by Nicole Fox
“Hold them!” a voice called out suddenly, the words cutting clean through the almost reverent hush of the deserted street. “Don’t let those fuckers get away!”
A pair of hands fell on Hoss’ arm and spun him around with alarming force. But he was a giant of a man, and putting his elbow backward, it landed on an unseen face, resulting in a crack and a howl. The grip loosened, something sticky dampened the sleeve of his jacket. Wheeling toward his men, Hoss bellowed, “What’d I fuckin’ say? Get out of here!” He lurched into a lumbering run toward the dead end of the street, and as he ran, he did a silent head count. Where there should have been three, he found only two. He turned around just in time to see one of the young ones dart forward, toward the phalanx of Mongols, for the drug bag. Playing the hero, Hoss thought wildly. The young ones always gotta play the hero.
The kid had one arm through a strap of the backpack when Hoss heard the bullet. It was a pithy, snapping sound, the kind produced by a high-end silencer. In the dimness of the street, he just barely made out the telltale bloom of blood on the kid’s back, but he did see the body spin, limbs flailing. The inertia flung the drugs toward Hoss, the backpack landing hard in the grass. Quick as lightning, he picked it up and ducked. Another bullet sang past him, and another, but it was too dark for the shooter to aim. Hoss headed for the shelter of the back of the house, wading through the grass. Somewhere behind him, he thought he could hear the kid gasping. He didn’t let himself stop.
The Outlaws — three of them — ran as soon as they drew level with the back wall of the house. Hoss was counting on the unkempt state of the lot to protect them from their would-be pursuers, and as he listened to engines revving in the street, he thought for a moment that he had read them drastically wrong. Then the sound of the motorcycles was interrupted by a familiar wail. Immediately, the Mongols turned tail. There was no way they could come out on top of a scene like the one that had just been left behind.
Hoss had never been so glad to hear the police. The trio of Outlaws hopped the decaying fence at the rear of the property and looped their way through the grimy backstreets of the neighborhood. No one here thought twice about the sirens — it was a daily occurrence. Were it light enough to see the patches on their club jackets, the three men might have looked out of place, but cloaked as they were by the dark, they passed unseen. Two miles or so from the abandoned house, Hoss called in for a pickup, and five minutes later, they were on their way back to the compound. The drugs sat in the empty spot where the dead kid should have been.
They didn’t say a word.
Chopper was waiting for them. The others balked when they saw him, and Hoss sent them away. “I’ll deal with it,” he said gruffly. They disappeared from his side, and he walked up to his boss alone, the pack slung over one shoulder. He put it down in front of Chopper. Then he said, “Ray’s dead.” It was the first time he’d ever said the kid’s name out loud.
“What?” Chopper’s eyes lingered on the backpack, but soon they moved to Hoss’ face. “What do you mean, Ray’s dead?” He craned his neck to look past Hoss, but the rest of the crew had long since dissipated — and Hoss knew Ray wasn’t with them anyway.
“Dead,” Hoss repeated. “Didn’t have a chance.” He frowned slightly. “The fuck didn’t you tell us there were gonna be so many, Chop? I woulda called it, and we could’ve come back another time. Ain’t like Spike’s gonna stop running anytime soon.”
Chopper’s face darkened. “How many were there?” he asked, his voice low.
“Beats me,” Hoss rubbed the back of his neck, trying to recall a number through the haze of fight-or-flight. “I think I saw eight bikes, but maybe there were ten. Twelve? Could’ve been a hundred for all I know.” He gave the black bag a sullen shove. “I told ‘em to beat it, stash or not, but Ray thought he could save it. You know how the little shits are.” Hoss made a gun with his thumb and two fingers. “Shot.” He was silent for a time. Then he said, “I had to leave him.”
Chopper nodded. He put his hand on Hoss’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He did know how the new boys were, ten times as willing to put themselves in the line of fire if it meant they had a shot at winning their patches early. Sometimes those actions had deadly costs, and sometimes that wasn’t anyone’s fault but the one who chose to risk his life. This time, however, Chopper knew it was a needless loss. He knew there was someone to blame. Out loud, he said, “It was all you could do, Hoss. Did the cops show?”
“Yep.”
“They’ll get him home to his family.” Chopper wished he could step in and do something to ease the burden of the death, but he couldn’t risk incriminating everyone involved in the incident. He’d have to treat the murder of his club brother as though it had never really happened, and that made a sharp fury burn inside him. He felt betrayed. He had offered asylum to Kelsey, not to mention a no-holds-barred means of escape, and she had immediately held out on him. He told Hoss to get some sleep and started the walk back to his rooms, where he knew Kelsey was sleeping. In the minutes that it took for him to reach his door, his anger grew to frightening proportions. He stormed in and flipped the light switch in the bedroom.
Kelsey emerged groggily from her cocoon of blankets, shielding her eyes from the sudden illumination. “Chopper?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?” She put her hand down and blinked at him, rubbing her eyes.
“Hoss just brought back the shipment,” Chopper said. “Five pounds, just like you said. It’s in a black backpack. You want to see it?”
