THE BABY OATH: Anarchy’s Reign MC

by Sophia Gray

  Crack's slack-jawed, slab-like face was inches away from his own.

  “Okay, it looks bad,” Brock said. “I admit it. But really, this isn't what it looks like. I had a sudden craving for oysters, so I figured I'd head over to Felix's for a quick half-dozen—”

  Crack punched Brock in the stomach so hard that all the breath left his body. For a moment, his vision tripled and he thought his soul might have left it, too. He sagged to the floor, wheezing and clutching his belly.

  “Wh-What the...fuck...was that...for?” he panted.

  Instead of answering, Crack shook his head sadly and kicked Brock in the side, just below his ribs. Agony jolted through his organs like forks of lightning and he fell forward, catching himself on his forearms before he could hit the carpet face first. He tried to form words, but for a few seconds, all that came out was a long, gurgling whine.

  “Stop it, Crack!”

  Another kick, this time high up on his thigh, near the hip. Brock yelped, crumpling to one side and clutching the spot where Crack's shoe had landed. The pain still burned in his stomach and side, and he felt like he was playing Whack-a-Mole.

  “If you don't fucking stop it, I'm gonna call for help! I mean it!”

  Crack tilted his head to one side, shrugged, and stomped down hard on Brock's left kidney. His entire body seemed to seize up in a single cramp, and for a moment, reality turned a faded gray and he thought he might lose consciousness.

  “Why are you doing this?” Brock asked in a wet, broken whisper. “You're supposed to be here to protect me!”

  Crack grabbed a handful of Brock's hair and snapped his head back, looking into his eyes. “I am. This is me protecting you. And myself. And everyone else. From you.”

  A fist connected with Brock's crotch and suddenly everything from his waist down seemed far away—it was someplace where pain was eclipsed by a distant and tingling dread more gruesome by far.

  Brock opened his mouth to speak, but all that came up from his throat was a series of whimpers. He'd taken his share of beatings before—a common professional hazard for a con man, even a great one—but Christ, this was the worst.

  “Once you've gotten yourself together, we're going to the warehouse to see the others,” Crack said. “I already called them. They can't wait to talk to you.”

  Chapter 25

  Brock

  Brock's knees were wobbling and his entire body felt like one big bruise as Crack rapped the secret knock on the warehouse door. It opened immediately and Hammer's burly arm reached out, seizing Brock by the scruff of the neck and dragging him inside.

  “Hey, take it easy,” Brock groaned. “Can't you see the big guy already worked me over?”

  “Enough of your fucking wisecracks, Brock.”

  Before he could process anything, Hammer dragged him across the dusty concrete floor of the warehouse and threw him into the corner roughly, where he collapsed in a heap. When he managed to drag himself to his feet and look around, he saw that everyone—Ben, Franny, Greg, Robby, and all the Twisted Saints—were standing around him in a loose semicircle.

  Their eyes were cold and pitiless. They reminded Brock of the black water of a frozen pond he'd almost drowned in when he fell through the ice as a small child.

  This must be what it feels like when a guy faces a firing squad, Brock thought. Or when he's about to be stoned to death.

  “Look me in the eyes,” Hammer commanded.

  “Fuck that,” Robby spat. “We all know what he did.”

  “No, I want to hear it from him. I want him to stand there and look me in the eye and tell me with a straight face that he didn't fuck that girl again.” Hammer crossed his arms. “Well, Brock? Go on.”

  Brock sighed, knowing he might as well get it over with. “Fine. Okay. I fucked her. But it's not like that—”

  “Really? What's it like, then, huh?” Ben stepped forward and got right in Brock's face, yelling. “What fairytale horseshit are you going to try to feed us now? That it was about more than dipping your dick? That even a con man can find true love in the most unlikely places?”

  Brock shrugged with a half-smile. “Heh, well, now that you mention it...”

  Greg stared at Brock in disbelief. “Holy shit. I knew you had problems, but I had no idea it was this bad. This is all my fault. If I'd known, I'd never have let you put this con together.”

  “I'm going to go make myself a nice mug of cyanide,” Franny sighed, her head sinking into her hands. “Anyone else want some?”

  “You promised me.” Hammer shook his head slowly in disbelief. “After all these years, after everything we've been through together, you stood there and you promised—”

  “Oh, give me a motherfucking break!” Robby stomped over to Hammer, flecks of spittle spraying from his mouth as he screamed. “You stood there and believed him! I tried to warn you that this mook's word was no good, but he gives you some useless pinkie-swear of a promise and you let him off the hook! Well, I told you so, you fucking pinhead grease monkey! You hear me? I told you so, I told you so, I told you so!”

  Hammer spun around and punched Robby in the face. Robby's glasses skidded across the floor and he sat down hard, blood pouring from his nose. “Robby, a goddamn two-year-old could have told you that now was not the time to say that to me,” Hammer growled.

