That final day, I wake shaking and crying in total anguish, knowing there’s only one decision I can make. I can’t take the risk my baby’s already in pain, making him endure that for the next three months just to give me the chance of holding him. I can’t think only of myself; I’ve got to let him go.
Before my resolution fades, I ring early, insisting on speaking to the doctor who’d given me the prognosis, and hear her assure me once again, “No, Ms Jones. From the sonogram and the other tests we’ve done, there is no hope. A large part of his skull is missing. He won’t survive.”
Not allowing myself second thoughts, I arrange the appointment.
The time between that phone call and leaving for the hospital passes with me in a kind of trance. I spend it talking to my baby, explaining how much I love him, how I’d have given him the best life I could. How sorry I am for whatever I did to lead us to this place, and that there’ll always be a part of me that’s died along with him. The truth is, without him, I don’t know how I’ll survive, nor whether I want to.
How I drive safely to the hospital I’ll never know. But I do. I was given two options—a local or general anaesthetic. I took the latter, knowing I’d lose the last vestiges of my sanity were I to be awake.
Internally screaming I can’t do this, I let them put me to sleep.
When I wake, feeling sick and disorientated, I already feel empty. I’m barely aware of what anyone is saying to me, except for the warnings that I will continue to bleed. Symptoms of what to look out for that may be a problem go right over my head. At that moment, I truly don’t care what happens to me.
I feel like a murderer.
After a period of time monitoring me, they say I’m okay to leave. When they check whether I’ve got someone with me, I lie and say I have a friend waiting outside.
I stumble across the car park, unsure whether what I’m feeling is more mental than physical, but I’m dizzy, my head aches, my stomach feels sore, and as for my heart, it’s smashed into pieces. I head for my car thinking I’ll sit for a bit before starting to drive. If I was sensible, I’d call for a cab. Maybe I will, but I need some time to pull myself together first. I might not care about my life, but I won’t be a danger to others.
Everything inside me is screaming that I’ve made a mistake. What do doctors know, they could have been wrong? Why did I come here today? Why hadn’t I carried on and pretended everything was normal?
Now there’s nothing left.
No baby.
No hope.
I might as well be dead.
I shouldn’t have done it.
Chapter Fifteen
Niran
Staring at a carburettor as if it could talk and tell me what was wrong, I’m distracted by my phone vibrating in my pocket. “What can I do for you, Token?”
“Got some info for you. I’ve been keeping tabs on your woman. Thought you’d like to know Saffie’s booked herself into the hospital. She went in first thing this morning. From the notes I managed to get into, it looks like she’s going through with the termination.”
Oh, Saffie. I pull the phone away for a moment and swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump that comes into my throat. While I support her choice, I can’t imagine how hard this will be for her. I know she’ll be devastated.
“You said she went in. Is she still there?” I appreciate that Token had given me a moment.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’ve only just found out.”
“Gotcha. Thanks, Brother.” I end the call.
Shouting to let Grumbler know I’m heading out, I head straight for my bike. Whatever reason she wanted rid of me, the colour of my skin or the fact I wear a cut be damned. Something tells me she’s going to need someone, and all she’s got is me, so it’s me she’s going to get.
I don’t even think about it. All I know is that Saffie’s alone and going through one of, or even maybe the worst thing that can happen to a woman in her life. The loss of a child.
If she went to the hospital early, then she might already be home. Or do they keep women going through procedures like her in? I wish I knew more, but it’s her apartment where I go first. Privacy be damned or not, when there’s no answer to my knock, I pick the lock, and a quick check around shows me she’s not here.
Locking up after me, it’s back on my bike, and the hospital where I go next. I find the right department, but of course they won’t give me any information about her—if she’s here or whether she’s already been and gone. But they do answer my query—for a procedure as I’ve described, it’s unlikely she’ll need to be kept in.
Banging myself on the head, I realise I should have checked the parking lot first. I walk out, and there, at the back of the lot as if ashamed to be in the company of far newer and less scruffy cars, is hers.
