The Prez (Devil’s Mayhem MC #3)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

RAFAEL

The clubhouse is bustling when I walk inside, my brother’s voices overlapping as they talk and laugh. I raise my hand in a salute to those that call out to me. Before I get to my office, I hear, “Big Raf!” and stop dead in my tracks.

Turning around slowly, I see Zeke walking up to me with a wide grin on his face, his eyes sparkling as he gauges my expression. No matter how many times I tell Zeke I’m going to bust his fucking lip, he never cares and continues to push my buttons. It’s one of the things I equally like and hate about him.

“Come again?” I say, raising an eyebrow at him so he knows he needs to change his fucking sentence.

He throws his arm around my shoulder, walking with me into my office. “I’m teasing, Prez. Omari came over the other night and Shane told me that’s what he calls you.”

My face flushes. Omari calls me Big Raf. It makes me feel good, like he’s accepting me into the bubble that’s just for him and the baby. I’m glad I’m walking over to my desk so Zeke doesn’t see the small smile that tips my lips.

I school my expression before I face him. “Don’t call me that again or I swear I’ll make good on breaking your fucking face.”

Zeke raises an eyebrow at me, but he doesn’t appear frightened. I swear Zeke is fucking unflappable. He knows what I’m capable of but doesn’t care. Jackass.

He studies me for a few beats, then chuckles. “Okay, I’m done. No more.” A pause. “You like him, huh?” Zeke also doesn’t mince words.

“Don’t know what you mean, hermano.”

“Yeah okay. I can see the appeal. If I weren’t with Shane, I’d try to shoot my shot. Omari is sexy as fuck. He has that perfect little peach that?—”

A fucking growl crops up in the office and it takes a moment to realize it’s coming from me. I clamp my lips shut and the sound stops.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running my fingers through my hair. “You’re a smart son of a bitch, you know that?”

Zeke laughs, leaning back on the couch and putting his feet up. “Yeah, I know. Why not admit it? It’s not like anyone will judge you here for liking dick. Hell, we never knew Rax was into dudes and you didn’t give him shit. Why do you think you’d be any different?”

“It’s not that,” I tell him, tugging on the cuffs of my shirt. I’m not sure why I’m talking to anyone about this. The only reason I’m saying anything at all is because Zeke will keep my confidence, not letting a word slip about anything I say. “I don’t have shit to offer him. I’m an asshole, I’m not all open with my feelings and shit. You think Omari will want someone like me? He could have his pick of any man he wants.”

Zeke lowers his legs and faces me, resting his elbows on his thighs. I’m surprised to see how serious he looks. He’s never serious about anything unless it has to do with Shane and the clubhouse. “What’s wrong with you? Why wouldn’t he want you?”

I give him a dry look. “You know why.” I gesture around my office. “Look at where we work. Look at who I am.” I motion down my body. “Omari ain’t built for this life, man. You’ve seen him. What do I have to offer him?”

He shrugs, still looking at me intensely. “Prez, Rax got Finn to fall in love with him. I got a lawyer to fall in love with me. The men we want don’t care that we’re in the MC. They care about us.”

“Finn has Stockholm Syndrome,” I mumble, making Zeke chortle. “You had eight years to wear Shane down,” I say, trying to find an excuse not to go for what I want. I always go for what I want, but Omari is different. Just like his beautiful skin, he’s soft. Not in a can’t-take-care-of-himself soft way. But soft, nonetheless. I’m not sure he can handle what I go through being the president of this MC.

“Finn does not have Stockholm Syndrome. And Shane being around for so long, seeing what we did all the time should have pushed him away,” Zeke says, breaking into my thoughts. “Knowing I’ve got bodies and will beat someone’s ass at the drop of a hat should have made him run in the other direction, not want to be closer to me. You’re selling yourself short, Prez.”

Zeke stands and knocks on my desk. Before he goes, I call after him. When he turns to me with a curious expression, I let a little vulnerability show, more than I’ve shown anyone else. “What if he doesn’t like me when he gets to know me?”

Cracking one of his trademark smiles, Zeke says, “That’s impossible, Prez. You don’t see what we see. You’re smart, you’re loyal, you’re one of the most determined motherfuckers I’ve ever met in my life. And you ain’t half bad lookin’.” He chuckles as I glare at him, but his compliments soak in and give life to a part of me I didn’t know needed it. “What’s there not to like?”

