by Lewis, R. J.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I quietly said to him. I nervously kicked the soil around on the ground with the tip of my shoe, waiting for something bad to happen.
“I’m not hiring angels, Ryker. I need hard men. I can’t have you openin’ that heart of yours every time something bad like this happens.”
“Would you rather I left her to die?” I retorted, unable to resist the anger in my voice.
“I’d rather you have done something that didn’t risk people sniffin’ around my business. You could have returned sometime later, made sure there were no witnesses, made sure the hospital you dropped that kid off had nobody looking at you on your way to those doors. Shit like this has to be done in a way that leads absolutely no tracks to my cartel.”
I didn’t reply. Yeah, he was right. I’d been hasty, but I didn’t take any of it back. To me, that baby couldn’t have been left for later.
“You won’t survive until you harden yourself up,” he continued. “You’re one of us now, and that means there will be losses in the process. There’ll be shit you just have to leave behind. The second you slip up is the second you become a target. You don’t want to be that. I’d hate to see you in a similar situation: your head blown to smithereens over some mistake with a crying baby left to die without someone’s softened heart to save it. Think on that, boy. It’s a dog eat dog world, and the only way you’re going to survive it is to be the bigger animal than the rest.”
My brows bunched together in thought as his words replayed through my mind. Distraught, I set the beer down and ran my hand through my hair. A hardened heart? I’d have to shut down my emotions? How does someone do that successfully?
“I took you in for a reason,” he mused, more to himself than me. “You’re the same age as my kid, and he’s a fucking disappointment to me. Can’t stand that little bastard. So when I saw you strapped to that chair, there was fight in you. I admired that. I saw potential. You’ve got it in you to lead. You ignored Ricardo because you believed in what you were doing – that’s leadership material, Ryker. That’s the kind of thing I look for when I pass the torch along, because I ain’t going to be here forever. I need to know I can leave behind someone dependable. At this rate, that could be you.”
Without waiting for my reaction, he stood up and disappeared back inside. He saw fight in me? Saw a leader in me? I couldn’t process that.
I knew the second Boss let me in that my future would be forever changed, but it hit me more now than before tonight. The image of a crying baby beside my cold, dead body did strange things to me. It made me want to keel over and vomit. As if I could have a kid! That shit wasn’t possible. Any mistake and anyone I loved would be a target.
I couldn’t love. I couldn’t have a family. I couldn’t provide when I knew at any turn they might be in danger because of my forced change in lifestyle.
My purpose in life was to be alone, and I wasn’t sure if I’d rather eat a bullet after all.
Present
Ryker
He scared the ever living fuck out of me. He scared the ever living fuck out of everyone else too.
The scary man that everyone made sure to be away from. The one whose eyes were so cold, it made your spine stiffen and your heart rate accelerate. If he looked at you, you didn’t fucking dare look back at him. You just waited and prayed he left you alone.
I’d seen the biggest of men crumble around him. They knew what he was capable of. Stone cold murderer. Someone who could take a life away with his bare hands. His reputation was strong as the stone walls imprisoning us; there wasn’t a corner you could escape to without listening to whispers about what he’d done.
All the lives he’d taken.
The mercy he lacked.
I watched him every day. I saw the way he manhandled the men who pissed him off. He was large and robust, but I sensed that wasn’t entirely the reason he was capable of hurting just anyone. There was hunger in his eyes. He fought from within, and I noticed it the first time he beat some Nazi prick to the ground. It was the first day he stepped into the prison. Usually that was the day you got your ass beaten to the ground by the Nazi gang. They liked to pretend they were the strongest, but it was only because they were the largest crew, leading only by numbers over the rest.
He’d been so enraged by the attack, his shirt had come off, and he was pounding his chest with both his fists, screaming at everyone around him to come at him. This was after he effortlessly threw the largest man in the Nazi crew – and the prison – and beat the snot out of him with nothing but a lunch tray – the lunch tray that had been used on him initially.
“Come and try, you fucking fucks!” he shrieked, his voice deep and powerful. “Who else wants a taste of this?”
The prisoners had cheered from all sides, laughing and bouncing off the fucking walls like chimpanzees. They loved what they were seeing, probably because they’d been beaten by the same Nazi asshole before this guy had come around and danced circles around him.
But the second that shirt came off, mouths closed in the blink of an eye. Silence. For the first time since I’d been here, it was silent as a grave. I knew what they were looking at. It was the same fucking thing I was looking at. The giant tattoo on his back. An emblem of where he came from and who he was.
The tattoo only given to a member of the Black-backed Jackal MC – the most feared biker gang this last decade has ever seen, taking residence in almost every town across the country. But it was the other tattoos that gave him away. He was recognized immediately, and the name gave me chills when I heard it.
Reaper.
They called him Reaper, though his real name was Remy Martinez.
After he’d beaten the fool on his first day, the bloody man lay unconscious at his feet, his scrubs soaked in blood. When no one else stepped forward to fight him, Reaper casually sniffed and dusted himself off. Then he walked to an abandoned lunch tray, grabbed an untouched Granny Smith Apple in the assortment of food and ate it at a table in the far back.
