Forged: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (2 page)

“So…You’re a player? Nice to meet you…I’m the coach.”

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Rotten eCard

“Dakota, you got your bag, baby?” I ask my seven-year old daughter while juggling the phone that’s cradled to my ear. I don’t know how women do it some days. All this multitasking shit is for the birds.

Looking over at my daughter has me sighing. Sometimes it hurts to look my girls. Like taking a kick to the gut, hurts. It doesn’t help that all three of my baby girls look exactly like their mother, the woman I’ve fucked over more times than I can count either.

My girls are tiny little things. Petite, all long, silky blonde hair with big brown eyes that when they’re sad can make me do just about anything. Yeah, I’m a sucker for their crocodile tears and pouts. It also hurts because I know their beauty that could be taken away from me any minute. I’ve took it for granted that they’d always be here, and albeit I was the one who fucked up and caused myself this pain, it doesn’t change the fact that deep down I’m terrified of losing the people who mean the most to me.

Pounding footsteps on the stairs sound like a heard of baby elephants, letting me know my other girls are up and about. Great, I thought I’d get out of here unhindered this morning, but it looks like we’ll be running late as per usual. I love my daughters to pieces, but if it’s important for me to get out the door on time you can be guaranteed they’ll make it next to impossible. Most days I wouldn’t give a shit if I was running fifteen or twenty minutes late, but today I’ve got shit to do and places to be.

That reminds me that I’ve got Glock still hanging on the line.

“Sorry, brother. The fucking mad house is awake. We still riding at four?”

“Yeah, man. No changes on my end. Everything’s a go based on last I heard,” he replies around a chuckle.

Rolling my eyes skyward, I curse his ass out internally. He’s only got two kids, babies at that. The bastard wouldn’t be laughing if they were walking and talking already. He’d be moaning right beside me.

“Fuck you, asshole. Just you wait. Before long those boys of yours are going to be up and mobile, and then you are really fucked. Wait until they walk out of your bedroom carrying one of Lexi’s toys, asking a room full of bikers why it won’t turn on anymore, and then we’ll see if you’re laughing anymore.”

Yes, that really did happen. And yes, it was to me.

“Can’t wait. I’ll let you go, buddy. I reckon you’ve got about…”

He says just before,

“Daddeeeee,” rings out from the foot of the stairs.

Catching Avery as she launches herself at me, I squeeze her tight, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair at the crown of her head.

“Gotta go. See you soon, brother.” Not waiting for him to reply, I disconnect the call and ask, “Morning, Ree. You sleep well?”

Nodding rapidly she babbles about something or other before answering me.

“Yep, but mommy didn’t. She was crying again last night. Then Nevie started crying, and then Kota got sad but she didn’t cry because she’s nearly all growd up. I didn’t cry either cause I’m a big girl now. They didn’t tell me why they were crying though, daddy. Do you know?”

Jesus. I know I’m hurting my wife, I’ve been doing it long enough you’d think I’d be used to the feeling of sorrow hearing about it cause me. But hearing about it from the mouth of my five-year old does something to me. Something that tears my fucking soul to shreds. Avery telling me bluntly in her sweet voice how I’m hurting her mom and her sisters’ hits home even harder than seeing Tilly cry with my own eyes. Why? Because it’s my fault my kids are having to see the devastation I’m responsible for creating.

Behind Avery, who’s still happily in my arms talking a mile a minute, I can see a sad, stoic looking Dakota, which causes me to cringe internally. The look my seven-year old’s wearing is one that makes me feel two inches tall, and like the piece of shit I’ve proven myself to be. I’m not saying I don’t deserve her ire, because I do. I deserve every bit of her anger and sadness, but that doesn’t mean I like it. In fact I more than dislike it. I fucking hate that I’ve put that look there.

Dakota is a carbon copy of her mother. She’s also a fuck ton more serious than most kids her age. Quieter more introverted, harder to get to know. The trait she’s inherited from Tilly that overshadows the rest however, is her ability to project her pain throughout a room. She doesn’t do it consciously or with the intention of upsetting anyone, but it does nonetheless.

For the longest time, when Kota was younger, I worried about whether she’d make friends because of how reserved she is. I shouldn’t have, she was still so young there was a good chance she’d outgrow it. But any man will tell you that if his baby girl is suffering he is too, which had me desperately trying to work out how to help her through whatever was causing her to act this way.

In the end, it was a fifteen-year old kid, with a fucked up past, problems of his own, and a lifetime of nightmares to overcome that ended up being a godsend when it came to coaxing Kota out of her shell. He’s patient, calm, and more determined than anyone to help her grow into the young lady she was destined to be. Moreover, he doesn’t allow her to live in her head for too long. Cody carefully, but firmly, encourages my daughter to look outside the box she’s happy to put herself in. He makes her take a look around at what she could be a part of if she only tried harder.

I was concerned about the interest Cody showed in Kota at first. I mean, the kid’s fifteen. It didn’t make sense to me that he’d want to hang out with a shy little girl who was just as determined to push him away as he was to get close to her. It was wrong of me to be suspicious of him, because he was just trying to help, but can you blame me? I’m her dad. Any guy spending time with my baby I’m going to be on alert around.

But it was Ade, and the patient way she explained that Cody had first-hand experience with kids like Kota, Emmaline, his sister being the example she offered, that I became able to breathe a little easier. Not a lot, but a little.

“You’ve got to understand, Saint. Cody’s childhood was worse than most. Sure, Nick was there to shield him from a lot of it, but kids hear and see things, regardless of how hard we try to shelter them from it,” Ade said gently.

