Page 64 of Retribution

“Yes. This is good. I don’t think you’ll suck at this as much as I thought you would,” he says.

There’s no other way for me to drive other than to hold her, and I feel awful about it the entire way. Thankfully, there’s not much traffic out here, and the biker rides in front of me. No one blinks as I drive behind him through the gates with a baby in my arms and a biker princess in my goddamned trunk.

This was not the day I thought I would be having. I have a long drive ahead of me with Brea and a baby now.

Parking the car, I hum to the baby and realize I’m still wearing the mask on my face. Can babies get scared of masks?

Shoving my seat back, I cradle the baby in my arms to see what her reaction is.

“We’re going to feed, change you, and then see where we land. Okay, sweet girl?” I murmur, pushing open the car door and grabbing the diaper bag.

The baby, while fussy, doesn’t scream at my mask, and I choose to view that as a win. I only know Devon. I refuse to show my face to the rest of his club.

“Isolde,” he says, running up to me.

“I have to get her fed and comfortable before you can ask for a debrief,” I say, standing. “Can you turn my car off and grab my phone?”

“Ah, yes,” he says, glancing down at the baby in my arms.

“This is your fault by the way, so get moving,” I snarl. I don’t care if he’s the president at this moment. Devon better get on the same page as I am right fucking now.

As soon as I’m out the door, he leans in to turn off the SUV and grab my phone.

“I need a guard on the car. I have Brea in the trunk,” I say.

“Got it,” he says, looking around.

“Not a prospect,” I add. “They were all asleep at Reaping Marauders after their party. It was child’s play killing them.”

“Barely a challenge, huh,” he commiserates. “Martyr! Come watch her car. I don’t want you to say that it’s a prospect’s job or I’ll let her carve you up. You’re the babysitter today of her car and cargo.”

The alpha who came out to see me at the rival’s club house pales as he hurries over.

“She’s fucking scary,” Martyr says. “Using her to threaten me isn’t very nice.”

“Well, I don’t feel nice at the moment,” Devon says. “Did you find this kid in the clubhouse?”

We’re already walking away and into the building, and while a few people flinch at my face, he doesn’t. Devon knows that I need my privacy.

“Elaine, I need some help,” he calls out as he walks through the main living room area. There are couches all over, a couple of pool tables, and best of all?

The floor isn’t sticky.

A woman who is in her fifties hustles over to us, questions in her eye.

“She’s hungry,” I explain. “I need to see if there is formula in the diaper bag, but I don’t know the first thing about making a bottle.”

Elaine tilts her head in even more confusion, but Devon growls under his breath.

“Let’s look,” she says instead of asking anything, gesturing toward the couches. Dropping the diaper bag beside me, I pull my go bag over my head with a wince as well.

Immediately, I check for a wet diaper and find that her diaper is soaked.

“I’d be pissed off too if my diaper was wet,” I mutter, laying her down on the couch as I move over.

Her body is still on the blanket, and I scowl at Devon.

“No one has fucked on this couch recently,” he sighs. “Elaine makes everyone clean up after themselves too.”