He didn’t put his shirt back on the rest of the day, proudly putting on display the authority he truly possessed.
Hard as fucking nails, this guy. It wasn’t long after that he was ruling the roost. His outside connections had bought the prison guards off, so Reaper got what he wanted when he wanted. He lived in the lap of luxury here, and the fucker had an endless supply of cigarettes and blades he swapped throughout the day.
Like now, he was using his apple blade. Fucker liked his apples, had reserved his own fucking knife for his apples. Crazy fuck. One I needed to get close to.
I’d watched inmates approach him from time to time. They sought safety, wanted a place by his side away from the Nazi crew who still dragged the crying weaklings into the toilets for a screw. They were eyeing me more and more each day, with that arrogant look in their eyes like it was only a matter of time – and the last thing I needed was a frequent cock up my ass in this hell. I needed to be like Reaper, even if it meant not being able to stand by his side. I needed to have a shot at bringing down these bastards if I wanted to make it unscathed these next couple years. I’d been jumped enough times to make me realize I was bound to be someone’s bitch very soon.
Grabbing an apple off my tray one day, I summoned the courage and headed for Reaper. He had his own goddamn table, nobody else accompanying him. Bastard liked his solitude – his solitude and his apples. He didn’t stare at me once as I began to approach him, but I knew he was aware of me. He was aware of everything.
He held his apple blade in one hand and was slicing the skin off the fruit in a slow, calculated way. The skin dangled like a ribbon as he continued to round the blade. I stood before him, watching him silently, wondering if he expected me to talk first. I could never hear the exchange of conversations he’d had with the guys before me to know how they got rejected. Maybe that was why he seemed disinterested in me. I was just another beggar.
“Make it quick,” he finally said, still not taking hi
s eyes off his bloody apple.
Feeling awkward, I leaned forward and set my apple on his tray. “For… you.” Fuck, I was lame, offering my apple to him like he was some god I was bringing trinkets to.
He stared at my apple for half a beat before continuing his peeling. “You came here to give me your fucking apple?”
“Peace offering,” I said on a shrug.
“I don’t need peace from a fuck I’m not warring with.”
I exhaled and ran a hand over my hair. “Shit, man, I don’t know what I’m doing, alright? I came here –”
“You came here like all the others begging me for safety. Like I give a fuck for you opportunistic pricks. I ain’t helpin’ shit, or doin’ shit for anybody. So how about you turn back around and get the fuck outta my face before I throw this knife at your head?”
I froze at his threat. Once upon a time I thought Boss was scary. This guy was something else entirely.
“You wouldn’t use that blade to kill me,” I found myself saying without thought. “You’ve got different blades for different things. When you stabbed one of the Nazis the other week, it was a brown handled knife you didn’t carry again. I’d say you disposed of it or some shit, and judging by the way you shuddered at the blood dripping from its blade, I’d say you don’t like blood period. In fact, you hate it so much, you can’t stand it touching something that’s yours. And that apple knife hasn’t changed once. You like it too much to want to throw it at my head.”
Silence.
His movements slowed and his dark eyes finally looked up at me. I tried to keep my composure, tried to look him straight in those eyes, and I surprised myself by holding it together long enough.
“You been stalking me, kid?” he growled out. “Likin’ what you see or something?”
“No.”
“Thought you could impress me enough to make me want you on my side or some shit?”
“No.”
“Then the fuck do you want?”
“I want to fight.”
His dark brows shot up. “You want to fight me?”
My heart rate spiked as I rapidly retorted, “No! Not you. I want you to teach me how to fight. You’re… you’re a better fighter than the one person I ever thought fought the best.”
Heath. He fought better than Heath ever did.
“What’re you planning on doing with those skills?” he asked, humouring himself by keeping this conversation going.
“Protect myself,” I answered. “And kill someone when I get out of here.”
He finished peeling the apple. He threw it down on his tray and crossed his arms as he looked up at me. He looked intrigued, but that humour was still dancing in those scary eyes.
“You want to kill someone when you get out of here,” he repeated slowly, stifling a laugh. “Who are you after? The fucker that put you here, I’m guessing?”
“No,” I shot back. “I deserve to be here.”
Not for the actual crime I got put away for, mind you, because I’d picked up money just as the police had come by. It was obvious someone had tipped them off, and how ironic it was I had done something I never did before and got caught for it.
Someone sold me out.
“Then who do you want to kill?” Reaper asked, pulling me away from my reveries.
“My brother.”
His face lit up and he barked out a deep laugh. “Your brother? Shit, man, the fuck did that poor cunt do to you?”
“He took my woman.”
Another moment of silence.
This time Reaper looked at me differently. Something passed in those eyes. Some kind of understanding, and I was happy to see the humour gone entirely.
“He took your woman?”
“Yeah, my woman.”
He scoffed. “You sure she didn’t want to be taken?”
I gritted my teeth and didn’t reply. My chest felt heavy with pain and anger. The one thing that had kept me going had been torn from me, and I was too livid to think straight.
