Pride and Pregnancy (A Devil's Dragons Motorcycle Club Romance) (17 page)
Read Pride and Pregnancy (A Devil's Dragons Motorcycle Club Romance) Online
Authors: Nikki Wild
Six Months Later
I
gazed
across the sea of babies in the newborn infirmary, watching their tiny, slumbering forms. Sarah was asleep in her hospital bed, dozing off the aftermath of a long and, at times, excruciating birth.
Wonder which one is mine.
The elderly nurse in the room answered the question for me, taking a small, sleeping infant from its bed and curling it up in its blanket.
I watched her walk around to the door and up the corridor before she carefully handed me my son.
“Congratulations, Dad,” she smiled. “Connor looks happy and healthy.”
Connor…
I’d let Sarah pick the name, although she picked a good one for our child. While I held him close and watched him sleepily push a finger into his tiny mouth, I felt the warmth of paternity overcome me.
The name suits you, kid.
“Are the rest of them with you?”
“Oh yeah,” I chuckled, glancing towards the waiting room doors. “Those are my
other
boys.”
The nurse pulled her lips into a grimace. “Coming up here in all that black leather, scaring everybody. Darn near gave some of us old ladies a heart attack!”
“Don’t you worry,” I grinned knowingly at her. “I’ll get them out of your hair soon enough.” My eyes filtered down to my newborn son in my arms. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pull a
Lion King
moment…”
Holding Connor to my chest, I backed up through the doors and crossed the waiting room towards the Devil’s Dragons.
The nurse had been right – they were earning a
lot
of funny looks for our dress code. My men proudly wore their black leathers and jeans while taking up a quarter of the chairs by themselves.
The Devil’s Dragons had accepted Sarah in with open arms, especially after seeing the way she’d handled herself in the field in Juarez and in California.
I was pretty happy to realize that she was still a complete badass. Pregnant or not. Even my fireball of a bartender back in El Paso had started treating her with respect, especially when they heard that she’d shot a legendary arms dealer and lived.
Grizz was the first one to notice me, and patted the men on either side on the shoulders. Within seconds, the entire club was glancing over and ascending to greet me.
“Boss, is that–”
“I
told you
it’d be a boy–”
“Takes after his old man–”
“What a tiny little thing–”
I proudly held my child up before them all.
A wide smile beamed across my face as they began to hoot and holler, startling the other waiting parties and causing the gang of nurses to look over at us, all flustered.
“Club, meet your newest member… Connor Hargreaves, heir to the Devil’s Dragons!”
T
he End
, but don’t stop turning pages just yet! As a special bonus, I’ve included several sexy Nikki Wild novels just for my loyal readers! I hope you loved Pride and Pregnancy, and I can’t wait to share more of my books with you!
T
urn the page for KNOCKOUT
, my bestselling MMA Romance, and keep going, because there are a ton of surprises! Also, if you enjoyed Pride and Pregnancy but hadn’t read the first book in the Devil’s Dragons series, go to the table of contents and you’ll find SAVED BY THE BAD BOY, book 1 of the Devil’s Dragons Motorcycle Club is included in this ebook!
-
n
ikki
xoxoxo
B
ad Boy Fighters
:
KNOCKOUT (A Bad Boy MMA Romance)
B
ad Boy Bikers
:
ROUGHNECK (A Dark Biker Romance)
Saving Landon (A Bad Boy Biker Romance)
Saved by the Bad Boy (A Devil’s Dragons Biker Romance)
Pride and Pregnancy (A Devil’s Dragons Motorcycle Club Romance)
Rough Rider (Outlaw Kings Motorcycle Club)
B
ritish Bad Boys
:
Royal Prick (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Arrogant Brit (A Bad Boy British Sports Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Played (A Bad Boy British Romance)
B
ad Boy Rockstars
:
Illicit Behavior (A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
B
ad Boy Stepbrothers
:
Lust (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Richard (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
B
ad Boy Billionaires
:
Copyright 2016, Nikki wild
All Rights Reserved
“
D
ude
! These groupies are
totally
ready to go!” My dreadlocked bastard of a bohemian
guitarist laughed, splashing his bottle of beer in an arc.
