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  Baby

  Copyright © 2018 by Sapphire Knight

  Cover Design by Simply Defined Art

  Editing by Mitzi Carroll

  Formatting by Formatting Done Wright

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Oath Keepers MC Series

  Secrets

  Exposed

  Relinquish

  Forsaken Control

  Friction

  Princess

  Sweet Surrender – free short story

  Daydream

  Baby

  Russkaya Mafiya Series

  Secrets

  Corrupted

  Unwanted Sacrifices

  Undercover Intentions

  Russian Roulette

  Standalones

  Gangster

  Unexpected Forfeit

  1st Time Love

  3 Times the Heat

  WARNING

  This novel includes graphic language and adult situations. It may be offensive to some readers and includes situations that may be hotspots for certain individuals. This book is intended for ages 18 and older due to some steamy spots. This work is fictional. The story is meant to entertain the reader and may not always be completely accurate. Any reproduction of these works without Author Sapphire Knight’s written consent is pirating and will be punished to the fullest extent of the law.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Sapphire Knight

  Acknowledgements

  Common MC Terms

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  Stay Up To Date with Sapphire

  My husband - I love you more than words can express. Thank you for the support you’ve shown me. Some days you drive me crazy, other days I just want to kiss your face off. Who knew this would turn out to be our life, but in this journey, I wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else. Thanks for falling for my brand of crazy. I love you, I’m thankful for you, I can’t say it enough.

  My boys - You are my whole world. I love you both. This never changes, and you better not be reading these books until you’re thirty and tell yourself your momma did not write them! I can never express how grateful I am for your support. You are quick to tell me that my career makes you proud, that I make you proud. As far as mom wins go; that one takes the cake. I love you with every beat of my heart and I will forever.

  My Beta Babes - Wendi Stacilaucki-Hunsicker, Tamra Simons, Sarah Free, Lindsay Lupher and Patti Novia West. Thank you for all the love you’ve shown me over the past few years. You’ve each helped me grow in different ways throughout this entire experience and I’m forever grateful. This wouldn’t be possible without you. I can’t express my gratitude enough for each of you. I say I have a new book and you drop what you’re doing to help me out. How did I get so lucky to have your friendship and support? We each have other stuff going on in our lives and yet you still figure out how to make time for me, thank you so much!

  Editor Mitzi Carroll – You’re one of the most dedicated, kindest people I’ve come across in this industry. I will forever be grateful that J.C. Valentine suggested I ask for your help. I was lost at a time in my career, and you literally jumped in and saved me. I will never forget that or how much you’ve helped me grow since then. You are a true gem, and I look forward to finally getting to hug you in Cincinnati! Your hard work makes mine stand out, and I’m so grateful! Thank you for pouring tons of hours into my passion and being so wonderful to me.

  Jay Aheer with Simply Defined Art – I cannot thank you enough for the wonderful work you’ve done for me. Your support truly means so much!

  Photographer Wander Aguiar and team - Thank you so much for the amazing support you’ve been kind enough to show me. I look forward to future collaborations and fun times.

  Models Roddy Hanson and Tyler Harlow – Thank you for being great guys to work with and a good sports about being ‘biker guys.’ You both capture my characters beautifully.

  Formatter Brenda Wright – Thank you for making my work look professional and beautiful. I truly appreciate it and the kindness you’ve shown me. I look forward to working with you many times in the future and hopefully one day tasting one of those delicious cupcakes you’re always posting photos of!

  My Blogger Friends –YOU ARE AMAZING! I LOVE YOU! No really, I do!!! You take a new chance on me with each book and in return share my passion with the world. You never truly get enough credit, and I’m forever grateful!

  My Readers – I love you. You make my life possible, thank you. I can’t wait to meet many of you this year and in the future!

  MC - Motorcycle Club

  Prez - President

  VP - Vice President

  SAA - Sgt. at Arms

  Ol’ Lady - Significant Other

  Chapel - Place Where Church is Held

  Clubhouse/ Compound – MC home base

  Church - MC ‘Meeting’

  Oath Keepers/Widow Makers hybrid charter:

  Viking – Prez,

  Was the heir to the Widow Makers MC,

  Previous NOMAD

  Blaze – Acting VP,

  Previously a Widow Maker and Vikings Cousin

  Torch – SAA,

  Previously a Widow Maker, grew up with Viking

  Scot – Oldest member,

  Used to be in charge of the NOMADS

  Bronx – Newest patched member,

  Was prospect for the Widow Makers MC

  Chaos – Usually out handling business with the NOMADS,

  Ex NFL football player

  Nightmare – Close friend to Viking and Exterminator,

  Previous NOMAD

  Saint and Sinner – Hell Raisers,

  Previous NOMADS

  Smokey – Treasurer

  Previously a Widow Maker

  Odin – Future VP, Vikings younger brother,

  Previously a Widow Maker

  Mercenary – Transfer from Chicago Charter

  NOMADS:

  Exterminator

  Ruger

  Spider

  Original Oath Keepers MC:

  Ares - Prez

  Cain – VP

  2 Piece – Gun Runner - SAA

  Twist – Unholy One

  Spin – Treasurer

  Snake –

  Newest patched member, previous President’s son

  Capone – Deceased

  Smiles – Deceased

  Shooter – Deceased

  Scratch – Deceased

  To those of you who think outside of the box. To the one’s who wa
lk to their own beat. To the dreamers.

  Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of a pure heart.

  -Unknown

  The ominous double oak doors are massive, leading into the magnificent church. St. Mary’s it’s called, and I’ve passed it every day for the last six months. Each time, it’s taunted me, beckoning me to take a step inside its walls.

  I have to do it, you know—see if I’ll really burn by coming in here. If it’d happen to anyone, I’d definitely be a viable candidate.

  Inhaling, I’m met with a spicy scent. Oil perhaps? The building reminds me of a castle from the outside, and the inside doesn’t disappoint in that aspect either. It’s the type of place that when you enter, you feel small and insignificant; no doubt it was built this way on purpose.

  My middle finger dips into the glass bowl encasing what these religious freaks refer to as holy water. What the fuck’s so holy about it? Is it the fact that a priest has prayed over it? If that’s how it’s even made...I wouldn’t know. I was never around one of these places growing up.

  The cool water coats the tip of my finger as I skim the surface, and amazingly, nothing happens. I was expecting burning flames to encompass my flesh in mere seconds. I’m considered evil, after all; I’ve heard it before. Not from any voices in my mind, but from child services attempting to steal me away from my family.

  The silence encompassing the room is interrupted by a deep, accusing voice. “Sinner!”

  My gaze shoots to the front of the room convinced I was right after all; they’ll burn me for coming here. That’s how all the holy ones are; they like to peel you apart and make you crumble in an attempt to heal you. I’ve been warned the entire time I was growing up to steer clear of them.

  I never needed their healing, only blood occasionally from a bad soul. My father was the same and taught me how to make sacrifices. He said our Native American heritage called for it. Our ancestors needed it to live on through us. It’s our job to continue coating the earth with the black soul’s blood to give back for everything they’ve used up.

  My father was a true, proud Indian with long, straight, jet-black hair and black eyes to match. His skin was tanned and leathery due to his heritage and exposure to the elements. His time was spent outside when he was young, and he says it forever changed him like our ancestors. I never understood why I had to favor my mother. Her cloud-colored eyes, fair complexion, and light hair made her angelic in a sense, opposite of my father.

  I’ve kept my promises to him, sacrificing when the madness inside my head gets out of control. He’d be proud; I know it was an important ritual to him. It’s become sort of a cleansing for me as well, to show my devotion to the gods of the world. People may not understand my rituals, but the gods do.

  On a podium set at the front of the room stands the man I heard dressed in thick robes. Behind him is a large, imposing marble table, covered with objects. I’m too far away to recognize what they are, however.

  He’s the priest—the holy one—who can burn me, according to the stories my father shared when I was a kid.

  A young man cowers below him, completely bare. He’s hunched over his naked front, his bloody back showcased for the man standing over him. Crisscrosses of bloody welts decorate his back, and I cringe. I’ve been whipped before. I know it hurts. The battered being draws me to him, wanting to see for myself if he’s worth the sacrifice.

  “Forgive me.” The young, broken man pleads and the leather whip in the holy one's hand slaps against his flesh again. Blood splatters in its wake, leaving behind evidence of the punishment. The site of the garnet-colored liquid doesn’t bother me; it’s the purity of the man’s voice begging to be set free. He doesn’t sound guilty of anything worthy of his punishment.

  “Sinner!” the priest declares again, and I begin to make my way around the room to get a better look.

  I stick to the shadows to keep my presence unknown. That’s essentially what I am anyhow, a shadow amongst everyone else in the world. Multiple colors cascade over the glossy pews in the middle of the room, almost making them appear inviting.

  Almost, but I see through their motives.

  Glancing up, I’m met with stained glass windows depicting the church’s beloved saints. In the center of the raised ceiling is an ancient looking painted mural filled with fluffy clouds and golden angels. I wonder if that world ever existed. If it did, according to this, it must’ve been forever ago.

  Smack!

  My eyes snap back to the podium, drawn to the sound. The priest slashed another bloody welt into the young guy's flesh. Cringing, I can’t turn away. It’s like a car crash—you know it must be painful, yet you have to watch regardless.

  “You must ask for forgiveness, Sinner.”