I lean against the door, fold my arms across my chest, and settle in to wait, dismissing the notion of going back into the waiting room. If there’s to be a confrontation, I’d rather it was in private. With nothing else to occupy my time, I take out my phone and start playing a mindless game.
I’ve run out of lives and am just debating whether to waste some cash when I catch movement out of the side of my eye.
It’s Saffie. She’s a complete mess, her face red and blotchy. She’s holding her stomach and walking, or more correctly stumbling and lurching slowly across the parking lot, her uncaring progress making it seem like her world’s been completely shattered. My heart breaks, and my feet spring into action as I run over to join her.
In the depths of her misery, she doesn’t notice me at first. When she does, she looks up, then catches sight of my cut, and her face pales more.
“Saffie,” I start, imploringly. “Yeah, I’m a biker. Yeah, I’m in a club. But I’m no threat to you. I want to be there for you. You fuckin’ need someone, sweetheart.”
She turns away and starts to walk off. It’s as though anywhere away from me will do, as she’s already taken a few steps in the opposite direction of her car.
“Saffie,” I call after her, using my long legs to quickly catch up and move in front to impede her progress. “Please, Saffie, hear me out.”
Her eyes close, and her face turns downward. “Did Duke send you?” The question is voiced in a tone of surrender, as if she’s expecting a positive, but unwelcome, response.
“What?” I shake my head in confusion. “Duke? Who the fuck’s Duke?” My eyes narrow and my nostrils flare. “He a biker who hurt you, Saffie? Is that what this is all about?” I place my hand over my heart. “I swear on all I hold dear, on my family’s and my brothers’ lives, I have never met nor come across a man named Duke. Not in any MC.” I think for a moment, then add, “Or out of it to my recollection.”
Raising her face, her eyes open again. “You swear you don’t know Duke?”
“I swear.” I put my hand over my heart. I don’t know what more I can do or say to convince her. “Let me in, Saffie. Let me care for you.”
She looks so damn tired as her hands raise as if in surrender. She seems to slump, as though the reality of what she’s been through begins to overcome her fear of the cut that I wear, and whether she can trust my denial of knowing the asshole she seems to think I’ve got connections to. Tearful eyes rise to meet mine, a moment while she seems to have an internal battle, then after just one further slight hesitation, she’s in my arms, sobbing as though her world’s come to an end.
I hold her tight, trying to imbibe her with my strength. “It’s alright. You’re alright. Cry it out, darlin’.” For a moment or two, she rests against me, giving me almost her full weight as though her legs will no longer support her. I just hold her tight and repeat my meaningless words. I rock back and forth, as though comforting a child.
After a while, I ask, concerned, “Are you hurting?”
“Not really,” she replies through her sobs. “They… they gave me something. I still feel a bit woozy from the anaesthetic.”
The truth is, I have no
clue what she’s gone through, what care she needs, or how to comfort her, but I can see she’s in no fucking state to drive.
“I’ll take you home.”
Again between heartbreaking intakes of air which exhale as sniffles, she gives a slight push and tells me, “I’ve got my car.”
I don’t allow her to break free but loosen my hold so she doesn’t feel trapped. “That’s good, as I’m on my bike. We’ll take your car. Saffie, you can’t drive. Surely the hospital warned you? If the anaesthetic hasn’t completely worn off—”
“I told them I was being collected.”
“And you are.” I give her a small smile, cupping her face and turning it up to face me. “By me.”
She stiffens slightly, but then sighs, completely defeated. “I want to go home.”
“Car keys?”
In answer, she holds out her purse to me. Opening it, I peer in, then gingerly stretch out my hand. After fumbling around, touching things I can’t even name, I eventually find them at the bottom of the bag. How women find keys in an emergency I’ll never understand.
