Mia’s parents’ still held onto the hope that their baby girl would be found, safe and sound. Organizing search parties, holding town meetings, and spreading missing person signs up all over the nearby counties.
I hated walking into the convenience stores, seeing Mia’s face plastered all over the registers. Only reminding me she didn’t deserve this. Detective McGraw was more relentless than ever, still sticking his nose where it didn’t fucking belong. If it wasn’t for Mia considering him as family, I would have put him to ground already. He was a cocky son of a bitch who rubbed me the wrong way one too many times. The more time I spent at the clubhouse, the more I realized this was no fucking place for Mia to be hanging out.
Especially with a baby girl.
The club’s normal activities were worse now than ever. The boys were getting restless, their minds focused solely on figuring out what the hell was going on and who wanted our fucking turf. Club whores, drugs, and booze were the only way we’d ever blown off steam. I never stayed more than I had to anymore. Foregoing the festivities. Taking care of club business and coming back to Mia was the only thing on my mind these days.
“I’m fuckin’ filthy. Need a shower, babe. Don’t get too close.”
“I don’t care. I’ll take you any way I can, Creed Jameson. I’ll even join you in the shower.”
“Is that right? You like it when I make you nice and dirty, Mia Savannah Ryder?”
She gave me a questioning look. “How did you know my midd—”
I kissed her, throwing my backpack to the ground, picking her up by her ass so she could straddle my waist. “Pippin, how you smell so fuckin’ good all the time?” She giggled in that cute-as-shit sort of way when I started to rub my facial hair all over her neck. I hadn’t been shaving lately, no time. “Who’s my girl?”
She melted in my arms as I carried her back to my room, spending the rest of the morning proving to her that she was. Not giving a damn about what Noah said on the porch. She was my girl, and I wanted to fuck her.
So, I did.
“I was going to do my laundry today. I don’t have any more clean clothes here,” Mia informed, coming out of the bathroom. Walking around my room with a towel wrapped around her, while I threw on a pair of clean jeans.
Foregoing a shirt.
“Grab one of my shirts from the dresser and meet me in the kitchen so you can make me a sandwich.”
“Excuse me, I didn’t hear a please in that sentence.”
I grinned, pecking her lips. “If I was gonna say please, might as well do it myself.” I spanked her ass, and she yelped. “Feed your man, he’s fuckin’ starvin’.”
“Okay.” She nodded, side stepping me. “I’ll go find him.”
I chuckled, gripping onto the back of her towel. Tugging her against my chest, I wrapped my arms around her from behind. “You mad cuz I didn’t say yeah?”
“Yeah isn’t a please,” she sassed, trying to block off my attempt to tickle her neck with my beard.
“But look at ya. Already barefoot and pregnant, just how I want you. Now make me a fuckin’ sandwich, yeah?”
“You’re such a barbarian!” she laughed, swatting me away. Her weak efforts to get free were no match for me.
I spanked her ass again, letting her go. “And it’s why you fuckin’ love me.”
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she walked over to my dresser. I left to go wait for my sandwich in the kitchen. It didn’t take long for her to find me sitting at the island, looking sexy as sin with my shirt on. Her perky tits showing through the white fabric that fell just above her knees. I made a mental note to have her wear my clothes more often.
“What’s this?” she asked, trying to hide her amused expression. Throwing a bunch of baby magazines on the counter, right in front of where I sat. “Found them in your drawer when I was grabbing one of your shirts.”
“Brought these back for us. Thought we could find some baby shit together.”
She smiled wide, her face beaming. “I’d love that. I’ll go make you your sandwich first.” Stepping in between my legs, she threw her arms around my neck and whispered against my lips, “I’ll even throw in some French fries and a milkshake.”
I kissed her. “Good to know ya came to your senses and realized your place, woman,” I joked.
But not really.
I swear he loved trying to get a rise out of me. Although he was right, I did love him, barbarian and all. There was something about his way with words that I found sexy. He was crude, vulgar, and said what he felt or thought, no matter what.
But he was one hell of a man.
My man.
I made him lunch, deciding to make some for myself, as well. Baby girl was starving. She had the appetite of her daddy and Creed. Most of the food would always be gone because of them, even though they weren’t around every day like I was. They reminded me a lot of Mason and Bo. Momma was constantly stocking our cabinets, yelling about them eating us out of house and home.
I set the knife down on the counter, feeling a sharp pain in my chest. My heart breaking into a million pieces at the mere thought of my family, again. I missed them so much, and each day away from them became far worse than the day before. It didn’t help that I knew they were worried sick. No parent should ever have to go through this.
I placed my hand on my belly, imagining myself in their shoes. How awful it would be to lose a child and not have any idea where they were or how to find them. How to bring them back home safely. I prayed every night that they still felt my presence, knowing I was still alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere. Hoping it would at least give them some peace when there wasn’t any to be had.
I shook off the haunting thoughts and pain in my heart, focusing on lunch. Trying to suppress the ache as best as I could. It probably didn’t help that Noah hadn’t been coming around as often as before, either. I knew he was trying to keep his distance from me like I requested. But I didn’t mean for him to not come around at all. It made me sad just thinking about it. I didn’t like being the cause of another person’s pain.
“Pippin, why don’t ya tell me some of your favorite things so I can try to bring ‘em back for you,” Creed remarked, pulling me away from yet another plaguing thought.
I spun around, glancing back at him from the stove. He was looking down at one of the baby magazines, flipping the pages with a marker in his hand.
“What?” I questioned, caught off guard by what he was doing.
“You heard me,” he simply stated, flipping another page.
“What kind of things?”
“Just some of your favorite shit.” He shrugged, still not looking up at me, marking something down on one of the pages in the magazine.
What was he doing? “Like what? Give me some direction.”
“Favorite books, movies, food, lotion for your belly—shit like that. Anythin’ to make the time go by faster for you and baby girl. Know you been gettin’ restless and don’t fuckin’ blame ya.”
“Lotion for my belly? How do you know about pregnant women putting lotion on their bellies?”