When I don’t answer, he leaves me alone with my thoughts. I’m not really sure what Omari thinks. He’s a smart ass, going toe to toe with me when he doesn’t like something I say. I saw that when he was in my office at Inferno all those months ago. He held his own until I had him hemmed up against the wall. But his eyes still spewed fire at me, though there was fear in equal measures.

Omari let me touch him. If he didn’t want that, he would have pushed me away or told me to back off. My being his boss had nothing to do with it. Omari doesn’t mince words when it comes to me, so if he didn’t want it, he would have told me.

Could Zeke be right? Could Omari maybe … want something with me? I’m not sure what, since I don’t know what of myself I can give.

The brief happy feeling in my chest is snuffed out by the realization that I’m a failure. I can’t protect Omari. I would fail him like I do everyone else in my life. He could do better than someone like me. Someone that let their mother die and let their sister disappear from his life until it was too late. Someone who didn’t check on his best friend’s health, and now he’s in the ground. I’m no good for him.

Jace pokes his head into my office, saying everyone is in the library waiting on me. I nod and stand, but before I can head out of my office, my phone rings in my pocket. The country code of +53 pops up and I sigh, settling back into my chair.

It’s not Rax, as he calls from a VPN and his number shows up as a United States country code. It could only be one person.

“Maria,” I say, switching to Cubano. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call? ”

“I talked to Rax,” she says, her voice small and sad. “Elena died?”

I curse under my breath. The only reason Rax knows about Elena is he called me about a shipment and I was trying to get Little Raf to sleep before I hired Omari. He heard crying and asked what was going on. In my sleep deprived state, I spewed everything to him. It didn’t cross my mind to call Maria and tell her. My mind was on making sure I didn’t implode from the pressure of taking care of a baby and continuing with my MC. Selfish, but I never claimed to be anything else.

Leaning back in my chair, I look up at the ceiling and say, “Yeah, Maria. She died. I should have told you, but I’ve been so fucked up about it. I’m sorry.”

Her sobs are soft, but I can hear them clearly. I feel even more like shit that I kept the death of our sister from her. Over and over, I continue to fail everyone.

“What happened to her?” Maria asks after she finds her voice.

“Car accident.”

“And you have her baby? My nephew.”

My heart clenches as I say, “Yes.” I don’t tell her that I don’t know him, even though he’s been in my possession for almost two months. I don’t tell her that a stranger knows more about my flesh and blood than me. I don’t tell her I held him today for the first time in weeks.

“Please, Raf,” she begs, “please bring him to Cuba. Please. I’d like to see him.”

“I’ll be down to visit in a few months.”

“Can you bring him with you? I know it’ll be hard traveling with a baby, but … please. I don’t ask for much, ever. But I need this one thing. I couldn’t see Elena before she was gone. I want to see her baby.”

If I bring Omari, he would be with Little Raf, so it wouldn’t be an inconvenience for me. Omari would be able to calm the baby easily. He’s so good at taking care of him. “Okay.”

Her sigh of relief is heard clearly, as well as her prayers of thanks. “Thank you so much. Thank you. I love you, Raffy.”

“Yeah, see ya soon.”

I hang up, not wanting to talk about Elena. If left up to my sister, she’ll bring up old memories so we can keep the memory of Elena alive. I can’t do that. I’m holding on to the frayed edges of my soul as much as I possibly can.

I push roughly out of my chair and stomp off to the library, more irritated now than I was before I spoke to Zeke. My enforcer knows some of my past, but not all of it. He doesn’t know how I let everyone in my life down. He wouldn’t trust me to lead them if he knew. None of them would.

Zeke is wrong. There’s a lot not to like.

My brothers are waiting for me when I enter, their attention turning to me as I sit at the head of the table.

“Alright,” I start the meeting, looking around at everyone gathered, “we have the opening of our Hunterfield chapter in a few weeks. We need to figure out the logistics. Pete, what you got?”

We go through what we need to take care of before we open and initiate the new chapter. We’ll be gone for a weekend so we can get the chapter up and running and discuss our business with our delegates there. Some of the members are from chapters in other states, so they know how Devil’s Mayhem operates, so it won’t be too in-depth of a crash course for those. The new members and prospects from right there in Georgia will have to learn, but the brothers there can handle it.

We break when we get everything squared away .

