DECK

After leaving my dickhead brother behind, Shiloh and I spent the rest of the drive singing ‘Midnight Rider’ by the Allman Brothers. Well, I sang most of it while my baby girl sang about not letting them catch the midnight rider. Jason didn’t like that his niece sang so-called biker songs instead of songs about bananas running around in fucking pyjamas. God knew I’d tried at first to sing that shit to her when she was tiny, but with ten ex-soldiers turned bikers around to help raise her—well, that shit flew out the window pretty quick. My girl loved the hard shit with some classic rock thrown in for good measure.

“Shiloh, stay in your seat until I stop the car.” My scold came out harsher than I’d intended, but she was developing a bad habit, and unlike her cursing—which didn’t really bother me all that much yet—this was something I had to knock on the head, pronto!

“Buts, Daddy, my Harley.” Damn, my girl was fucking cute. Do not smile, Deck. Do not smile, I repeated to myself as I turned around to see the big blue eyes so much like mine filling with tears. Ignore them. Stay on mission.

“Shiloh, you have to wait until I stop the car, okay? If you get hurt, baby girl, Daddy will never be happy ever again. Do you want Daddy to be sad?” Yeah, and I just grew a fucking vagina. Throwing open my door, I cursed myself as I walked around to unbuckle Shiloh so she could finally go ride the pink hog she coveted more than anything in the world—well, that and her black shitkickers.

Leaning in, I peppered her cheek with kisses, making her giggle.

Then her little hands were on my cheeks, holding me still, her expression serious. “Me’s don’t want you to be sad, Daddy. I’s sowwy.” Gracing my nose with a wet slobbery kiss, my beautiful baby girl broke the spell with her next comment. “Don’t be a pussy, Daddy. Now move. I’s gots to go!”

Releasing my child from the truck, I could only watch in shock as she took off as fast as her little legs could carry her, her tiny little hand raised above her head in a one-finger salute.

“Fuck me,” I muttered as I took off after her. Maybe it was time to find a better babysitter than fucking Darth.

 

————

 

“Brother.”

Smiling, I gestured for Booth, my best friend and our club’s president, to sit and join me. The big fucker was apparently good-looking according to the club girls who hung out at the compound for party nights such as tonight. To me, he was my best friend, my ex-commanding officer, and the man I’d helped form the Wounded Souls MC. A home for our commando special forces team. A team of ten men I could never be without, each one of us wounded in some way, the horrors of war our common bond. Another being our tight friendships.

“Booth, how’s it hanging?” I asked as I accepted the bottle from him that he’d brought over for me. Putting it to my lips, I took a pull of the cold amber liquid.

“A little to the left, Deck, and in need of some emptying,” he joked back.

“Well, there are plenty to choose from, Pres. Some of these chicks are hot and not too bad at all. There are a few I have never seen before.”

I wasn’t wrong. The party at the compound was in full swing with music blaring from the state-of-the-art surround sound system, drinks and food flowing freely, and women dancing and shaking what their mothers had given them, trying hard to attract the attention of a brother. Any brother.

Booth nodded his head in agreement as his eyes roamed the large main room we held parties in. The compound used to be a youth detention centre for boys. On the outside, there were ten-foot-high concrete walls, and inside, it was mostly open-plan living spaces. A ten-metre-long bar with stools took up a good portion of the main room. Dotted around the room were all different types of comfortable chairs, couches, and coffee tables. Behind the sitting area was a dance floor—nothing spectacular just a dimly lit area where a brother could take a woman to have an intimate dance or even a fast one. I didn’t dance, so it didn’t worry me either way. Then, over nearer to the kitchen area was a big old dining table able to seat twenty people. It was old and scarred just like the men who sat down at it to eat.

 “Yeah, brother, they are, but to tell the truth, Deck, I’m plain not interested.”

Something in his voice had my radar perked. “What’s up, Pres?”

If there was one thing I knew about Lieutenant Vincent Booth, he didn’t like to share his personal feelings very often, so when he did, he needed advice.

When he cast his glance towards the kitchen door, I noticed his narrowed glare.

“Just want something different, Sarge. Nothing to worry about.”

I watched as my friend sculled the remainder of his beer and shook off his melancholy mood. A skill all ten of us were good at. Feelings could sometimes hurt you, but sometimes, they were fucking awesome. Thoughts of the lovely Charlie invaded my mind.

“So”—he nodded towards the ever-present baby monitor sitting on the coffee table—“Little Miss Squirt was excited about a present from Darth tonight. Know what it was?”

