Page 68 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

PARKER

“ G et out of the way.” Riot pushes through the group of people welcoming us home from the hospital. “Move!”

“Parker, he’s beautiful,” Tinleigh gushes, reaching out to stroke the beanie-covered head of my newborn.

“Don’t touch him. His immune system is shit, and I don’t know when you last washed your hands,” Riot says, making me roll my eyes.

“I washed them right before you came in the door because I was planning on holding him, you dick.”

“Hold him? You’re not holding him. No one is. He’s too fragile.”

I pushed this little guy out yesterday, and ever since, Riot has been a mess.

The man knows more than any new parent should about all the things that can go wrong.

I’m just glad the baby’s finally here, and I don’t have to listen to all the information he learned about pregnancy, labor, and delivery going wrong.

“Here you go.” I hand the baby over to Tinleigh and leave her to sit on a couch in the game room of the clubhouse. Riot looks between me and the baby, unsure who he should follow, so I make the choice for him. “Can you get me a glass of water, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” He moves to the bar where Dillon, one of the prospects, is tending.

“Get yourself a beer while you’re at it,” I call over my shoulder.

Tinleigh sits next to me, giving my little guy heart eyes. “He’s incredible. I miss having a newborn.”

“Don’t get any ideas. This little Pea is enough for now.

” Lucky pats the back of their six-month-old daughter, Peoney, or Pea for short, who’s fast asleep on his shoulder.

She looks like the most angelic child, with soft blonde curls, chubby cheeks, and pouty lips, but in reality, that kid is a hellraiser.

She’s loud, and now that she’s mobile, she’s destructive.

“No shit,” Tinleigh says and then covers her mouth. “I’d better start watching my language. With my luck, Pea’s first word will be fuck.”

“Alright, alright. My turn.” Killer plops down next to her sister and steals the baby. “What did you decide to name him?”

The room quiets, waiting for the answer. We hadn’t been able to agree on a name. It’s been eight months of arguments, but the second he was born, we knew.

“Chance Lucas Wise,” I say proudly.

“Chance is so cute. I love it,” Navy says from behind the sofa. She reaches down and strokes his little fist as it opens and closes around her finger. “Oh my god. I love him already.”

“Me, too.” My cheeks hurt from how much I’ve smiled since he was born.

“Have you thought about having kids?” Navy asks Killer.

“Neither of us wants any of our own. We’re happy being Auntie Killer and Uncle Judge.”

“Lord help us,” Rigger says, making us all laugh.

“What about you, Navy?” I ask.

“I don’t know. We’re just enjoying our time together. Maybe in the future.”

The front door opens, and I peer over the couch to see Golden and his eight-year-old son, Ty, walk in. The two look like they could be catalog models, with their beautiful, symmetrical faces.

“This place is turning into a daycare,” Dutch mumbles. “Let’s cool it with the reproducing, huh?”

“Is Dutch upset he’s not the center of attention?” Lucky says, as if he’s talking to a baby.

“No, it just doesn’t feel like a biker club when the only tits I see are Tinleigh’s while she’s breastfeeding and we can’t blast our music because someone’s taking a nap.”

“I agree. It’s a lot less badass biker in here these days,” I say.

Golden sits in a club chair across from us. “Guess it’s a good time for me to tell you about the bullshit I’ve got going on.”

Rigger slaps Dutch upside the head. “You stupid motherfucker. You jinxed us.”

“Ouch!”

“Hey, Ty. Why don’t you go out back and play with Beef?” Whatever Golden has to say must be serious if he’s shooing his kid away.

“I’ll come with,” Tinleigh says, taking Pea from Lucky’s arms. “This one is due to wake up, ready to terrorize us. It’s better if she’s outside, where there are fewer things to break, now that she’s crawling. Leave it to my kid to do everything early.”

Riot steals the baby from Killer, and my heart melts. He’s so gentle, loving, and, yes, overbearing, but he’s proven to me and himself that he won’t be anything like his parents. It’s only been a day, but I already know he’s the best dad ever.

“What’s going on?” Riot asks Golden, taking Tinleigh’s spot next to me. He’s come so far from the recluse he used to be. Not only has he made an effort to include himself more, but so have all his brothers.

He rests his forearms on his thighs, staring down at his intertwined fingers. “You guys know Chaplain. I mean, obviously, you know Chaplain, but?—”

“Just spit it out,” Lucky says.

“Riot and Killer took care of her asshole ex last year, right?”

“That was a good day,” Killer sighs.

