Possessive_A Bad Boy Second Chance Motorcycle Club Romance

by Kathryn Thomas

  “Yeah.” My voice quivers slightly, “I’m fine. I had to…”

  “Women things?” he asks with feigned disgust. I’d normally roll my eyes so hard at him for shying away from something perfectly natural (and something he gets the privilege of enjoying every single night and morning), but I’m just not into it.

  I nod quickly as I gulp back the lump stuck in my throat. “Yes. I had an appointment with the OBGYN.”

  Race takes a seat next to me, turning it so that it faces backward against the table. He leans closer to me and whispers, “Please tell me you can still screw.”

  “I can still do all that. I – well, I don’t know if you’re going to want to screw me after I tell you what I need to tell you.”

  I watch as his knuckles wrap around the metal of the chair frame. He studies my face before gesturing with his large, soot-stained hands to continue.

  “It’s… I’m… Hold on.” I fly off the seat and walk to where my purse hangs. I pull out the only proof I’ve got – a black and gray picture of a human-like blob floating gently inside of me. I hold it close to my chest before pressing it down on the table before Race. I turn my back, ready for him to fly off the wall or go into a rage, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even make a sound.

  After a few, horrible minutes’ pass, it’s me who has to make a move. “I found out today. Four months, Race. He’s due in June.”

  “He?” Race’s voice cracks. He gently takes the picture from the tabletop and cradles it in his hands.

  “I don’t know if it’s a he. I won’t know for another month or so. It’s still early, but it’s past the danger point now.”

  “How did you not know? I thought you were on the pill?”

  “I was. I swear to you. The last thing I want is to bring a baby into the world right now. It wasn’t ever on my radar. But with me living here and the stress of being literally hunted down, I missed a few days.” Defensively, I add, “And it’s not like you were careful either. Based on the baby’s size, we probably conceived the first night we were together, and you weren’t too eager to put on a condom then.”

  “Jesus, Delilah. Why didn’t you get this checked out sooner?”

  “Because not all women’s bodies and cycles are alike. I skip my cycle every few months. And the pills I’m on sometimes makes me really late or super early. And like I said, with all the shit that’s been going on, I didn’t notice it.”

  “And what’s this shit about you not wanting to bring a baby into the world? Are you thinking...?”

  “No!” I shout. “I mean, I have time if I wanted to make that choice, but I can’t… Not now that I’ve heard the heartbeat and have seen the pictures. But I meant that this is the last place in the world I would want to bring a baby home to.”

  “My home. My home is the last place you want to bring our kid to?” He rises to his feet, unable to look at me. “What the hell is wrong with my place?”

  “Nothing! But it’s no place to raise a kid, Race. Don’t you see that? You’ve got druggies and whores on the first floor, and a kingpin living above us. There’s no place for the kid to sleep, let alone for him to play. A child doesn’t deserve that. Our child doesn’t deserve that.”

  “He’ll have brothers to raise him. And when I’m dead and gone, he’ll take over my role. I see nothing wrong with bringing up a kid in this land.”

  “Are you serious? You want to give your child a life where they’re always on the run from the cops or some other club? Where their money comes from selling drugs and women to dirtbags? That’s not a life! It’s a prison sentence!”

  “It’s freedom, Del! It’s the best goddamned family you can find. And it’s what I’ve worked my whole life towards. If it’s not good enough for you, then that’s your fucking problem. But the only one that’s on the run from anything is you.”

  “It’s not good enough for me. It wasn’t good enough when I was a child, and it isn’t good enough for my baby.”

  Race stares me down as if I’m about to explode on him. His nostrils flare slightly as his chest heaves. His balled-up hand taps on the table before he takes a step towards me. Inches from my face, he looks down on me as he gives me his final command: “Go.”

  “I will,” I reply, unsure if it’s a threat or a promise. But as he turns towards the door, grabbing his jacket and helmet on his way out, I know that he’s serious. Unwilling or not, he’s giving me an out, and I’m not about to let this go.

  After he’s stormed out, the door slamming behind him, I run back to the bedroom and I grab everything I see that’s in sight. I pack a bag with five days’ worth of clothes, my coat, and another pair of shoes. I throw in the prenatal vitamins the doctor gave me along with my phone and wallet.

  I’m just about out the door myself when I think of the picture still sitting in the dining room. I’d love to have it. It’s my child’s first picture, but something in me knows that if Race is serious about me leaving, then he should have it. By tomorrow, I’ll be out of his territory and far away, if I can manage it. The last he will see of me or the baby is that gray and black print out photo.

  Every man in the warehouse stares at me as I go, but no one tries to stop me, not even the guards Race has put on duty since I’ve moved in. The only sounds I hear are the bikes in the parking lot and the booming music already blasting for the party they’ll have tonight. Nico is the last Devils’ face I see before I make it out to the street.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been walking before I decide to stop. I walk until I can’t hear the music or see the choppers coming in from their routes. I walk until I’m past the familiar homes and my old neighborhood. I walk until I am certain I’m out of Bastard territory and where I can’t recognize the roads or the businesses that are closing up for the evening.