  Robby stood up, wiping his nose on his sleeve and staring at everyone else in disbelief. “I don't fucking believe you people. He sends the whole plan to hell just so he can give some girl the high hard one, and I'm the one who gets punched?” He stalked over to his glasses, picking them up and wiping them off as he headed for the door. “You're crazy. All of you. I'm out of here. I should never have agreed to this scheme.”

  “But you did agree to it, Robby,” Brock called after him. “So where are you gonna go now? Back to Dallas? What do you think Old Man Moretti's gonna do once Ricci gets his shit together and tells him you were in on this? Sure, he might keep you around for a while...as a rug in front of his fireplace.”

  “Then I'll just have to go on the fucking lam, won't I?” Robby snapped. “And with barely enough money to get by on thanks to you, you horny, selfish prick. I'll probably end up pumping gas somewhere in Montana.”

  “Or you could stick around, see this through, and come out of it with enough millions of dollars to buy yourself whatever life you want,” Brock countered. He tried to sound calm and in control, but his stomach felt like someone was twisting a corkscrew into it. He'd lost their trust completely, and even Hammer wasn't on his side anymore.

  The next few words to come out of his mouth could be the most important ones he'd ever uttered.

  “Here we go.” Robby looked at the ceiling imploringly and flapped his arms in frustration. “Here comes the next sales pitch. He's gonna try to convince us we've still got a shot at pulling this off. Lord, I'm begging you, reach down from heaven and lift me up out of this flaming lake of nonsense.”

  “Actually, we've got a better shot at it than ever now,” said Brock.

  Ben raised his eyebrows. “You cannot be serious.”

  “May as well let him talk,” Franny mumbled. “I don't know about the rest of you, but I could use a good laugh before I die.”

  Hammer clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “This had better be good.”

  “All right, look,” Brock began. “I'm not going to feed you all a bunch of rainbows-and-unicorns crap about why I needed to see her again, because you don't care and you wouldn't believe me anyway. But trust me when I tell you that if we just hang in there a little longer, we can double our money and take Ricci out of the picture permanently...now that we've got someone on the inside.”

  “Oh my fucking God,” Ben blurted out, his hand going to his mouth. “Do you hear what this lunatic is saying? He's telling us he told the daughter all about this.”

  “You didn't,” Hammer breathed, his eyes widening. “Fuck, Brock, no, please, you didn't do that.”

  “You'
re goddamn right I did, and you're all going to thank me for it.”

  The entire warehouse reacted with a chorus of groans and curses. Several crumpled beer cans were hurled in Brock's direction, making him duck and flinch.

  Hammer scowled at him. “If you honestly think a girl's gonna be more loyal to some dude she barely knows than to her own father, then I gotta hand it to you, 'cause you fooled me into thinking you weren't a moron for one hell of a long time.”

  “You only think that because you don't know what I know. I've spent time with this girl. I've heard her whole story. You think you've got a beef with Ricci? A couple of knuckle sandwiches and a lousy quarter mil? Man, this guy has completely fucked up Maggie's life from the moment she was born. He controls what she eats, what she wears, where she goes, even who she talks to. He's willing to marry her off to someone she doesn't even like, for Christ's sake! She wants to see him eat shit even more than we do, and she'll do anything to help us make it happen. And can you think of a more effective weapon for us to use against him? Can you think of a better way to completely erase him as a threat than by stealing every penny he's got and his daughter, too? Forget coming after any of us—Turo won't have time. He'll be too busy running from everyone who ever had a grudge against him, and that's if he doesn't just give up and hang himself with his shoelaces.”

  Brock looked around, trying to gauge the reaction from his audience. He realized he was breathing heavily. It made sense—he felt like he'd just done the world's longest, most desperate tap-dancing routine.

  But it looked like they were buying it.

  Slowly, grudgingly, certainly against their better judgment...but still.

  “Okay,” Hammer said. “Maybe you're right. Maybe we can still pull this off. But if you want us to go forward with it, I've got two conditions, and they ain't negotiable.”

  Brock nodded. Whatever the conditions were, he was sure they wouldn't be a problem.

  “First, you want this girl to be part of the prize? Fine. You can consider her your cut of the loot. Your share of the money gets split up among the rest of us, as reparations for all the bullshit and hassle you've put us through.”

  “Understood. Of course. That's completely fair.” Brock didn't love the idea of walking away from this score without any cash, especially since he'd have Maggie with him. But he'd been broke before, and he'd always made enough moves to stay afloat. He was sure he'd manage this time, too.

  And besides, maybe having a woman with him would open doors to newer, more lucrative scams. Why not?

  “Second, when this is over, so are we.”

  Brock blinked, surprised. “Hey, come on. I know things are tense right now and I've made some bad choices. I'm sorry, okay? But you don't mean that. I know you don't.”