The guys want to party tonight, but I’m not in the mood. I just don’t want to be around the noise.

It surprises me that I want to be home with Omari and Little Raf. Even if I don’t hang out with them, I want to be near them.

“I’m out,” I tell Zeke, clapping him on the back.

“Me too,” he says, waving at the other guys. “I wanna curl up with my Counselor for a few hours, maybe watch Alien .”

“You’re obsessed with that movie,” I say as my lips twitch into a smile.

“I know. Don’t care.” Zeke slaps my outstretched hand and I head home, not really in a good mood after my thoughts and phone call with my sister.

I ride home with too much on my mind, just wanting to go to my room and lie down, maybe run a few miles on my treadmill to get away from my own thoughts. I can’t believe I let so much time pass without telling Maria about Elena. I was so worried about myself and not wanting a child that I left it up to Rax to break the news to Maria.

Failure. I’m a worthless failure.

When I push into the house, I find music playing softly, but Omari singing almost at the top of his lungs. He’s at the stove stirring something in a pot and Little Raf is sitting in his highchair, waving some toy around. Omari turns around with his spoon, wipes it off, then uses it as a microphone as he walks over to Little Raf. He sings to him, totally off key, but Little Raf loves it, paying rapt attention with a wide smile on his face. My heart feels lighter just watching them together.

It takes Omari a few seconds to notice me. He’s not the least bit embarrassed by his terrible singing. In fact, he walks over to me, still singing terribly on his makeshift microphone, dancing around me. Luckily, he dances better than he sings .

After he’s circled my body, he turns his back to me and shakes his ass against my thigh. That immediately gets a rise out of me, my cock chubbing up as I look down at him and feel those soft globes against my leg.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, I pull him back to me and in his ear, I murmur, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

He looks back at me with a smile. “I know.” With a chuckle, he steps away from me, going back to the stove. “You’re home early. I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow morning when you were heading out.”

I put my helmet down on the coffee table and take off my jacket, hanging it on the back of the couch. I have a seat and undo the cuffs of my shirt, rolling up my sleeves. For the first time in weeks, I look around my house and hardly recognize it. There are pictures on my wall. Some are normal photographs of Little Raf. Some with Little Raf and Omari. They’re smiling in every one.

Besides the photographs hanging, there are some motivational ones that are whatever, besides the one that reads ‘Live, Laugh, Love.’ That shit has to go. What kind of bullshit is live, laugh, love?

There’s even a plant in my living room, its fat green leaves soaking in the sun from the open window.

As I look around, I see a lived-in house for the first time since I moved here almost fifteen years ago. There are toys on the floor, shoes by the door, mail on the table, just a general sense that people not only stay here, but they live here. I’ve never had that on my own.

Omari watches me after he puts the spoon in the sink, taking in my expression after my visual tour of a house I don’t recognize, but pay the mortgage for. “Do you hate it?” he asks in a small voice.

My fucking heart actually clenches because of how unsure he sounds. Since I met him, he’s been this spitfire that commands my attention. He sounds nothing like that now. I want my spitfire back.

Scoffing, I point to the picture on the wall above the television. “Get rid of that shit and it looks fine.”

A relieved laugh bursts from him as he goes to the drawer for a clean spoon. “I figured you’d hate that one. I put it up as a joke.” I grunt, disbelieving. “You don’t believe me?”

“How can you prove it?” I answer his question with a question, which only makes him smile.

When he finishes stirring the pot, he turns and looks at me, assessing. “Why do you dress like that every day? Do you ever dress down?”

“Sometimes. But I like dressing like this. My grandfather was a man I looked up to a lot. He might not have been on the right side of the law all the time, but he was a loyal man that took care of his family.” Saying that puts an unexpected lump in my throat because I’m not doing that at all. Quite the opposite, actually. I shake that thought away and continue. “He always told me to dress presentably because I never knew who would be watching. I wanted to be like him, so I started to dress like him. Now I don’t feel right unless I’m dressed how I want.”

Omari nods, taking Little Raf out of his highchair. “It’s nothing wrong with it. I just never saw a biker dressed like you. It’s … you look … nice. All the time.”

“Thank you, precioso.”

He walks over to me and hands me Little Raf. It’s so sudden that all I can do is open my arms and let him settle on my thigh. “Let me get dinner finished and I’ll come get him,” Omari says, rushing into the kitchen.