  A few hours into my hike, I finally let myself rest, recognizing that caring for myself is the most important thing I can do for the being growing inside of me. I stop outside a diner similar to the one my mom works at. I sigh heavily as I look inside at the waitresses all the same age as her, each with the same, tired gait and talk. They swing large brown trays of food over their customer’s heads while taking orders with tiny pencils they otherwise keep tucked behind their ears.

  “Miss? Are you okay?”

  I spin backward on my heels to see a cop staring at me. I’m not big on cops. I know how crooked they can be and how a man in uniform isn’t necessarily the greatest to be around, especially when alone and somewhere new.

  “Miss?” He cocks his head to the side and puts on a light smile. He probably sees a lot of girls like me out on the streets alone, looking for food.

  “Yeah. I’m fine, officer. Thank you. I’m just deciding if I want to eat here or not.”

  “The 50s Cafe? No, no.” He laughs. “No offense to them, but their food tastes like crap. If you’re looking for a place to go, there’s a better diner down the block. Best cheesecake there is in L.A. I promise you that.” He rubs his round belly jokingly.

  I can’t help but smile. “That does sound good. Right around the block?”

  “Here,” he offers, “I can walk you. It’s not too far, and I’m headed back to my car anyways.”

  I nod and follow him around the corner. He takes the inside of the street, strolling slowly as he whistles to himself. I see his car just a few feet down from where we started, but he stops and turns towards me. “You wouldn’t happen to be this girl I’m looking for, would you?”

  My heart drops to my stomach as the panic rises. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Because you sure do look like her. Delilah?”

  I can’t get out Race’s name before the large man grabs hold of me and thrusts me into the back of the car. The doors lock behind me, and like that, I’m caged in. He gets into the driver’s side and pulls his seatbelt across his chest.

  “Please. Please don’t bring me back. I’m just trying to get home to my mom. Race is the one who let me go!”

  T
he cop eyes me in the rearview window as he begins to drive in the opposite direction of my walk. “Race? Who the hell is Race, lady?”

  My throat goes dry as I ask, “You’re not with the Bad Devils?”

  “Hell no!” he shouts. “Those cheap ass bastards may have every other detective on their side, but not me. I work for someone much better than them.”

  “Who are you? Who are you bringing me to?”

  “The Roadheads.”

  “No. Why would they want me? I have nothing to do with them! I don’t even know anyone in their club! Please! Tell me what’s happening!”

  He doesn’t speak the rest of the way, but he keeps one eye on me as he drives. His furry, thick eyebrow stays raised as if to suss out if I know more than I let on. But I’m about as dumbfounded as I sound. There’s zero reason why the Roadheads would want me. I’m not collateral. I’m not even bait!

  The cop pulls up to a small, brick building on the corner of an empty street. Twenty or so bikes are lined up in a neat row against the sidewalk. The smell of tobacco chokes me as the cop leads me out of the car and into the open back door. We head down a flight of stairs into a basement. The walls are painted black, but light seeps in from an open room at the end of the floor.

  “Pres!” the cop calls, holding tight to my arm. “Pres!”

  “What? Who the hell is it?”

  “Officer Brady, sir. I’ve got something you’ll want to see.”

  I watch as a man’s shadow grows long against the light as he nears. The man stops and turns towards me, a flashlight pointed at my face.

  “Delilah,” he says, and there’s something in that voice that I can’t exactly read. He lowers the flashlight and turns it, so now his face is illuminated. My stomach turns as I make out his unmistakable features.

  “Dad?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Race

  There were a hundred other things I wanted to say the moment she told me she was having my baby. “Go” was not one of them.

  I could bang my head up against the damn wall forever, and the sight of her face dropping with that one command would haunt me for the rest of my life. It should have been, “Go on. Tell me about what is worrying you so we could make it work.” It could have been, “Going on like that is going to make you sick. Let’s figure this out together.”

  It might have been anything else but dismissing her and our baby out of my life like that.

  It’s easy to take for granted the simple parts of your life. Her making me breakfast, her being there for me when I get back from a late shift, her singing as she moved through the apartment, her warm body leaning against mine as we sleep, her smell after she takes a shower, her long hair swimming in the drain, her...

  Just this morning, before I left for my ride, this house was full of her. Now it’s as empty as the day I moved in. The stuff she has left behind seems like a placeholder for the person that occupied this space. Their tokens of what I had and what I could still be having if I hadn’t told her to leave.

  The first night without her, she was still in my head. Seeing her bag gone and not hearing from her for the whole night was admittedly a bit of a relief. I stomped around the apartment like a maniacal bull, kicking the shit out of the trashcan and only just barely holding myself back from putting a hole in the wall with my fist.