“What?” She looked confused. “No. I mean, if you have it, then everything’s fine.”
“It’s all right,” Chopper said evenly. “Half a million dollars in the bank. But what I’m wondering is why the fuck you didn’t tell me one of my boys would have to die for it!” His voice rose slowly through the last sentence until he was shouting at her, hands curled into fists. “It would’ve been nice to know that they were sending a ten-man escort, Kelsey! It would’ve been real fuckin’ nice!”
Her eyes were wide, but they held no tears. If she was afraid, he could barely tell. “Who died?” she asked in a small, flat voice.
Chopper scowled. “What do you fucking care? All you need to know is that he’s dead now because you couldn’t be bothered to tell me the right information. It was the only thing I asked of you, Kelsey! The only thing!”
She gritted her teeth. “Listen, you asshole,” she hissed with surprising venom. “I don’t know why you keep assuming I know everything about what goes on inside that Mongol shithole. Your conclusions aren’t my responsibility. If I had known Spike was sending a platoon to pick up the drugs, I would have told you. But I didn’t. I didn’t know.”
“Fuck you, you didn’t know!” Chopper barked. He ripped the comforter off the bed and then pulled back the sheet, leaving her naked body exposed. “Get dressed and get out,” he commanded. “There’s no room in here for liars. You wanna act like one of the men, you can go and mingle with ‘em.”
Kelsey stared at him like he was insane, but she did as he said. As she walked out of the room, she looked over her shoulder and said, “You’re a prick.” Then she was gone, the door slammed behind her.
Chopper threw himself back on the bed, still steaming with rage, but he could already feel it starting to ebb in the face of slow but inevitable regret. He still found it fucked up that she could draw him a map but not tell him the number of Mongols that were on pickup duty, but he knew that realistically, much of the fault was his own. It was stupid to think that Spike would leave such a large package to the care of only a few men; he certainly had more enemies than just Chopper and his crew. Hard drugs were a real tough scene — every exchange came with significant risk. Of course, he’d sent a small army. Wouldn’t Chopper have done the same?
He put his hands over his face and groaned. Kelsey was right, damn her. He was prone to jumping to conclusions on his own: years of holding iron authority at the head of the Outlaws had taught h
im that all his decisions had to be absolute, that there was no room for backpedaling of any kind. He’d trained himself to ingest the facts and go with his gut, and there was no denying that this time, his gut had simply been wrong.
Kelsey still wasn’t innocent. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there were things she kept from him, and things she’d continue to keep. But it had been wrong to take his anger and pain out on her.
He gave himself a while to calm down. Sure, he’d kicked her out of the cozy bedroom, but he had no doubt that Kelsey could hold her own in the clubhouse, and she probably wasn’t too keen on looking at him so soon anyway. After all traces of his outburst had left his system, Chopper went to find her. He’d half expected her to come back to the room demanding to be let in, but she hadn’t, and it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t in any of the places he thought she’d be. He checked the whole place, and then he checked it again. No Kelsey. He went into the security rooms and looked at footage of the outside cameras to see if she left. She didn’t turn up there either. On his third pass of the grounds, he noticed a light coming from under the door of one of the bathrooms, and he went up and knocked.
“Hold on a second.” Kelsey’s voice sounded strangely unsteady. Concerned, Chopper tried the knob, found it unlocked, and went in. She was huddled over the toilet, her long hair falling out of its tie. He could see beyond her shoulders that the bowl was full, and as he stood there, she retched and filled it some more. Her body shook with the force of throwing up, and so did her hand when she raised it to wipe her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed, streaked with tears. He had never seen anything more pitiful in his life. It made him feel like a monster. When he sat down beside her, and she turned to see him and whispered, “Sorry,” the effect multiplied by ten.
“Fuck it,” he said as he pulled her hair out of her face. “You’re right. I’m a prick.” Somewhat awkwardly, he refastened her hair tie, doing his best not to pull. Then he found a paper towel and a cup for water, which he held for her to drink. She puked twice more before she let him carry her back to bed. He stationed an empty wastebasket next to her, placed a fresh water glass on the nightstand, and decided that he wouldn’t leave her side until she was better. After his amazing display of classic asshole behavior, it was the least he could do. He reached over and stroked her hair gently, just once. She didn’t open her eyes, but her face turned toward him.
Chopper smiled.
Chapter Six
Kelsey
It was hard to tell how much time had passed between being carried back to bed by a repentant Chopper and the next time Kelsey opened her eyes. She felt better, but weak. As her eyes passed around the room, she caught sight of Chopper on the phone, his face gravely serious. Remembering the cause for his earlier anger, Kelsey bit her lip. When he noticed that she was awake, he quickly ended the call and came over to sit by her.
“Hey Princess,” he said, somewhat teasingly. “How you feeling?”
Kelsey floated out a hand and touched his jaw. It was rough with stubble. “Okay, I guess. How long have I been out?”
Chopper glanced at the clock. “A good eighteen hours. It’s about time for dinner now.” He looked back at her. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.” She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair, tugging absently at snarls. “Have you been here all day?”