“What would Reaper do if someone a hell of a lot older than Emma was spending this much time with her?” I enquired, not half as gently as she’d spoken to me. I wasn’t feeling gentle either. I was feeling fucking livid.

Snorting Ade rolls her eyes praying for strength.

“The same damn thing, and you know it. I would be doing the same thing with him as I am with you as well though, Saint. That little girl of yours needs someone in her corner that isn’t you, and isn’t her mother. She needs someone she feels comfortable opening up to, and for whatever reason that’s, Cody. There’s a connection there, and before you say it, no, it’s not an inappropriate one.”

“He’s a teenage boy, Ade. How the fuck do you know what he’s thinking?” I demand of her.

“Because Cody talks to me you, idiot,” Ade snaps back. “At the moment he’s her only friend, and you have the choice to accept that or break her heart. She’s attached to him, Saint. She doesn’t know why or how it happened, but she views him as a safe person to confide in, and she needs that right now. With everything going on around her she needs a safe place to land, and that place is Cody. He would never hurt her. He sees too much of himself in her to do that. The thing is, he’s in the best position to guide her in a way that will hopefully help her to become less self-contained.”

I didn’t like it. I really didn’t like it, but I love my daughter and I wanted the best for her. If allowing her to spend time with a boy that had seen atrocities I don’t even want to think about helped her, then who was I to stand in her way. I certainly wasn’t in the position to do anymore for her than I already was, so why not let him try.

For the most part Cody hasn’t managed to help change the way Kota interacts with people, but she’s no longer shying away from answering my questions, which she had been doing regularly before. More often than not, we’re met with a glare or one word response from her now, but at this point I’ll take what I can get.

Avery, my middle child and borderline ADHD, extroverted diva is the polar opposite of her sister. Not only does she have absolutely no fucking filter, which is entertaining most of the time, she’s got no problems with putting two hundred and fifty pound, forty-plus year old bikers in their place. And just between you and me, they think it’s fucking hilarious that my little diva gives them sass and orders them about. They won’t admit it, but it makes their day on the odd occasions I bring her to the clubhouse with me.

Nevaeh, or Nevie as Avery calls her, is only two, but I’ve already got the impression my baby’s going to be more like her oldest sister, Kota, than Avery. Nevie is quiet, almost too quiet. She rarely cries. She isn’t demanding, and most of the time you’ll find her curled up on her mom or Reaper’s lap during a club get together instead of having fun and enjoying playing with the other kids. Why Reaper of all people I’ll never know, but my little girl loves that big hard ass biker to death, and she’s not afraid to use tears to stop anyone from separating them when it’s time for her to go. Nevie is also the only one of my girls I’ve actively had to work daily at building a relationship with, and I still am.

When everything started to go to shit in mine and Tilly’s relationship, which was before Nevie was even born, I’ve felt myself drifting further away from my girls. It didn’t help that it was during one of our worst periods that Nevie was born, or that Tilly’s labor and Nevie’s delivery was so traumatic the images still haunt me to this day.

Tilly went into labor with Nevaeh on time, a day early I think. Where most labors build up over time and you get notice your kid is coming into the world, Nevaeh was born inside of twenty minutes. The speed and trauma left Tilly hemorrhaging so badly I had to make the call for the doctors to remove one of Tilly’s fallopian tubes in order to save her life.

Apparently the damage was caused when her fallopian tube ruptured while she was giving birth. They don’t know why, and they’ve never been able to give us a clear understanding as to what went wrong. All I can remember from that day was the blood, so much fucking blood. It was everywhere. I’ll admit I had a fucking meltdown when they wheeled my wife away from me. As in, totally fucking psychotic, screaming, crying meltdown. It didn’t matter how many times they insisted they weren’t taking her from me, that they were trying to save her life, I couldn’t process what was going on. All I could see was my wife, and more blood than I thought the human body held all over the floor, the bed, and her.

I didn’t leave Tilly’s side until she opened those gorgeous eyes of hers, and I could see for myself she’d be alright. I didn’t leave once, not even to visit Nevie in the nursery. I should have, I know that, but I just couldn’t bring myself to welcome the baby that may have killed her mother into the world. Was it wrong of me to think that way? Yes, but that didn’t change how I felt at the time.

It’s been a long road to get Nevie to acknowledge me with any kind of interest other than the occasional glance to see I’m still there. She knows I’m her dad. She knows I love her. And she also knows I’d do anything and everything for her, or at least I hope she does. But what she doesn’t know, and she never will if I have a choice, is that I resented her with a burning passion the day she was born, and it took a lot of work for me to get past that.

Resenting one of my kids isn’t something I thought I’d ever be capable of, and deep down I know I didn’t resent her so much as I did myself, and what could have happened because I wanted another child. I begged, pleaded, and demanded Tilly give me another baby. Most of it was due to me being a selfish asshole and liking to see her rounded with my babies, but the other part was because I thought it might fix what’s broken with us. I thought that having another baby would make that weakening bond between us stronger. But like everything else lately, I was wrong about that too. It didn’t fix anything with us, if anything it put an even bigger strain on us.

Breaking me out of that disturbing memory Dakota’s replies, all the while still moving toward the front door.

“I’ve got my bag, dad. Kenny said she’d pick me up on her way past before she drops Kane and Cody at school.”

Kendall’s been picking Dakota up two days a week for the last two months at Kota’s request. She likes spending the drive to school with Cody, and seeing as she rarely asks for anything I can’t bring myself to say no to her.