Badge by K.L. Savage
Present Day
Oh my fucking god.
“Shut the hell up!” I throw the pillow over my head to try and muffle the sounds of babies crying. Multiple fucking babies. It’s all I hear these days. In the middle of the night, every night, they yell and scream at the top of their lungs. They are never happy.
Ever.
I remember a time when that was my life. But that was before the death of my daughter and my divorce.
No. I can’t think about that. All of that is locked down deep. My heart is a vault. Nothing and no one will ever be able to unlock it again. I learned my lesson the first time.
With the past pushed away, another wail comes from the other side of the wall. I grumble in annoyance and flip to my stomach, nearly smothering myself with the pillow.
“Oh, I know sweetie. I know.” A sweet, soft, radio-sultry voice comes from that side of the wall too, a voice that has parts of me coming alive in ways I thought were forgotten. I can’t even think about going there.
One, she’s way too young.
Two, she’s Bullseye’s daughter.
Three, she has a daughter of her own.
And I swore to myself a long time ago I’d never get involved with kids again. I’m not made for it. I’m mentally too broken and weak to deal with the heartache of kids.
“What is it? What do you need?” Hope begs her daughter, her voice muted from the barrier between us. Like an idiot, I turn my head and poke my ear out from under the pillow to listen in. “Please, I don’t know,” she begins to cry too. “I don’t know what you want.”
“Shit,” I sigh with annoyance. I throw the blankets off my body and sit up. I’m never going to be able to sleep again with everyone in the clubhouse popping out babies left and right. Maybe it’s time I see about living in one of the cabins. I like my peace and quiet.
I exhale, rubbing my hand down my face, then reach for the room temperature bottle of water on my nightstand. I take off the cap and toss it to the trash can, then guzzle the last half of it down and stretch, listening to both Hope and Faith crying.
So many fucking tears in this house. Jesus, when did the Kings become a bunch of damn babysitters? Back in my day, when I was with Taz, we didn’t do this family-making business. I was done with that.
When I brought Poodle out to Vegas after finding him covered in his wife’s blood and with his daughter Ellie missing, I knew I had to bring him here for a new start. I had to get him out of Oklahoma. And when we got here, I knew I had found my new home. I had to get away too. Not that anyone knew that, but it felt good here. I’ll forever be indebted to Taz and the guys down there, but Vegas truly felt like home. I found myself with a new family here—a family that didn’t involve having fucking kids. We are vicious and we do what it takes, but now everyone is turning into fathers and becoming a bunch of fucking marshmallows.
I stand and stretch, then march out the door, tired and grumpy. I head toward the liquor cabinet and grab a bottle, take a swig, then screw the cap back on before heading to Hope’s door.
I pound my fist against the door with an impatient huff. The door swings open. Hope is standing there puffy-eyed with wet cheeks, and damn it, my hardened soul caves in a little. Her eyes are so fucking big and wide. Almost too big for her face. I can’t tell if they are blue or green, but they are beautiful. Her lashes are wet from tears, long curly spikes framing them. Her cheeks are rosy, but it’s the dark circles that tell me it isn’t just me losing sleep.
“Badge, I’m so sorry,” she starts with exhaustion, pinching the top of her nose. “I’m trying everything. I didn’t mean to wake you. I think it’s time I ask Reaper if we move to a cabin. I keep waking you—”
“—I’m not here to bitch. I’m here to ask if you need help,” I grunt, interrupting her.
God, she’s pretty. All that long blonde hair is piled in a mess on top of her head. Even when she’s completely exhausted, she’s gorgeous. Her body is made for my hands, I just know it.
She’s got thick hips and perfect curves. Her stomach isn’t perfectly flat because she just had a baby, but in my opinion, women need a little meat on their bones.
The baby lets out another wail and Hope closes her eyes, her chin trembling. The front of her shirt becomes wet with two big spots from lactating, a reaction to her daughter’s cry.
“I’m so sorry. How embarrassing.” She covers herself up with her hands. “I’ve changed her, rocked her, she won’t latch. I’ve tried everything. I just… I can’t—” She has to raise her voice as the crying gets louder.
Before Faith can wake up the entire damn house, I welcome myself inside her room and close the door. “It’s milk. It’s okay. It’s natural. I’m not put off by the natural use of breasts.” Even though hers are perfect. Another thought I need to keep to myself.
Ever since Hope came here, I’ve been grumpier. It isn’t her fault, but I don’t want to want her.