“You fuckin’ pussy,” he then said, chuckling deep in his chest as he shook his head. “Going out there and killin’ him isn’t going to change things. She won’t take you back.”
“I already know that.”
“And you still wanna kill the guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Because you were weak enough to love some chick that clearly didn’t return your love?”
“Yeah,” I forced out, because truth was the best route in this fucked up situation. “And loving someone doesn’t make you weak.”
For the first time since I saw him here, I think I had him speechless. He just stared at me for the longest time, his brain working hard as he trailed his eyes up and down my body. I wasn’t big, and he was checking that out. He probably saw nothing but a shrimp in front of him, but if he could stare into my eyes long enough, he’d see the fire in them. The same fire that burned in his own.
“I can teach you how to fight,” he finally said thoughtfully. “But I ain’t protecting you from shit. You get jumped or fucked, that’s not on me. You don’t get any special treatment, either. You’re not my friend. You’ll never be my friend. You’re nothing but a hobby for me to pass my time ‘til I get outta here in twelve months. If you piss me off, I’ll break your legs. If you betray me in any way, I’ll snap your head off that pretty boy neck of yours. And on that note, we’re gonna be doing something about your pretty boy looks too, because I fucking hate pretty boys. They piss me off. Understand?”
Too whiplashed to answer, I managed a nod.
“Good. Now get the fuck outta my face.”
Two
Allie
Stretchmarks.
Everywhere.
I lifted up my night gown higher and took in the thick, deep lines. My fingertips brushed over every one of them as I stared into the mirror. They stood out against my skin, no way of hiding or reducing them without it looking overly obvious. My body was forever changed.
With a sigh, I let go of my night gown. Staring at my new self was going to take some getting used to. The more I saw my reflection, the more I wanted to hide away. But hiding away tonight wasn’t an option. It was week six. Green light, the doctor had said, and Heath’s eyes never shined so bright.
Upon hearing the sound of the front door open and shut, I double checked my legs and ran my hands under each armpit, making sure I was completely hairless. Admittedly, I’d slacked off in that area for some weeks. Before my ultimate shave, I was borderline Alpaca.
I combed my fingers through my hair and ruffled up the back of it in a pathetic attempt to give it some volume. Then I opened the door and walked out. He was already in the bedroom, setting the bag from the shops down on the night table before removing his jacket. As usual, he looked rugged and rough around the edges. It didn’t help that he’d just had a fight and his hair was tousled and his hands were still wrapped in boxing tape. While I’d obsessed just seconds ago at my appearance, I couldn’t remember the last time he looked at his reflection. Lucky ass didn’t even need to. He looked the same all the time. It was unfair, really, to look this good and not have to try.
When he turned around and met my gaze, those brown eyes instantly lit up. That smirk I fell in love with formed as he eyed me up and down.
“I’m liking the length of that gown,” he remarked, licking his bottom lip slowly.
It was a loose, white satin night gown that ended dangerously close to my nether regions. He’d bought me it from some high up lingerie shop before I’d ballooned into a whale. Now that I wasn’t the size of a house anymore, I finally gathered the courage to try it on. It hid the lumps and bumps in all the right places, so I was feeling pretty good.
“You gonna get that fine ass over here or what?”
Smiling, I stalled and said, “Tell me about the fight.”
“What about it?” he nonchalantly replied.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t play dumb. How did it go?”
He chuckled a
nd dug into his pocket. “I’m offended you’re asking,” he said. “Do I lose often?”
He didn’t give me a chance to respond. He pulled out a huge wad of cash and said, “Of course I won.”
I let out a breath in relief. We needed the money. Having a baby was expensive and we needed more baby supplies.
Seeing the relief on my face, his smile softened. “I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of, Allie. Trust in me.”
I nodded. “I know, and I do.”
Looking out of the room, he asked, “How’s the champ doing?”
“Go and check.”
He stepped out of the bedroom and into the room next door. It hadn’t been Ryker’s room for a few months now. It’d been stripped and turned into a baby room. I followed after him and watched him stop in front of the crib. He leaned over and stared at Kayden Lawson: my miracle. I was thirty nine weeks pregnant when he decided he wanted out. A seventeen hour labour later, he was born in the early morning of February 2nd, and the first thing he did was cry for food.
Heath stroked Kayden’s head, staring down at him with the softest eyes. He was smitten with Kayden – absolutely, undeniably smitten. It was remarkable seeing him so in love. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting after all of this, but it certainly wasn’t Heath stepping into daddy shoes.
I left him alone for a while to bond with him. Sitting on my bed, I waited patiently for him to return while telling myself to be ready for sex again. The doctor had jumped straight on birth control the second I gave birth, and I opted for the pill. I wasn’t a fan of the way it made me hormonal and unbelievably emotional, but it was better than being a dumbass and relying solely on a condom like I did in the past.
Yeah, making smarter decisions was the number one goal for this year.
“You’re beautiful sitting there.”
I jumped and looked up at Heath standing in the doorway with a wistful smile on his face. I smiled back at him, already flushed by the intensity in his eyes. He wanted me.