  Hammer shook his head. “I made a mistake, calling you in on this. I thought I knew you, even though we hadn't seen each other for so long. I was wrong. And now that I do know you, I know you ain't my friend and you never will be. The only friend you've got is yourself, and I fucking pity you. And when this score's finished, I never want to see you or hear from you again.”

  Brock couldn't believe it. Sure, he'd pulled some boneheaded stunts, and maybe he hadn't considered Hammer's feelings the way he should have—but that was only because it was Hammer, and they'd been so close as kids that he was sure Hammer would always find some way to forgive him.

  But looking into Hammer's wounded eyes now, Brock realized he'd been wrong.

  “Yeah. Okay. If that's what you want.”

  “It is,” Hammer rumbled. “Now tell us what the girl's part is gonna be in this plan of yours. I'm sure you've already got it all figured out.”

  Brock laid out all of the steps for them.

  When he was finished, they all nodded and got to work on their individual tasks without another word.

  To Brock, their silence was deafening.

  Chapter 26

  Maggie

  Maggie sat in bed reading, as she often did for much of the day.

  Since she usually had nowhere to go, no one to see or talk to, no internet to surf, and no real desire to be around her parents, she generally confined herself to her room. There was a TV, but since it was the middle of the day, she knew nothing would be on except trashy talk shows and soap operas. Her walls were lined with books—she'd read most of them dozens of times since childhood, and now she was flipping the dog-eared pages in her copy of Alexandre Dumas' The Man in the Iron Mask.

  But even though it was one of her favorite stories, she found that this time, she could barely focus. She was too nervous and excited about her part in Brock's plan.

  It seemed like it would work, and based on Brock's confident tone when he outlined it for her, she had no problem believing he'd executed similar schemes on countless occasions and they'd all gone smoothly. He'd assured her if it were truly dangerous, he wouldn't dream of involving her. And she trusted him, mostly because of the trust he'd shown in her by confiding that he wasn't who he'd pretended to be.

  Still, she'd never done anything like this before, and the thought of getting caught gave her a scary thrill so intense that it rendered her light-headed and nauseous. There were times when seriously considering the risks—and the rewards—made her feel like she might actually faint. If they pulled it off, her father would be utterly ruined, and she'd never have to see him or her mother ever again.

  But if they failed...

  The photos of Daniel floated to the surface of her mind, no matter how much she tried to push them back down. Brock's fate would surely be something like that. Would her punishment be the same? Lighter, since she was a member of the family?

  Or even worse, since she'd betrayed it?

  Maggie tried to bury herself in the book again, but no matter what position she was in, her body didn't feel comfortable. Her own skin seemed strange to her somehow, like her body belonged to someone else—she tried to make sense of these vague and disquieting sensations, but understanding seemed just beyond her reach. Jitters crawled through her body in waves like armies of insects, and there were frequent, intense cramps in her abdomen. It felt like she was getting sick, but she was sure these were just symptoms of anxiety.

  The book brushed against her breasts as she shifted positions again, and she was surprised to discover they were sore. She frowned. Had Brock pinched them or bitten them the last time he'd made love to her? She couldn't remember, but even if he had, it seemed odd that they'd still feel so tender.

  And the more she thought about it, the more she was sure he hadn't actually touched her breasts at all.

  There was something else, too. Ever since Brock had come through her window three nights ago, it seemed like her parents were looking at her differently. Her father barely spoke to her, and her mother barely looked at her. It was another reason she'd sequestered herself in her room so completely. Their eyes seemed hard, flat, and suspicious whenever she was in the room.

  But surely, they couldn't know what Brock was planning, or that Maggie was involved? If they did, they'd have confronted her about it instead of giving her the cold shoulder.

  Wouldn't they?

  Maggie shook her head, trying to clear it. These thoughts were tying her brain in knots.

  No...not her brain. Her stomach.

  She tossed the book aside and got up, running to the bathroom down the hall. She barely made it to the toilet before she threw up, sinking to her knees on the chilly porcelain tiles.

  As she flushed the toilet and brushed her teeth, she took this as confirmation that she was coming down with something. That made sense—stress, both positive and negative, could lower the immune system enough for some stomach bug to slip in. And between her delight at the prospect of running away with Brock and her dread of being caught, this was definitely the most stress she'd ever felt in her life.

  Then she made a mental list of her symptoms, leaned over, and vomited again.

  No, she thought. No, no, no. This can't be happening
. Not now. Not in the middle of all this.

  Maggie had often fantasized about having a baby—in a different world, as a different person from a different family. The father would be someone she chose for herself, who she loved with all her heart. They'd give their baby all of their adoration and attention, filling its life with joy. They'd play with it and hold it and kiss it and listen to it, and they'd do anything to help it make its dreams come true, no matter what. Deep down, Maggie believed the only real way to erase the damage her parents had done to her would be to ensure that when she had a child of her own, it would be happy, and free to live its own life.