Wasting no time, I need to almost fully support her as we move closer to her car, as if she’s mentally and physically given up. Once there, I open the passenger door and help her inside, leaning over to fasten her seatbelt. Then somehow, I manage to get my large form into the tiny driver’s space, pushing the seat back as far as it can go.
Once I’m in gear and pulling out of the parking lot, I reach for her hand and squeeze it tight. I don’t ask questions, just let her be.
The journey continues in silence, broken only by the distraught weeping at my side. It’s not loud but sounds like thunder to my ears. I’d give anything for the audible evidence of her distress to cease, it’s simply increasing my sense of uselessness. What the fuck do I say to her? I can hardly tell her everything’s going to be alright. There are literally no words which would help.
I can see in the rearview that her car still belches smoke, but I drive gamely on. At least we keep moving, until suddenly, the engine splutters and dies and we slow to an unplanned halt.
Fuck.
I coast to the side of the road and put it in park. A glance to my side shows me she’s barely registered the unplanned stop. Her nod is barely perceptible when I tell her, “I’ll check under the hood.” I pull the lever, then get out.
Like any male by the side of a broken-down car, I stand, looking down at the engine without a clue as to what’s gone wrong. Even with my mechanic’s eyes, seeing the state it’s in, it could be anything. It all looks so old. It could have just reached the end of its line. Without tools and stripping it completely, there’s no easy fix to be done.
I take out my phone and place a call.
“Grumbler? I’m with Saffie…” Pulling my phone away from my ear, I ignore his what the fuck and the where the fuck have you been, and the accusatory you just walked out, instead silencing him with my next words. “Saffie, well, she’s no longer pregnant.” After I listen to a few more, but this time understanding, oh fucks, I continue, “I picked her up from the hospital, but we’ve broken down… yeah, her car, not my bike. Can you send the tow truck out?” When he gets my location, I add another request. “I also need the prospects to collect my bike. I left it in the hospital parking lot… Sure, I’ll give them the key when they come to collect the car. I can’t leave her.” Grumbler, full of sincere but unhelpful apologies for the way everything’s turned out, tells me he understands.
I go back to sit beside her, leaving the hood open and the hazard lights on, so anyone can tell we’ve broken down. I’m thankful for small mercies, the battery is still good, the emergency lights are flashing, and at least we’re not on the highway. I’ve managed to get it far enough to the side that cars passing should be able to do so safely enough.
Thank fuck I was here. Saffie, in her state, on her own… I don’t even want to think about what would have happened, or whether she could have coped.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asks disinterestedly, holding a sodden tissue to try to mop the tears continuously streaming from her eyes. The state of her car is clearly an inconvenience and the last thing on her mind.
I answer her anyway. “Fuck knows. Could be any one of a number of things.” Or all of them combined. “I’m getting the boys to come tow it in. Your engine looks fucked, Saffie.”
She shrugs as if it doesn’t bother her, and I doubt it does. Not now, not in the scheme of things.
We don’t talk, just sit, waiting. She uses tissue after tissue, but even when the tears begin to dry, she still gives a far too regular sniff and a sob. Luckily, it isn’t long before the tow truck arrives driven by Ross with Kid sitting beside him, along with Curtis and Wrangler behind in the crash truck sent to take back my bike. I notice with relief, and as should be the case, as they’re in cages, none of them are wearing cuts.
“I want to go home.” Saffie seems to only just realise her plans have been interrupted.
“I’ll get you home,” I promise.
Aware she’s probably sore, as well as full of regret or wishes about what might have been, I think for a moment how best to do this, then get out of the car.
After shaking Ross’s hand, I thank him for getting here so fast, then issue my instructions. “You and Kid hook up the car and tow it to the shop, will you?” After he nods, I turn to the prospect and brother who’ve just stepped out of the crash truck and joined us. “Wrangler, can you and Curtis drive Saffie and me back to her apartment, then go get my bike?” When my brother gives a raise and dip of his chin, I pass him my key and tell him where I left it.