The two hot young girls wrapped around him cooed a chorus of flirtatious giggles. They must have been just barely eighteen, clad in tight, low-cut shirts that made their silky, angelic breasts practically burst out of the seams.
Despite my lack of interest, I wasn’t about to rain on his parade. I lightly raised my own bottle of music festival beer to him, shaking my head.
“You go on ahead, man. Not feelin’ it tonight.”
No matter where we went, fans were throwing themselves at us – and my band-mates were always eager to take the free, willing pussy back to the bus for a fresh bang.
In fact, my bassist and drummer were already back there now, getting their freak on with a few nameless groupies now.
“Serious?” Waylon asked drunkenly.
His limber playing hand slid under a skirt and along a tanned, tender ass, drawing a blush from the groupie’s cheeks. The sight made my cock almost twitch.
Almost.
“You sure you don’t want to try a piece of this Alabama ‘tang?” He pressed on. “Plenty to go around. I’m not greedy.”
The groupie twosome puffed their chests and wiggled provocatively for me, giving me the deepest pair of sultry, lustful looks that they could muster.
They looked cute.
Cute, and too young to be acting like this.
“Think I’m just gonna relax and ride the vibe,” I reaffirmed. “Go get your dick wet.”
“If you say so!”
“And ladies,” I continued, turning towards the girls, who settled down and looked at me almost fearfully. “Don’t keep him up all night. This guy needs to be shredding licks same time tomorrow.”
They nodded respectfully, but Waylon jumped up to his feet, his dreads scattering around his face briefly.
“Ain’t gonna happen. This train rides ‘til sunrise! Ain’t that right, ladies?”
They chuckled with big, goofy hero-worshipping grins on their faces. He scooped them up against his sides, and soon they stumbled off towards the back of the after-party, heading for our bus.
Joke’s on them,
I thought to myself.
Waylon’s a two-pump chump on a GOOD day.
Truth of the matter was that I’d been in a funk. For the last few weeks, I had turned down sex left, right, and center from even the most flexible little minxes.
A constant stream of the hottest goddamn chicks around went fucking wild for us on the regular.
And why shouldn’t they?
We weren’t just anybody.
We were
Trent Masters and the Whiplash,
the hottest fucking rock band in America.
On national radiowaves dominated by DJs making music off of laptops, mainstream child stars glammed up and given backing bands, and egotistical personalities lacking substance and spitting shit…we brought something better.
Something
harder.
Something
real
.
Something apparently sorely missed.
Our latest album,
Twelve Machines,
was flying off the shelves across the country. The last two singles went platinum. Hell, talks of a Grammy nomination were already in the pipeline.
I was on top of the fucking world.
Or I should have felt like I was.
But all I felt was empty inside, and even the quick fix of endless sex didn’t quell the tension.
It was hard to think I was taking advantage of these girls when they grinded up against me at after-parties like this, always seeming so desperate to give my cock the old spit-shine.
It just didn’t feel right.
But… I couldn’t tell what I wanted instead.
What I
needed
.
I drank another swig from my bottle of beer, watching the other bands delight in the attention. We were in town for this badass music festival called the
RipFest
, and we’d shared the stage with some serious rock legends and decent upcoming talent.
They were having fun. Even the older, crustier guys looked like they were having a blast, likely filled with enough drugs to bring down a Bull Rhino in its prime.
It’s not like I wasn’t grateful… I was just… Lost.
The constant attention was overwhelming – too much of a great fucking thing. I had to be careful about the shit I said, because rock stars were even
closer
to scandal in this day and age.
Everything constantly recorded, rumors spread with the speed of a tweet and the snap of a camera on some girl’s iPhone.
It was all about being careful and avoiding the wrong kind of spotlight. Blogs are eager for clicks, and the whole world is ready to tear you down to build an audience.
I’d paid my dues.
No more practicing in oily garages and filthy bars. No more struggling in hard labor and backbreaking jobs to make ends meet. I wasn’t going to let some little misstep tear me down.
Despite the bullshit, the throne on this rising fucking star felt grand.
But as the light grew brighter…the shadows only grew filthier. Despite all the fame, all the success, all the money and women and the fancy toys. I knew the truth.
The world is a filthy place.
And I am the reigning king of the filth.