“No, she wouldn’t show me. Apparently, it’s a secret until tomorrow,” I said, looking at the monitor, the small screen showing us my baby girl sound asleep in her bed in her room where someone threw up pink everywhere. And I did mean everywhere! Different shades of the fucking colour covered everything. A full-blown castle cubby house was even painted pink and then covered in pink glitter. Shiloh’s bed was four feet off the floor and was a massive thing with curtains and shit floating around it just like Cinderella’s bed. Shaking my head, I looked at the screen one last time to make sure Shiloh was indeed asleep when my eyes stopped on the only non-pink item in her room.

“What in the fuck?” I squinted, looking harder because there was no way I was seeing what I was seeing.

Booth leaned in to check out what I was looking at. His eyes grew wide for a second then he let out a bellow of a laugh, which I quickly joined him.

“Fucking Darth,” we both said at the same time.

Suddenly, my attention was on a little blonde piece giving me a come-hither look. Picking up the monitor, I clipped it to my belt as I stood up.

“’Scuse me, Booth. I believe I’m on a mission.”

It was time to get laid. It might not have been the sweet Charlie, but a man couldn’t have all the luck.

 

————

 

The next morning, I found myself in the kitchen later than usual. Today, I wanted to take Shiloh to day care. Normally, it would be Darth taking her, and then he either met me at the work site or would go to the gun shop and range with Booth. But not today. Today, I wanted to see if my reaction to the sweet Charlie was real and something I wanted to pursue, or if it was just a fluke. Last night hadn’t gone quite the way I wanted. The cute blonde didn’t have much in the way of conversation skills and was really only interested in one thing. Now, normally, that would be fucking A-OK with me, but something was off with me since laying eyes on Shiloh’s dance teacher.

Pushing my hands over my closely buzzed head, I blew out a frustrated breath. I’d really, really wanted to get laid last night. My blue ball problem was turning purple pretty goddamned quick.

Shaking any more thoughts of my dick and lack of using it out of my head, I turned to the sound of my giggling daughter making her way into the kitchen, with Darth not far behind her making stupid as fuck growling sounds. To anyone else not privy to life in the compound, seeing a six-foot-six bloke—who was built like a brick shithouse and had a man bun and long scar running down one side of his face, thanks to a deranged ex-comrade—chasing after a tiny little girl—whom, I might add, was giggling her little head off with the cutest sounding giggle ever—would seem strange. But surprisingly, it wasn’t.

But… what I did find a little, shall we say, disturbing, was my beautiful Shiloh, who was dressed in her usual pink leotard, tutu, and black shitkickers, and had her hair up in her ‘ballerina bun,’ and now had a new addition to her outfit—a black leather gun belt and a pink handled imitation pistol.

Placing the bowl of cereal on the table, I reached down and lifted the squirt up into her highchair. Although Shiloh was three and was old enough to sit on a booster chair, we discovered the hard way that Shiloh wasn’t one to sit still while eating. Much like her penchant for releasing herself from her car seat, she would do the same at the table. After two trips to the ER for stitches in her forehead, the booster seat had been taken out back and used for target practice. Enough said.

“Wanna explain, brother?” I asked as I watched him pour a sippy cup of juice. Another lesson we had learnt early on. Don’t give Shiloh a normal cup!

Raising his brow, I was given a ‘what the fuck you talking about’ look. I didn’t bother answering. I just gave a brow lift of my own. After a few minutes of silent staring and Shiloh eating her cereal, I gave up.

“Whatever, but I swear to Christ, Darth, this time, you’re taking the fucking phone call from the day care administrator,” I warned, and I was deadly serious. The last time the school called me in, I was faced with my adorable three-year-old sitting in the office waiting for me with a face full of camouflage face paint.

“Come on, baby girl. Daddy is taking you today,” I announced, ignoring the questioning look from the big man.

“But, Daddy, Darf needs to comes, too.”

Hanging my head, I prayed for patience. Why can’t my girl just accept everything I say without question? A totally reasonable question, right?

“But, baby, Daddy is taking you today.” I tried again because I didn’t want the big fucker to lay eyes on my sweetness. For some fucking reason, the ladies found the ugly brute irresistible. Turning to my daughter, I was faced with blue eyes filling with tears. Fuck me. So that was how I ended up sitting next to Darth in my truck with my daughter whistling along to ‘Patience’ by Guns N’ Roses. Enough said.