I peer down at the little spawn lying in the crib, her face red from screaming her lungs out. Good lord, she’s loud. “I don’t want to insult you, but have you tried bottle feeding? I know you’re only breastfeeding, which is great, but maybe she’s in the mood for something else.”
Hope gasps, then scoffs. “Excuse me? My milk is fine.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t, but babies are fucking weird, okay? Maybe the tit ain’t cutting it for her right now.”
“The tit? Do you have any class?”
I lift a brow at her. “No. Go get a bottle.”
She stands there and stares at me, crossing her arms in defiance. If it were any other day and any other woman, I’d bend her over my damn knees and paint her ass red with my palm.
“Go on. She isn’t going to stop crying by herself.”
“You’re so rude,” Hope grumbles before spinning on her heel and heading out the door.
I slide my arms under Faith and flashbacks hit me hard, nearly taking my breath away.
This baby is alive. She isn’t Amber.
“Hey, little lady,” I grumble, my breath hitching as her tiny body fits in the space I create with my arms.
I’ve missed this.
No. No, I have not. I can’t miss it. I’m not allowed to.
“I need you to stop crying. Yes, I do. I have a big first day to start in about—” I glance at my watch, “—Six hours, and your screams are pissing me off to no end.” I keep my voice soft and gentle, a sound no one else will ever be able to hear. “Yes, it is. So you need to tell me what the deal is.” I sit down in the rocker and press her hot cheek against my chest.
She doesn’t have a fever. She’s hot from getting herself all worked up.
“You don’t like your mom’s milk factories? Why? They are pretty freaking great, if you ask me, but for—different reasons. So never mind.” I begin to rock and close my eyes. “You know, you’d be cuter if it weren’t for the pair of lungs on you. Life ain’t that bad. When you get older, you’ll see. Right now, you can’t do anything for yourself. You’re weak, but you’ll grow up and you’ll be able to wipe your own ass. Hopefully. Good lord, if you can’t, something went wrong.”
She wails, her lips trembling every time she sucks in a breath.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t fair of me.” I lift her higher on my chest and begin to pat her back, taking another breath as that vault inside me threatens to unlock. I haven’t held a baby in so long. Not since I experienced the worst pain of my life. It all seems like it was another life. Sometimes I don’t even think it was me, but a different man somehow.
She lets out a pretty manly burp and l lean her back so I can look at her. “That was impressive, little lady.”
It isn’t enough to stop the path of destruction she’s on.
“I know you have another one in you. Come on,” I yawn, continuing to rock and pat at the same time. “I know this sucks, but your mom is doing the best she can. Not even moms can read minds. Hell, I’m only guessing here.” A second later, a rotten stink fills the room, and a gurgle escapes her, which would probably be equivalent to an adult moan if she could form words. “Oh, you’re a stinker, aren’t you?” Her face is red, and her little fists are bunched up as another little ripple shakes her diaper.
That makes me toss my head back and laugh. I haven’t seen a face like that in ages.
When was the last time I laughed? I don’t even know.
I stand up and in three strides I lay her on the changing table and unclip her onesie that says, ‘I’m the prettiest girl in the world.’
“Yeah, you’re alright,” I smirk. She’s fucking adorable, but I’ll never admit that out loud. If I do, then that’s like saying my little Amber wasn’t the prettiest girl in the world, and that’s just not true.
I get a new diaper, wipes, power, and get to work while Hope fixes a bottle. I’m starting to think this stinker is just a gas ball with an upset tummy. My brows hit my hairline when I see the amount of… goo.
And it’s green.
“I know your mom can’t wait until you wipe your own ass, because this is nasty.”
Faith giggles, kicking her legs in the air.
“Yeah, you think it’s funny because you don’t have to clean it up right now, but let me tell you something, you can’t be doing this when your older, because what if you’re in public? And there isn’t a bathroom around? I’m telling you, you’re going to wish you had a diaper or you’re left shitting your pants in front of a crowd. I’m not talking from experience.” I toss the dirty diaper in the trashcan next to the changing table, wipe her and get her clean, then toss that.
She giggles again.
“Don’t laugh at me. I prefer not to talk about that time in my life.” I twist the cap of the baby powder and wince when I accidentally cover her entire bottom half with it. “Oops.”
She kicks and smiles.
“Well, that’s what you get for making fun of me. You get to look like a powdered donut.” I lift her legs and shove the diaper under her butt, then hook the tabs together. “There. You’re good as new and you don’t smell. It’s a win-win.” I make sure to wipe off the baby power from her legs and stomach, then place her on my chest again and sit in the rocker.
