A Biker’s Tiny Present (Rebel Vipers MC Christmas Standalone)

CHAPTER ONE

RILEY

Over-time may look good on my paycheck, especially with Christmas coming up in a week and a half, but it does absolutely nothing for my wrinkles. It does nothing for my sore knees, aching back, puffy eyes, or the tense muscles in my shoulders. I’m overdue for a massage and a vacation. I’m thirty-five years old dammit and have never been on a vacation longer than a weekend—I need one soon.

It’s six-thirty on Saturday night and I’m dead on my feet. I don’t know why I offered to switch to working twelve-hour shifts, oh, that’s right, the pay bump. The extra few hours a week definitely helps now that we have a baby in the house, but it really sucks not getting to see him as often. Thankfully Taylor, my sister, and the baby’s mother, has a job with flexible hours so one of us is with him most of the time. We have an amazing neighbor who watches him if there is an overlap in mine and Taylor’s schedules, but it’s never more than a couple hours, one or two evenings a week.

I wasn’t exactly thrilled when Taylor came home and told me she got a job at a strip club, but the money she was projected to bring in would be a lot more than her multitude of previous places of employment. Not that being a waitress in a diner, or an office cleaner, or a gas station attendant are bad jobs, but making a living wage is harder than ever for someone with only a high school diploma.

Luck was on my side when I got hired at the factory right out of high school. My neighbor at the time worked there as well, and knew I was looking for a steady job, so she got me an interview. Brenda let me use her as a reference, thank god, and I got hired on the spot. Now here we are seventeen years later, I’ve climbed the ladder as far as I can on the production floor, and I can honestly say I don’t hate my job. It most definitely has its good and bad days, but the good outnumber the bad. I call that a win . . . most days . . . but today was not one of those days.

Needing a scalding hot shower, comfy jammies, a pair of fuzzy socks, my bed, and no less than seven hours of sleep to become a functioning human again, I very much look forward to getting home. All day today, anything that could go wrong, did. I have to be back at work at six a.m. on Monday, in less than thirty-six hours, and I want to spend most of them either sleeping or spending time with my nephew.

Nicholas is my world. When Taylor told me she was pregnant, I was shocked. I had no idea she had been seeing anyone and I was dumbfounded. But the day just got crazier when she threw a doozy of a fastball at me and said she wasn’t with the father. Then another bomb dropped when she added she had no plans to tell him about the baby. I begged her for weeks to tell me who he was, because she knew his name and where to find him, but she locked away that secret tighter than a bank vault. Finally, she wore me down. Taylor went on and on saying she didn’t need a man, that this was our chance to make a family for ourselves, and as two women who knew the difference between good and bad home lives, we would do this together. I couldn’t fight with her anymore.

Seven and a half months later, a chocolate brown eyed baby boy, with whisps of jet-black hair, came screaming into the world. He was born smackdab in the middle of June and will be six months tomorrow. I can’t believe how fast the time has flown by. The next thing you know, we’ll be celebrating Christmas, then his first birthday, and then he’ll be off to college in a blink. After being single for almost six years, half by choice—half by the lack of free time to find a decent man, I pretty much have given up the thought of having a child of my own. Raising Nicholas with my sister has been a blessing I never anticipated, but one I wouldn’t trade for the world.

Pulling in the driveway and seeing all the lights off, and Taylor’s car parked in its spot, I am instantly worried. She was still at work when I went to bed last night, and asleep when I left for work this morning, but when we last spoke yesterday during my lunch break, she never mentioned having any plans for tonight. This is supposed to be her one weekend off this month, so I assumed she would be home.

I park my car in the garage, head into the house, and find nothing on the kitchen island where we always leave notes in passing. It doesn’t take much to realize something definitely isn’t right. I hang my coat on a hook by the door, drop my purse on the counter, and go to check their bedrooms.

Not only is no one home, Taylor’s room is a mess. The closet is torn apart, drawers are hanging out of the dresser, her mattress is flipped up off the boxspring and leaning against the wall, and all her makeup and accessories are missing from her vanity in the corner. It looks like a tornado blew through the room. Taylor has never been a messy person, not even as a teenager, so something is wrong.

Heading straight for Nicholas’s room, I see things are missing from in here too. All the diapers and wipes from the changing table are gone. His dresser also has several drawers askew, and his favorite blanket and stuffed monkey are missing from his crib.

Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I immediately try to call Taylor. And try and try again over a dozen times. The calls go straight to her voicemail every time. I leave a message the first and last time I dial, hoping she gets them soon.

Next plan of action is to call Sophie, our wonderful babysitting neighbor.

“Hey Riley,” she cheerfully answers after two rings. “What’s up? Do you need me to watch the little dude tonight?”

“So, Nicholas isn’t with you?” I go straight over her question with one of my own, even though hers negates the need for mine, but I’m starting to panic.

“Nooo,” she draws out her reply. “Should he be?”

“Honestly, at this point, I have no idea.” I’m making laps through the house, checking to make sure I didn’t miss a note somewhere else, but I’m coming up with nothing. “I just got home from work and based on the messes I’ve found in Taylor and Nicholas’s rooms, they’re gone.”

“Gone? Where could they have gone?” I can hear the confusion in her voice. Me too honey, me too.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I’ll be over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” And she hangs up.

That’s the kind of neighbor she is. Kind, supportive, super sweet, and always there when you need her. Sophie is a widowed single mom of two grown adult children. Her husband died a year before we moved into this house, and as soon as we met on moving day, she has taken Taylor and I, and now Nicholas, under her wing. I always joke with her that she’s our fairy godmother, but it really is true. She’s a godsend.

Without even knocking, Sophie walks in the front door and immediately wraps me in a tight hug. “We’ll find them, sweetie.”

When she lets me go, I wipe away a few tears that escaped, then drop onto the couch. “What is happening?”

“Have you called the police?” she asks as she heads down the hallway. “Holy crap. What happened in here?”

I know she’s seeing the messes, but since I have the same question, no words come out to answer. She takes the same couple laps around the house that I did and comes back just as empty handed.

Sophie reappears next to me and grabs my hand. “Did you call the police?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. I was home less than five minutes before I called you.”

“Maybe you should call.”

“And tell them what? That she packed up most of her and the baby’s things and took off? That’s not a missing person, she’s not a teenage runaway, she’s a twenty-seven-year-old woman who can go wherever, whenever, she wants.”

Letting out a deep sigh, she knows I’m right. “Have you called her work? Or one of her friends? Maybe she decided to spend the weekend with one of them?”

“Can you call the Velvet Room and ask if she’s there? I don’t have many of her friend’s numbers, but I’ll call who I know.” My phone is still in my hand, in a death grip so tight I’m surprised to see I haven’t cracked the case. I check the screen but see no missed calls from Taylor.

Ten minutes and a half dozen calls later leads us back to square one. The bartender that Sophie talked to at the strip club said Taylor clocked out at three-thirty this morning and hasn’t been back since. She’s not on the schedule until Tuesday night, but if she does show up, he’ll relay a message to call us. Most of her friends that I talked to said they haven’t heard from her in a couple days, but with her work schedule, that is normal. One friend did see her, around four o’clock this afternoon, getting gas at the station just outside our subdivision. Nicholas was in the car, so knowing they’re together is a relief, but it still doesn’t answer where they went after that. It’s been over two hours since then so depending on what direction she went, they could be halfway across the state, or almost into Minnesota, by now for all I know.

“Nicholas’s father!” I exclaim. Remembering a few details I was able to wrangle out of Taylor, I have an idea where he could be.

“What about him?” Sophie is looking at me like I’ve got three heads. “I thought you didn’t know who he is.”

“I don’t know his name, but if I’m right, I know where to find him.” With that I’m up off the couch and headed for the kitchen.

“Where?” Sophie follows.

“I did the math once.” As I put my coat back on, I fill her in. “I remember Taylor going to a party with some friends at the Rebel Vipers clubhouse right around the time she got pregnant. I think one of them could be Nicholas’s father.”

Sophie freezes in place, her hand in the air like she’s trying to stop the trainwreck barreling toward us. “Whoa whoa whoa. The Rebel Vipers Motorcycle Club clubhouse? Like where the bikers live? She went to a party there?”

“The very same.” Her question doesn’t make me stop moving. I’m out the door into the garage and have my car door open before I finish my explanation. “I may be totally wrong, but on the chance I’m not, I have to see if I’m right. I can’t sit here and do nothing. I need to try and find them. I need to do something.”

“Okay. I totally understand.” She races around the hood and gives me a hug. “But you call me the minute you figure something out. Even if she’s not there, I want to know.”

“I will. I promise.”