they might have to take him off the streets permanently, assuming the FEDs didn’t beat them to the punch, but that was down the road a ways, and Blake was eager to get back to a normal life and enjoy his kids and his wife. It felt like centuries had passed without something fucked-up happening. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed worry free.
Peeking into the nursery, Blake watched his babies sleep for a moment, listening to the soft whisper of breath pass through their lips, monitoring the gentle rise and fall of their chests, before he was satisfied that everything was okay and they didn’t need him anymore tonight.
Then he made his way a few feet farther down the hall, stopping in front of the door he’d frequented more than any other, and twisted the handle.
Ash’s head lifted from the book he had his nose buried in when Blake stepped inside. “What are you still doing up?” Blake asked as he approached the side of the bed. Ash moved over, making room for him to sit beside him. Slinging an arm around his little shoulders, Blake took a look at the book in his lap. “This old thing again? Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
Tipping his head back, Ash smiled up at him. “It’s my favorite,” he said, his words a little slurred from the gap where two front teeth had recently fallen out. “Will you read it to me?”
Blake cringed inside. He wasn’t illiterate, but he sure felt like it sometimes. Being dyslexic wasn’t something he liked to make known, and reading was something he avoided like the plague because it made him feel weak and ignorant. But when his son asked, how could he say no?
Taking the book from his mini-hands, Blake mused, “The Mouse and the Motorcycle… One day, we’ll have to get you a new copy.” He ran a finger over the frayed binding, thinking of how many times they’d read it—twenty? Thirty? More?
“I like this one, Dad.” Ash brushed his hand away and opened the book to the first page, impatient to start.
Blake smiled and dropped a quick kiss on the top of his head. “Any chance we can get this mop cut anytime soon?” he asked of Ash’s way-too-fucking-long hair that was, apparently, in vogue at the moment. He already knew the answer, though.
“Nope. Gabby said maybe I can get purple in it this week…” He cast those dark eyes so much like Blake’s, sometimes he felt like he was looking at his younger self, up at him. “If you say I can.”
Purple? Blake tried to picture what that would look like and didn’t like the idea one damn bit. What was he doing, turning emo? Christ.
“Sure, buddy,” he said readily, the words some of the hardest he’d ever said. But despite his reservations, it didn’t matter what he wanted, right? It was just hair, and the kid had a right to express himself however he wanted. As long as he wasn’t out there killing people and running drugs or guns or women. Yeah, it could always be worse. Hair was nothing, a phase, and Ash would grow out of it. Or maybe he wouldn’t. But he was a good kid, and that’s what mattered most.
Time to bite the hated bullet. He hoped Ash knew how much he loved him because he sure as hell wouldn’t be doing this for anyone else.
As they got on reading about little Ralph and his fancy new—stolen—motorcycle, slow as the progress may be, Blake bookmarked the memory in his head because Ash was growing up way too damn fast, and there wouldn’t be many more moments like this with him. Sure, he had more kids that he could do the same with, but Ash was his first baby, and that was pretty special, even to a hardcore, badass biker like him. Snort.
He wasn’t sure how badass he was these days, considering he’d become about as soft as a marshmallow since Gabby entered his life, but he was cool with that. This new life was fucking phenomenal, better than any dream his twisted up brain could have drummed up on its own.
When he finished reading the last page, Blake started to close the book, only to have Ash’s little boy hand flatten down the middle. “Read it again?” he asked, his voice sleepy.
Blake didn’t hesitate. Flipping to the front again, he started from the top, the words coming a little easier this time. Maybe because he’d read it so many times, most of it was coming from memory.
“He’s sweet when he’s asleep.”
Blake stopped mid-sentence and looked up at his beautiful wife smiling at him from the doorway. “Hey, teach, what’re you doing up?”
She came farther into the room, one hand cradling her rounded belly as she took a seat at the foot of the bed. She looked tired but good—glowing. “You know I can’t sleep unless you’re beside me.”
He did know that, and it made him want to thump his chest with pride. His woman still needed him after all this time, even if it was just to warm her ice-cold feet.
“I’ll be in as soon as I finish up here,” he told her.
She tilted her head. “I think he’s done.”
Blake looked down at Ash and, sure enough, the kid was dead to the world. Closing the book, Blake set it aside and slid carefully out of the bed, easing Ash’s slumped body down onto the pillow and pulling the blankets over him so he’d be comfortable.
Then he turned to Gabby and said, “I’m glad you’re awake,” with a wink and a toothy grin.
Her tired eyes brightened, and she popped up to her feet as fast as her unbalanced body allowed. “I call top this time.”
Blake pouted as he followed her out of the room and closed the door behind him. “You always get top,” he whispered.
“So? Do you know how many times I was bottom? I’ve paid my dues, baby. Top.”
Damn, he couldn’t argue that. Not one bit. Not that he ever would. Her on top was a total pleasure. But he had to give her a hard time. That’s what a good husband did, right?
“As if it’s a hardship,” he said, slapping her ass hard as he closed them in their room. She yelped and jumped, spinning on him with an accusatory look in her eyes.
“You brute.”
Blake stalked toward her. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it, teach. I’ll slap that ass anytime I want, and you’ll love every second of it.”
She didn’t even try to argue, because she knew it was true. Instead, Gabby met him in the middle of the room, reached down to gather the material of her nightgown, and slowly pulled it up over her head, bearing her naked body to him.
Blake took a moment to feast his eyes on her voluptuous form. She’d added a few pounds with each of their children, and he loved her shape even more now than he did when they first met. “You’re so sexy,” he breathed, the mounting hunger in his voice evident. Although, the way his dick punched against the slit in his boxers, searching for the easy out, he figured she already knew how much he wanted her.
Her hands touched his chest then slid up, fingers combing through the light dusting of hair to his shoulders then back to cup the base of his head. Her lips grazed his as she lifted onto her toes and said huskily, “Then kiss me like you mean it.”
As Blake dove into the kiss, crushing her lips and grabbing two handfuls of ass as he walked her backward toward the bed, he thought, damn, life shouldn’t be this good, but he’d earned it. They’d all earned it. Right now, as he was making love to his woman, he knew his brothers were probably doing the same.
Taco had his little family that was growing every day. Repo had finally found his home with Red and their baby—better late than never. Country and Talia were reunited again, and Blake had no doubt the two would work things out. If ever any two people had been made for each other, it was them. Circumstances be damned, they could and would overcome every obstacle. And Moose, that cocky motherfucker, found himself a good one the day he met and decided to take a chance on Angel. Thinking of how he’d come to him earlier that day, expressing his intentions and asking permission warmed Blake’s black heart. Yeah, the Spartan family was growing by the day, and their bonds tighter than ever.
Although the future had yet to be written, and he couldn’t be certain how long the calm waters would last, Blake knew one thing: no matter what happened, theirs was a brotherhood of men who had each other’s backs, through thick and thin, from now until the end of their days, and that shit was unbreakable, unbeatable, and everlasting.
The End.
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