  The only thing I managed not to touch was the picture of our baby she left behind on the table. But even that image seemed more like a taunt than some kind of memento she wanted me to have, some knickknack for me to cherish. I took it as a way for her to toy with me or fuck with my mind. And I was not about to let that fucking bitch get the best of me.

  On the second day, I came home to a silence that seemed louder than it should have. After a night of drinking and raging, I had calmed down enough to see what she had left behind. I began going through her things, but it brought more pain than I had intended.

  A tiny tank top stuffed in a drawer instantly reminded me of the night she sat on my lap, laughing with her head thrown back as she expertly knocked back a shot of whatever concoction one of the guys had made up. I twisted the straps around my fingers just as I had later that night – when she had shrieked in excitement for what was about to come next.

  By the third night, I could swear her scent had vanished. She had taken most of the pastel pink bottles that sat out on the sink and shower. And her perfumey smell had faded from the pillowcase she laid on each night. I checked my phone every hour that evening. It laid beside me as I slept – waking me with every ping that wasn’t her. By the fourth message from some brother looking for advice on a route, I threw the damn thing against the wall, listening to it shatter with a grunt.

  I had one of the lackeys pick me up a new one first thing this morning. The poor kid had to listen to me rant and rave about how fucking easy it was to break the damn things. He then shook as I ordered him to get the phone store employees to transfer all of my contacts and past messages in case she had reached out to me in the few hours between me breaking and repairing it. He hurried off in terror and came back triumphantly. But there was still nothing – only a message from a brother, Seb.

  The kid has never reached out to me before, especially not after the night I caught his ass eavesdropping with Del. The only thing I know about him is that he’s a fairly good rider and he’s got a claim on the girl Ariel.

  Now, Ariel I’ve seen a lot of. She was Del’s only companion when I kept her under lock and key. I figured that if they were following Ariel too, she was probably no harm. That was a mistake. The girl’s high-pitched squeal seemed to sear itself into my eardrums, and her constantly present face was as unwelcome and uninviting as a batch of lice in your boxers…

  Suspicious, I pull up the message from Seb. My eyes dart over the line and then back to make sure I’m reading it right. It’s pretty innocuous – just two sentences:

  Have you seen or heard from Delilah? Ariel hasn’t heard from her since she took her to the doctor a few days ago.

  Shit. It’s like the fucking rug’s been pulled out from underneath me. This whole time, I had suspected that Del would go straight to Ariel. She’d lay low with her for a few days, and I’d have my guys stand guard to make sure no one was going to mess with her. In fact, all the reports I’ve gotten from those I’ve sent out to Ariel’s house has been all-clear. I took it as a sign that she was as angry I was the first few days. She was quietly stewing and plotting, waiting for me to drop my pride and ask her to come back.

  But fuck. This was a whole goddamn different story. Where else would she go if it weren’t to Ariel’s?

  I place the new phone in my pocket and race down the stairs towards the warehouse. The first few men I see, I assign them posts. “I need you out on May Street. Del’s house. Her address is in the cards. Check the house. If she’s there, put her on a bike and get her ass back here. If she’s not there, you fucking call me. You understand?” The two dipshits nod vigorously and then run off to the parking lot.

  Another one, a youngish guy, appears behind them with a greasy beard and a haggard look. He avoids my glare, but I’m in a rush to get my work done. I’ll take a chance with any yellow-bellied man that stands near me. “Kid! I need you to call the fifth. Get Detective Sanchez on the phone and tell him that a girl’s gone missing. It’s Delilah. You know what she looks like?”

  “Yeah, I do. I’ve met her a couple times when she was up—”

  “I don’t give a f—,” I begin, then, realizing I’m about to say something stupid, “No. That’s fine. Just – just give him her description. Tell her she went missing on Sunday night. She was probably walking out of the territory, headed for the city on foot. She wouldn’t have taken a car. Ask if he knows anyone or if anyone on that force is willing to talk. I don’t care how much it takes.”

  “What’s Sanchez’s number?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Find. The fuck. Out! Just – just call him. Tell him that Race from the Devils is call
ing and see how fucking fast they move!”

  “Okay. Yes.” He nods nervously as he wrestles out his phone. “Right on it, boss.”

  “You!” I bark out, recognizing one of the enforcers. “Head over to Seb’s house. Check in with him and his girl. Find out when was the last time he saw Delilah. Don’t leave until you get the facts. I want you to report back within a half hour direct to me.”

  The man pauses, sets his beer down on the bar, and interjects, “But, boss, Nicco’s got me heading out to the—”

  “I don’t give a fuck where Nicco’s got you going. This is priority number one, you hear me?” I’m raging, and I feel like I’m about to bust this guy’s fucking skull open. “And just so we’re clear, I do not fucking appreciate being questioned. You do what I fucking say, or I dock some pay. You get me?”