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

CHAPTER TWO

TINY

“See, I told you. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dammit. Why does she have to be right? But there’s no way in hell I’m admitting how much fun I actually had today dealing with what seemed like a never-ending line of kids climbing up on my lap for a jolly ‘ho ho ho’ and a picture.

One plus side to today is the dozen slips of paper that I’m secretly sliding into the pocket of my jeans. More than a few mothers slipped me their phone numbers after I was done chatting with their kiddos and I can’t wait to pull out a couple later to see if anyone is up for some fun.

“If you don’t count the one kid who screamed bloody murder the entire time,” I complain to Raven, my captor for the day who roped me into this playing Santa gig. Just because I have a deep voice and a bushy beard, doesn’t mean I wanted to sit in a chair for three hours and listen to every child in what seems like the five surrounding counties tell me what they want for Christmas.

“She wasn’t that loud,” Raven stares at me with an evil glare. “You and your Brothers have had parties a million times louder. Don’t try to pull that shit with me.”

She’s not wrong.

Raven is the Old Lady of two of my Brothers, Smoke and Haze. The three of them have been in a polyamorous relationship for a couple months now, but even before that, she has worked for the club for coming up on a year. The Lodge, where we are today, is a combination bar and restaurant and Raven is the front-end manager for the bar part.

The Rebel Vipers MC owns a handful of legit businesses, used to help clean some of the dirty money we make doing some not so clean things, but that’s neither here nor there. At this particular moment, I’m finally starting to peel off this scratchy, uncomfortable, hot as balls, stupid-ass costume.

“And this went longer than you told me it would. I only agreed to two hours.”

“You know exactly why I asked for your help today, Tiny.” Raven stands and comes around her desk. “With all the weddings coming up, a lot of your Brothers are busy. But you’re done now. Thank you for your help. You can go back to the clubhouse and continue to be your grumpy ass self for the rest of the evening.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to head back out and work a few hours behind the bar,” Raven says as she slips on her Property cut. Still dressed in her elf costume from being my kid assistant, she gives me a small wave and leaves me in the office alone to finish changing.

She’s not wrong about my plans for the night, kind of. Yes, I do plan on heading to the clubhouse, but no, I don’t plan on being a grumpy asshole. I can’t always help that it’s how I am most of the time. If you had witnessed even a tenth of the things I have in my forty-five years, you would be in a sour mood sometimes too. Combine a shitty childhood, eighteen grueling combat filled years in the Marines, eleven years in a motorcycle club who rides the thin line of right and wrong, and you get me—grumpy Henry ‘Tiny’ Taggert.

Being a single guy in a club that has its membership very quickly pairing off and claiming Old Ladies, it’s quite often that jobs requiring one man get handed off to whoever is near the person who needs help at that moment, and this time it was me. And those weddings she’s referring to, in just over a week, five of my Brothers will be tying the knot with their ladies in a Christmas Eve shindig. The Old Ladies of Whiskey, Ring and Steel, Hammer, and Buzz have everyone in the clubhouse running around like little ants, doing their bidding in preparation for the big day. Today was a small reprieve from the madness, but come tomorrow, I’ll be back in the fray.

After ridding myself of the rented costume pants I’ve been wearing over my jeans, because there was no way in hell I was not going to have barrier between them and my skin, I kick off the shiny black boots with the gold buckles and put my scuffed up pair of work boots back on. I slide my cut on over my sweatshirt, put my phone in the front pocket, grab my coat, and I’m ready to go.

Knock knock. “Tiny.”

Why the hell is she knocking? I may have been lollygagging and drifting off in my thoughts, but Raven hasn’t been gone that long. This is her office so she shouldn’t have to knock to come in. Did she lock herself out?

I open the door, but what I find on the other side is something I hadn’t expected to see for another four months—Ring has a baby in his arms!

His Old Lady Sunshine, who is still sporting her quite impressive baby bump, is expecting twins this coming April. She stands beside him holding a car seat contraption, and Raven is with them.

“I forgot my keys,” Raven announces with a shrug. She leads the group into the office and grabs a cluster of keys from the top drawer of her desk.

