Donnchadh - Lynn Hagen Page 0,31

you mind?” Getty asked. The second pint of beer was giving him liquid courage. “I’m trying to have a conversation with my long-lost father.”

In truth, Getty was ready to get out of there. Big deal. Rocco was his biological father. It wasn’t as if he was any better than Richard. What Getty really wanted was Donnchadh. He missed his warrior to the point his heart ached.

“He’s yummy, Rocco. Can I break him in?” the floozy asked. Her hair was teased—who the hell teased their hair anymore?—and all she had on was a tight leather vest that barely contained her boobs. Her lipstick was the wrong color for her skin tone, and Getty wanted to gag at the thought of her touching him.

Even if he’d been straight, she would have never been his type.

“Stop scaring my kid,” Rocco said. “He can’t handle your gifts, Gina.”

Yep, Getty was ready to get out of there. Now he wished he’d never met Rocco. It was bad enough to think he had one loser father. Now Getty had two.

Why couldn’t Getty have landed in Keanu Reeves’ house or Dwayne Johnson’s? Why couldn’t his mother have had better taste in men? And now he was thoroughly pissed at her for not telling him about Rocco.

Then again, after meeting the biker, Getty kind of understood why she’d wanted to forget that part of her life.

Now Getty wanted to forget it, too. It wasn’t because of the biker environment. Getty was sure he could’ve gotten past that. It was the fact that Rocco was acting indifferent to meeting his son for the first time.

Like some friend had just dropped by.

Getty shoved the mug away and stood. “It was really nice meeting you.” Not. “I have to get to work, so I’ll look you up.” In a million years.

“No.” Rocco stood and towered over Getty. Now why couldn’t he have inherited his father’s height and build? “I insist you stay and party with us. It’s not every day I get to meet my son.”

Someone must’ve started the jukebox, because old time rock-n-roll started playing as the place turned lively. All Getty wanted to do was get out of there. This totally wasn’t his scene, and Rocco cared about meeting him as much as he would care about handing some sobbing kid an ice cream cone from the ice cream truck.

He’d done his nice deed by saying he’d wanted Getty, but that good feeling was over. He was already dancing with Gina. More like sexing her, and that was something Getty didn’t want to witness.

He started for the door, but one of the bikers grabbed his arm in a bruising hold. “The Prez said for you to stay and party. Nobody turns down his invitation.”

The guy’s breath smelled like he’d been eating from a sewer. Getty prayed his nose hairs weren’t singed. The guy was missing a front tooth, and now that Getty was looking at him, the guy’s eyes were slightly crossed.

“Let go of me.” Getty tried yanking his arm away, but that was futile and made the guy laugh. “You’re hurting me.”

The room fell silent except for the music. Getty turned his head, and his heart jumped out of his chest.

Standing by the bathroom hallway was not only Donnchadh but two other men who were just as big as him.

“Let my fucking mate go,” Donnchadh snarled. His expression was murderous, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

Getty was about to burst with the depth of his feelings toward Donnchadh. Even though Getty had left the apartment knowing full well how much his warrior wouldn’t like it, Donnchadh had come to rescue him.

He could kiss the shit out of Donnchadh right now.

“How the fuck did you guys get in here?” Rocco snarled.

Men began to move forward, but the three warriors didn’t flinch. Donnchadh’s gaze was still locked on Getty’s.

“Fine, if you won’t put him down…” Donny stormed across the room, gripped Bad Breath’s wrist, and snapped it back. The guy howled as he cradled his arm against his chest.

Donnchadh looked at Getty. “Are you okay?” He brushed his knuckles over Getty’s cheek. “Are you hurt?”

“My son is gay? How the fuck did that happen?” Rocco beat a fist on his chest. “He came from good stock.”

“Donnchadh?” Getty whispered.

“Yes, shorty?”

“Get me out of here.”

Donnchadh pressed a light kiss on Getty’s lips. Even that chaste kiss had Getty swooning. He wanted to take things further, but now wasn’t the time.

“Anything you want,” Donnchadh said. “But first let me take out