For a few seconds, I’m stunned, not knowing what to do. Any minute now, Little Raf will feel my inadequacy and start crying, wanting Omari back.

I wait. And wait. And … wait. Nothing happens. He ho nestly doesn’t pay me any attention. Little Raf looks around, observing his surroundings the way babies do—not really seeing, but focusing on different things for a few seconds at a time.

Since he stays quiet, I lean back on the couch to get comfortable. I’m surprised when Little Raf follows me down, lying against me, his chubby hands gripping my shirt. He kicks his legs, babbling against me. I look down at him in fascination, watching this baby that’s been in my house for weeks, but I haven’t taken the time to see how happy he is.

When he got here, all he did was cry and squirm, whine, and fret. Even when Jace, who is great with babies, tried to calm him, he just cried and cried. He settled for a while with Jace’s old lady, but not for long. What did Omari do to change his attitude?

I can see Omari moving around in the kitchen and every so often, he looks over at us with a gentle smile on his face. When he catches me watching him, he winks at me. I give him a dry look and he chuckles, shaking his head as he turns away.

After a few minutes, Little Raf stops kicking his feet and wiggles around. I arrange him more on my chest so he’s comfortable, patting his back awkwardly to get him to calm down again. I’m sure I’m doing this all wrong, my patting too rough or not enough or too soft or … something. I’m hoping more than anything that he doesn’t start crying. He calms down after a few more seconds and I relax into the cushions. I hold still so he doesn’t wiggle around again and start whining.

Omari comes back over about ten minutes later, a soft look on his face. “Alright big man,” he says to Little Raf, who pops up and wiggles against my chest. With a gentle smile, Omari takes him in his arms, kissing the top of his head. “We got some peas for dinner tonight. How do peas sound? Huh?” Little Raf blows a raspberry, making Omari laugh and an unfamiliar noise leap from my throat.

A surprised look aimed at me, Omari asks, “Did you just laugh?” I frown at him and shake my head, but he’s not fooled. He chuckles and pulls the highchair over to the living room couch. He sets Little Raf in it, then wraps a bib around his neck.

“Here,” I say, sliding to sit in front of the baby. “I can do it.”

Omari stops in front of me with peas and a spoon. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You sit and eat and I’ll feed him. How hard can it be to feed a baby?” I grumble in irritation.

Really fucking hard, as it turns out. First, I was putting too much on the spoon and Omari tells me to feed him half of what I scooped up. Then Little Raf would take the food, but would push it out of his mouth, green mush dripping down his chin. When I scoop it back up to feed it to him again, he does the same thing.

I huff, but Omari lays a hand on my arm. “It’s what babies do. He’s eating. Be patient with him.”

I continue the same routine, scooping, feeding, and scooping again. When the jar is almost empty, Little Raf turns his head when I try to give him more. I follow him with the spoon, wanting him to eat and not fail at this, too. I can’t fail at getting a baby to eat fucking pea goop.

“He’s done,” Omari says. “He’s full. That’s how he tells you he doesn’t want more. You don’t want to force him. He’ll either cry out of irritation or eat more and get sick. Good job, Uncle Raf,” Omari says, nudging me in the side with his elbow.

I release a long breath, putting the jar and spoon down. I did it. I did something right. The tattered edges of my soul glow warm, slowly knitting back together .

Omari finishes his food, then pulls Little Raf from his highchair. “Oh, look at you. Green from head to toe.” There are peas everywhere—his hands, cheeks, a bit on his forehead. “Let’s get you washed up, then it’s bedtime. Big Raf, stay here. I want to talk to you when I’m done.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Am I in trouble, precioso?”

His warm, tinkling laugh flows over me. It helps with the tatters. If I can make a man like Omari laugh like that, I can’t be all bad.

“I don’t think you could ever be in trouble with me. Don’t move.” He winks again and walks to the bathroom. I can’t help my eyes from dropping to his sexy ass, watching it sway in his pajama pants.

When he’s out of sight, I sigh and sit back. Little Raf allowed me to hold him today. He didn’t cry or fuss. He didn’t feel any bad feelings from me. Maybe I can do better with him. Maybe I can be the uncle he deserves. With Omari’s help, I might be able to earn my title as Little Raf’s guardian. If a baby doesn’t think you’re a failure, who else really matters?