  “For-forgive me, father. I beg you.”

  No father should hit his son like this. He should teach him, rather than punish him. My own father taught me this. We worked together, never against each other.

  “You’ve sinned, you must repent,” he repeats, bringing the leather down again. This time the man on all fours gasps in pain, tears raining down his face, and stuttering something about hail Mary being full of grace.

  This is his father? Surely, he feels the darkness in his soul as I do. The man with the evil soul deserves punishment, not the beaten one at his feet.

  Creeping slowly and quietly, I approach the man from behind. I’m good at being quiet; it’s how I always get away when someone searches for me. It’s how I sneak up on those I plan to offer as a sacrifice. The moon god always helps hide me.

  “Priest,” I hiss, sounding more snake than human. The older man spins around, his middle-aged face lined with surprise. “Repent,” I hiss at him again with a scowl and drive my small blade into the center of his throat. It’s not a fancy way to kill, but it stuns the opponent immediately. Being smaller than many of the men I kill, it’s important to catch them off guard.

  He stumbles back a step, as his eyes bulge, gurgling and choking on the sharp metal. Blood spurts, raining warm sangria droplets over my face. A genuine smile graces my lips as my hands rub the blood into my skin. I’ve killed a bad man, and there’s no better feeling.

  Sacrifice to bring this man peace. Use this blood to replenish all that was stolen from you by this soul. Sacrifice for my ancestors no longer here. I offer this token of evil to you. Sacrifice for life.

  The older man drops to the ground, dead, and the boy at my feet turns to peer up at me. His face is drenched with tears, his back leaving behind droplets of his blood on the floor around him. He’s paid his own sacrifice, offering his blood so easily without a fight.

  He gasps, his mouth falling open in shock at the site of me.

  He’s frightened.

  My hand opens, palm up, going toward him. He’ll need help getting up, I’m sure of it. I don’t want to worry him any more than he already appears to be.

  “S-S-S-Saint Michael?” he proclaims, his eyes growing more fearful, “For-forgive me, for I have sinned.”

  “Sinner?” I test, holding my hand to him once more. Is that his name?

  “I am not worthy. Forgive me for speaking your name.” His gaze falls to the floor, and he bows before me.

  He’s absolutely perfect.

  I will keep him and protect him—always.

  “Come, my Sinner. I’ll protect you now. No need to be frightened of me. You just call me Saint; no name, okay?”

  His callused palm finds mine, and I tug him to his feet. “You will stand for me, Sinner, and you’ll be strong.”

  He briefly glances to the priest, his eyes full of gratitude when they meet mine. No doubt he’s grateful, but guilt will plague his heart for feeling that way after the shock subsides.

  He’s beautiful. Dark to my light, he could be my brother—my opposite. He’s everything I once wished I could be, and together we’ll be perfect.

  “Okay, Saint,” he agrees, an
d I lift the thick, white robe from the floor for him. We need to leave, and I have no idea when someone will show up. The last thing I need is another run-in with the local cops.

  “We have to go.”

  He complies and allows me to help him place the robe over his battered flesh. He’s close to my own age I notice. I hit fifteen six months ago; he’s gotta be right around there as well. I hope his back only needs to be wrapped. I can mix up a paste for it, but I can’t sew very well if he requires stitches.

  “Is there a way out of here other than the front door?”

  “Yes, I can show you.”

  “Sounds good little Sinner, lead the way...”

  And just like that, I’ve met my obsession. My Sinner to my Saint, yet I know the truth. I’m the Sinner, and this beautiful, broken creature is my Saint.

  He’s mine. Forever.

  I am not a saint, unless you think of a saint

  as a sinner who keeps on trying.

  - Nelson Mandela

  “Sin, you have to reel Saint in, brother. He’s losing his shit today,” Viking, the Oath Keepers MC Prez grumbles. Like this is something new; this is Saint in a nutshell, but they all seem to forget that. The brother can’t be cooped up.

  I’ve been riding with Viking for years now, first as a NOMAD, and now in his own club. Saint and the other brothers of the Oath Keepers are the closest thing to family I have. The club means everything to me as it does to the brothers as well. We may be a bunch of misfits alone, but together, we get each other.

  Saint...well, he’s so much more than just a brother to me. We seem to balance each other out a bit. I don’t know if I’d have survived this far if he hadn’t stepped in and helped me stand that day, so long ago.

  “You need to let him out, Vike. You know how he gets when you try to put a leash on him.” They believe that if they keep him at the clubhouse, he won’t hurt anyone. It does the opposite though. You’d think they’d have figured it out by now that cooping him up, drives him a little crazy inside.

  “I can’t have him out in town hacking up some motherfucker and then bathing in his blood. Find something to keep him busy.”