“Yeah, well, the dude has a brother, and that brother found Chap. I guess the asshole didn’t tell his brother where he was going, probably because his intentions were to kill her. But the brother put two and two together and has been around, asking questions.”

“Okay, so we just take out the brother,” Riot says.

It feels all sorts of wrong while he’s holding our son, so I steal the baby this time.

He snuggles right into the crook of my arm, and it feels like he was always supposed to be mine.

It was the same way with his dad. Overnight, these two guys changed my life.

“Not that easy. He’s a detective.” Golden runs his hand through his thick head of hair. “The only person who knows he’s dead, outside of the club, is Chap, but she’s not a rat, so I’m not too nervous. I just don’t like that he’s sniffing around her house and bothering her.”

“Okay, so we just wait to see how it plays out.” Rigger tucks Navy into his side. Even if the threat has nothing to do with her, his protective instincts go haywire—must be some kind of PTSD from finding out his dad was doing sick fucking things to her.

“There’s another problem,” Golden says.

“When it rains, it fucking pours. What is it?” Rigger asks.

“Corbin’s back in town.”

I lean over to Riot and whisper, “Who’s Corbin?”

“Golden’s half-brother.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Because wherever Corbin goes, drama follows him.”

“Yikes.” I tune back into the conversation.

“Why is he here?” Lucky asks.

“He said he’s got his shit together and just wants to be near family,” Golden says.

“And you believe him?” Lucky folds his arms over his barrel chest, already anticipating a fight.

“I don’t know. He got certified to be a personal trainer and found a job already.”

“That’s already better than last time he was around, when he was hitting you up for cash all the time,” Lucky mutters.

“I guess we do the same with him as we do with the detective. Just wait and see.”

“All right.” Golden stands. “Well, that’s all I got. Riot and Parker, cute kid. I’m glad Ty will have some cousins to play with soon.”

“Thanks.” Riot stands, and they do the back-slapping hug thing. That’s another change; Riot has learned to deal with casual touch and not feel like he’s being burned from the inside out.

“I think it’s time for us to introduce the baby to the family,” I announce and hand him to Riot so I can hoist myself off the sofa. No one tells you that after you give birth, you still look and feel nine months pregnant.

Navy and Myla coo at the baby one last time before we walk out to our cabin. I felt bad that Riot did all that work on the spare room, only to have to turn around and convert it to a nursery, but he didn’t mind.

“We’re home, and we have your little brother with us,” I say, approaching the rat habitat. Never did I think I’d become a rat parent, but here we are.

“He’s not their brother. Humans and rats cannot be related.”

I roll my eyes and open the door. Lucifer, Cindy, Cadence, Trevor, and Holly come running out.

A pang of sadness hits me that Ben and Amy aren’t here to meet Chance.

Ben passed a few months after we found out I was pregnant, and Amy quickly followed.

I think she died of a broken heart, but Riot said they were just the same age and had the same life expectancy. He’s so unromantic.

Riot crouches, keeping a hand covering Chance’s eyes as the rats run over to check out the new scent. They’re standoffish at first, but eventually, they crawl on Riot to inspect closer. It’s adorable, and it brings a tear to my eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Riot asks.

“Just hormones, I think.” I sniffle.

“The documentary I watched said to expect this. The smallest things might feel big, and we need to watch for postpartum depression. Are you feeling sad?”

“No. I’m happy. But I’m glad you know what to look for.”

He stands and kisses my nose. “You made a baby.”

“I did. A pretty cute one too.”

“The documentary also said if I don’t think the baby is cute, I should lie and say it is, but I can’t lie. He looks like an alien, but as he grows, he’ll fill out and look less extraterrestrial and more like our boy.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Should we show him his room?”

“Yes, please.”

We open the door to his biker nursery. It’s cliché, I know, but how could I not?

The room now has light gray walls with a large plush area rug in the center.

His crib is black with a light gray skirt, and his sheets have little motorcycles all over.

Behind the crib, there are three framed pictures.

The first is the front half of a motorcycle, the middle reading, “It’s not about the destination, it’s about the ride,” and the third is the back of the motorcycle. It’s pretty cute.

In one corner is an oversized, light gray minky chair, and in the other is a motorcycle rocking horse.

Over his dresser and changing table are pictures of his family: all his aunts and uncles, his cousin, Baby Pea, and of course, Riot and me.

Coming from a family of two, it was an adjustment to have people around all the time, but I’ve never felt more connected to a community.