“So uh,” I start the conversation about the small elephant in the room since no one else seems ready to fill me in, “whose baby is this? Did you pop out one of your kiddos earlier than the other and not tell anyone?”

I point my question at Sunshine, because she’s obviously still very pregnant and I’m trying to bring some humor into the suddenly gloomy room, but she doesn’t find my joke very funny. Instead she hands me a piece of notebook paper that’s a little crinkled and folded in half. “I think this is for you.”

Looking at the others, hoping one of them will give me a clue as to what the fuck this is about, I find everyone left is looking anywhere but at me. Raven has disappeared, Ring is making funny faces at the baby, and Sunshine is finding her nails suddenly very interesting.

Since no one is feeling in the answering mood, I guess I’ll have to decipher the clues myself. I unfold the paper and start reading . . .

Dear Tiny, Shit, why does that sound so formal and snobbish? Crap. How else do you start a letter telling someone they are a dad? I guess there’s really no other way to say it. You’re a dad Tiny. This is my our son. His name is Nicholas. He’s—

“Holy fuck.”

“Don’t swear in front of the baby.” “What happened?” Sunshine and Ring scold and question me at the same time.

I can’t take my eyes off the baby, off of Nicholas . . . my son.

Dropping the letter, not bothering to finish reading it, I approach the smiling tyke and hold my hands out. I may not have held any babies or young kids before, but I’ve seen enough of my friends due it, so the motions are almost instinct. As soon as I’m within reach, the little guy starts to wiggle, his smile spreads so wide, and he reaches out to me. I pick him up, my hands wrap almost all the way around his waist, and pull him into my chest.

“Oh my gosh.” Sunshine gushes at my side. She traces a finger down Nicholas’s cheek as he lays his head down on my chest. “It’s like he knows you’re his dad.”

“Who would’ve thought,” Ring mumbles from behind the desk where he’s commandeered Raven’s chair. He’s got the letter and is looking at it like he’s an archeologist trying to decipher some ancient symbols. “Someone had your baby, Tiny. Did you really not know about this?”

“No fuc—Sorry Sunshine.” Not dropping the f-bomb around little ears is going to take some getting used to. “This is news to me.”

Nicholas snuggles his face against my sweatshirt and he rubs his eyes with closed fists. Checking the clock on the wall I see it’s almost seven. I have no idea what his bedtime is, but based on his sleepy expression, the time is closing in.

“Any idea who this Taylor chick is?” Ring’s eyes are volleying between me and the letter.

I find myself pacing the office, a few steps in one direction, then turning around when I reach a wall . . . then repeat. Back and forth, not making many steps due to my long strides, but the more I pace, the deeper Nicholas leans into me as his eyes drift closed.

“Taylor is the mother then?” I keep pacing. “I only got a few lines in. Can you read what came after her saying his name?”

“I will,” Sunshine hustles around the desk as quick as her belly will allow her. She’s starting to waddle a bit, not that I’ll ever say that out loud, but it’s pretty cute.

His name is Nicholas. He’ll be six months old tomorrow. He was born June 15 th . When I found out I was pregnant, I thought I could do this without you. I’m sorry for that. We only spent a few hours together, and I knew it wasn’t anything serious, so I didn’t want to invade your life. I guess that didn’t last long. I know this isn’t how I should be telling you this, but right now there is no other way. Things have gotten too out of control and I need you to keep him safe. I can’t burden my sister any more than I already have and Nicholas needs his dad. All the information you’ll need to know about how to take care of Nicholas is in a notebook in his diaper bag. His sleep and feeding schedule, what brand and size diapers he wears, what size clothes he’s currently in, doctor’s information, and his nighttime routine. His blanket and monkey are in there too. He won’t sleep without them. He doesn’t cry much, only when he’s hungry. He’s an overall very happy baby, so I hope he doesn’t give you too much trouble. I packed a few days’ worth of clothes and diapers, but feel free to call my sister and ask her for more. Her address and phone number are at the bottom of this letter. Tell Nicholas I love him so much and that I’m sorry. For what it’s worth—thank you Tiny. Thank you for giving me such a precious gift. I hope to see you both soon. —Taylor

“What the fuck?” This time I can’t hold back the swear word. “Who is the hell is Taylor?”