He shrugged. “I can run the club from my phone,” he said, with a lopsided grin. “Besides, I wanted to make it up to you. Show you I’ve still got some redeeming qualities.”
She smiled gently. “You could just say you were worried about me.”
He laughed a little. “I was worried about you.”
She leaned up and kissed his cheek, touched by the sweetness in his voice. Her head still ached slightly, and her throat felt like a desert; she grabbed the water glass off the nightstand and drained it in one long gulp. It was warm and tasted slightly stale, but she could tell it was what her body needed. “Can you get me a refill?” she asked, offering the cup to Chopper. Dutifully, he took it and walked to the kitchen. She listened to the faucet run. The sound of the water made her have to pee.
As he reentered the bedroom, Kelsey went to the toilet and shut the door. She sat down, and as she started to go, the realization smacked her in the face so hard she nearly cried out. Sitting on the toilet triggered memories of a pregnancy test with two lines instead of one. Reality came crashing in on her.
Chopper knew she was sick.
Kelsey herself had been expecting morning sickness to start for a little while now; it was just her luck that it would happen at the worst possible time. She’d struggled mightily with lingering nausea, but last night was the first time it had ever culminated in actual sickness. She supposed that the stress of Chopper yelling at her might have played some part as well, but she was pretty sure that her episode in the bathroom was mostly due to the baby. Now, she was at a crossroads. No doubt Chopper knew how to recognize the early symptoms of pregnancy, and if her bouts of sickness continued, he would definitely figure it out. And even if he didn’t, her chances of leaving the Outlaws before she started to show were slim to none.
But she had just seen a side of him she’d never seen before. His anger had been ugly and spiteful; he had evicted her from a place where he had promised — no, insisted — she could stay, just to teach her a lesson. She didn’t like it, but she also knew that the thing to trigger his anger was a perceived lie. If she chose not to tell him of the baby, she’d just be doing it all over again. Since she thought he was the father, she owed him a warning, at the very least. If he was like Spike and wanted to bail, he’d have time to figure something out. And she’d have time to finagle some means of support.
Kelsey flushed the toilet and washed her hands, splashing some water on her face. She looked at her reflection above the sink. Hours of sleep had carved deep bags beneath her eyes. Her face looked sallow and thin. She wondered if she should start exercising, eating better, drinking more water. It was hard to think health-conscious thoughts in a place populated exclusively by people whose blood alcohol level was more or less permanently above the legal limit, but she was thinking for two now. She turned to the side and checked for any sign of a belly. There was none; in fact, it looked like she might have lost some weight. She let out a short, worried sigh. Not great.
Chopper was on the phone again when she emerged from the bathroom. She climbed up on the bed beside him and wrapped herself in the comforter, downing half the new glass of water. He’d put the TV on while she was indisposed, and she watched the muted images on the screen: some low-budget science-fiction thing. An alien saucer descended from a flatly painted sky as Chopper wrapped up his latest call.
“You can go if you need to,” she said after he hung up. “I’ll be fine.” The part of her that really didn’t want to have another I’m pregnant conversation hoped he would take her up on that.
He didn’t. “Nah, babe. If they need something, they can call me. I’m all yours tonight.” He leaned back on the pillows and put his arm around her, drawing her close against his chest. Kelsey rested her head above his heart and listened to the slow, solid beat for a few minutes. Then she turned her eyes up to his face. “I wanna tell you something, Chopper.”
He glanced down at her, half a smile tugging at his lip. “Shoot, baby.”
Kelsey sat up. She held her hands together in her lap, twisting the ring on her middle finger that used to belong to her sister. She took a deep breath. Chopper had his eyes on her. “I’m pregnant,” she said. The words escaped into a vacuum of silence. At first, he displayed no reaction whatsoever. Then she added, “I think it’s yours.”
“What the fuck?” he said at last.
Kelsey felt her heart start to fall. “I took the test in Spike’s bathroom,” she told him. “Then I snuck out to see the doctor. Twice. I was coming back when your guys picked me up.” She hesitated, doing the math in her head. “I’m three months along, give or take.”
He didn’t say anything. His face was set in an unreadable, almost eerily blank expression. “Are you sure it’s mine?” he asked after a long period of quiet.
“No. But we met three months ago, Chopper. And I didn’t have sex with Spike for a few days before or after that.” Spike had been scarce then, which was why Kelsey had the confidence to cheat. “He was probably out dealing or something. I don’t know.”
“Fucking hell,” Chopper said. Then, more vehemently, “Fucking hell!”
Kelsey felt a twinge of frustrated irritation. She vowed not to let this discussion devolve into a screaming match. “What?” she said, as calmly as possible.
He held his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re actually pregnant,” he muttered.
“What are you talking about?” Kelsey asked. “It’s not like you knew.”
“No, I knew.” Chopper dropped his hands and threw his head back in a gesture of exasperation. “I had someone infiltrate the Mongols before we took you, and they told me you were pregnant.” He scowled and threw back the covers. “Fuck this.”