All four men spring into action, Curtis helping Ross even though the one-handed man knows exactly what he’s doing having picked up a tow a hundred times, and Kid looking on watching how they do stuff. I wait with Saffie, who’s standing, clutching her purse to her. I want to hold her and comfort her, but now she’s giving off stay away from me vibes, so I just stand next to her. Her face is expressionless, but her eyes, they’re so full of pain I’d give my other leg if it would save her this anguish. But knowing there’s nothing to be said or done, I just give silent support.
As Ross and Kid leave, she watches her car start to move away behind the tow truck as though it’s just one more blow that’s been sent to hurt her.
When Curtis signals he’s ready to leave, I ask her, “You feeling okay, Saffie? Want my help to the truck?”
Like an automaton, she starts walking forward, her movements jerky. Her hands are again wrapped around her stomach, suggesting it’s both mental and physical pain she’s feeling.
The truck’s built for men, not a petite woman. I help her up, my hand on her ass just there to give her a boost, but she jerks away and heaves herself in, the sudden movement being too much for her, and her wince betrays the strain. When I reach for the seat belt, she takes it herself. When I slide in beside her, she moves away.
As I lean forward and give Curtis instructions on how to get to her place, I hear her let out a relieved sigh. Did she expect me to kidnap her and not take her home? Another sign of how little she trusts bikers.
Approaching the block where her apartment is, I don’t miss the way the prospect’s jaw tightens nor the quick backward incredulous glance that he gives me, or the way his eyes meet Wrangler’s.
“You want your bike brought here?” Wrangler’s voice is tight.
I shudder inwardly, knowing what he’s thinking. Definitely not. “Nah, take it back. When I need a lift home, I’ll call you.”
My words seem to sink in to Saffie’s head. “You’re not… you’re not coming in, Niran.”
I take a deep breath. I’m prepared to fight to the end on this. “Darlin’, you need someone with you. I’m not leaving you alone. Either I keep you company for a bit, or you come back to the clubhouse.” Turning, I see her stiffen at my ultimatum, but I’m relentless. “Which is it to be, Saffie?”
As if realising it would be too easy to kidnap her, outnumbe
red as she is, she shudders, then says, “I don’t seem to have a choice. You can come in.” The words are all but spat at me.
Curtis pulls up and parks, and stays sitting in the cab, Wrangler, taking his cue, also stays put while I help Saffie out. They wait until we reach the main door of the apartment building. When I turn and give them a dismissive wave, Wrangler shakes his head, then Curtis drives off.
Seeing Saffie eyeing the stairs with trepidation, I gather the fucking lift is still not working. Inwardly groaning that I’m going to again put strain on my leg, I sweep her in my arms and carry her. I swear she’s lost weight even in the short time I’ve known her. Then, I want to smack myself in the head for the thought.
Of course she has. She’s lost her baby.
Chapter Sixteen
Saffie
I ended my pregnancy.
Now I’m staring at the same front door I walked out of hours earlier, but everything’s different. I’m not the same person who left. I feel so damn empty.
I’d walked into the hospital knowing my life was about to change, and not for the better. I’d thought I’d made the right decision. I thought I could be strong. But when it was over, I had nothing but regrets, and an overwhelming sense that what I’d done was wrong.
I stand on the threshold of my apartment, fearing stepping inside. Frightened of the person I’ll find in there, and I’m not talking about the man at my side, it’s me, who I don’t recognise.
I’d left the hospital surprised when the skies didn’t open and a bolt of lightning hadn’t come down to strike me. How could a woman do what I had done?
Distraught, I’d headed in the general direction where I’d left my car, tears blurring my vision. I didn’t care when a figure came close, only hoping they’d leave me alone. It’s only when he drew nearer that I realised who was there.
My worst nightmare. A biker. It didn’t help that I recognised it was Niran, it was his cut that I saw at first. Fear blasted into me, and I followed my initial instinct to run.
Avenging Devil Part 1: Satan’s Devils MC - San Diego Chapter #3 Page 16