“I’m sorry it took so long. I tried to pump too but nothing is coming out. You might be right—” She stops mid-step when she sees us. “She isn’t crying. What did you do?” Hope asks with excitement.
“Ah, nothing. We talked. She burped, then shit—” I see Hope flinch at my words, but I’m trying to make sure not to give her a reason to like me.
I’m not likable.
“And now we are waiting for a bottle cause she’s still antsy.” I hold out my hand and Hope hands me the warm milk. I eye her shirt, still wet, and jut my chin to the bathroom. “Go change. I have her. I don’t mind. And don’t ask if I’m sure.” I stop her before she can. “Or I’ll just hand her over and go to fucking bed.”
“Will you not curse around her, please?”
“No. She’s in a biker club and she’s too young to know what I’m saying.”
Hope scoffs and opens the drawer to grab a shirt. “You’re stuck in your ways,” she mumbles.
“Yep,” I agree with her.
I’m really not. I just want everyone to hate me because I deserve to be hated.
I rub the nipple across Faith’s lips and a second later she latches on, sucking the milk down like a champ. “Yeah, I bet you are hungry after that mess. I can’t wait until you’re older. I’m gonna tease you for this moment so much and embarrass you. Oh, yeah. It’s happening.” While she eats, I relax against the chair and rock.
My eyes catch the mirror leaning against the wall where I can see Hope’s reflection as she changes.
I look away, but my eyes come back like the bad person that I am. Her blonde hair cascades down her back, falling out of the bun she had going on. Damn, she’s pretty. I can’t get over how Bullseye can have a daughter as gorgeous as Hope.
It’s mind-blowing.
Her hair is light blonde, darker at the root, and has small natural waves. She gathers her hair again and places it on top of her head, a few pieces loose and hanging down. Her back looks soft and flawless and the dip of her waist is a gorgeous curve, her hips so wide and thick I can imagine gripping them and—
“—And nothing.” I blink and stare down at the near-empty bottle. I throw a burp rag over my shoulder and pat her back again. It isn’t long before she’s puking up milky spit. I clean her off and lie her down in the crib then turn on her mobile. It has little stars hanging from it, which sends a pang straight to my heart. An image of Amber’s door flashes through my mind and I press my hand against Faith’s chest.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel the tiny heartbeat at work. “You’ll be okay, stinker. You’ll be fine.” I turn away and take my hand off her, missing Amber so much I feel the need to run away and start my life all over again.
I don’t think I can be around all these kids. I don’t have it in me.
As much as I hate them.
I love them.
“Wow, you’re a natural.” Hope comes from the bathroom wearing skintight leggings showcasing her gorgeous, thick thighs that brush together.
She’s wearing a crop top now, proudly showing off her stomach—which she should, since she’s the sexiest damn woman I’ve laid eyes on in a very long time. She’s got a few stretch marks too, from carrying Faith, which only adds to the sex appeal.
What’s better than a woman’s body changing for the biggest, best change of their life?
I want to kiss every mark and hope my touch drives her wild.
“It’s nothing,” I grunt and head to the door. “Maybe next time try burping her. And she liked the bottle. Nothing against your tits. I’m sure they are just tired of working and being gnawed on to death.”
Hope tries not to crack a smile, but I turn around and walk away, giving her my back. “Thank you, Badge. For helping. I was very overwhelmed. I guess I didn’t burp her hard enough. I’m always so afraid to hurt her.”
I stop for a second. Most people would say something like, “Ah, babies are stronger than they look.”
But they aren’t.
They are weak.
“You should be afraid,” I mutter instead.
Her eyes ignite with a million questions.
I leave before she gets the nerve to ask one and head back to my room. I close my door, lean my back against it, and press my palms against my eyes as they begin to burn. I can’t do that again. I can’t help Hope. It threatens everything I’ve built within myself. In two strides, I’m by my bed and I sit down, the mattress dipping from my weight.
With shaking hands, I open the drawer to the nightstand and reach inside to grab the book I read to Amber. It’s in pristine condition, the edges a bit worn, but it has only been opened a handful of times.
I open the book and a picture of us stares me in the face. We’re in the hospital and I’m holding her for the first time.
A tear drips from my cheek and hits the page. I press the book to my chest and lie down on the bed, close my eyes and dream about the life I would have had if I hadn’t lost her.
That’s the life I want.
That’s the life I need.
