BABY BLUES_Satan Seed MC

by Naomi West

  “Lie back. You’re not in any kind of shape to be getting up right now.”

  What the fuck.

  I blink again, a little more diligently when I feel the press of a hand against my chest, and I grab it before the person can pull away. I register a struggle. Whoever is in my vicinity, whoever is taking care of me, tries to pull away but is not able to, and I’m not going to let them go. I might have a wicked concussion of epic proportions, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to be fucking passive in this.

  Slowly, I get to the point where I’m able to open my eyes. I thought that the voice that had spoken to me was familiar; it’s Pixie. She’s hovering over me, her eyes wide as she looks down on me. There’s a wet cloth in her free hand.

  Frowning, I look around. I’m in a room at the clubhouse. What catches my eyes is the bottle of pills on the nightstand near me, and another flash of last night’s anger rears its ugly head up on me.

  I toss Pixie’s hand away from me and sit up, ignoring the fact that I’ve got a throbbing headache and a serious case of disorientation.

  “Booster—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I say, not bothering with any kind of politeness or manners. “Where the fuck is Happy?”

  Pixie pales. I send her a glare, and she squeaks,

  “He’s downstairs with everyone else.”

  Against better judgement, I stand up. That makes my head feel worse, and I groan. Pixie once again tries to get me to lie down, but I refuse.

  “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

  I’m pretty certain of this. Very gung-ho. Whether or not that’s actually going to happen, however, is another thing entirely, but at the moment I’m very much all for getting my hands around that bastard’s neck.

  I hobble downstairs, with Pixie not far behind me. It feels weird to be on my feet, like they’re made of jelly or something else not quite stable enough to be walking on.

  Downstairs, the boys are loud, causing a raucous. You would think they would have had enough fun already trashing the high school, but no. It only dies down a little when they notice that I’m in the room, and there’s a distinct halt in the chatter that’s going on.

  I look around. They all give me apprehensive looks—like they’re children that know they’re about to be scolded. Good.

  “I wanna know. What in the fuck last night was about.”

  No one answers me.

  “Oh. Quiet now, are you? You didn’t seem to have a problem yesterday being loud.”

  Still no answer. Gazes turn away from me, and I clench my teeth at this outward, blatant silence that hits my ears. So they can be big and bad when I’m not around, but push come to shove and their lips are sealed and their eyes averted?

  I go to say something else, when I’m interrupted.

  “Booster, so good that you’re finally awake. But you should be resting. You took a nasty hit.”

  He comes out from the back—where the office is. I ignore his comments.

  “What the fuck were you doing back there?”

  “Well, you’ve ben out for so long, someone needed to step up and get things rolling.”

  That confuses me.

  “Out for long? It’s barely been one night—”

  “Booster, you’ve been out for three days.”

  My mind flashes back to the bottle of pills that were on the nightstand in the room I was in.

  “You bastard—”

  I move toward him. I can see what he’s doing. Undermining my authority to have them go to the school in the first place. Drugging me so that he knows I’ll be out and he can have control over what’s mine, unchecked and unchallenged from anyone else. I take a swing at him, channeling every ounce of my anger towards Happy into it.

  Only … I miscalculate how off-kilter I am.

  Instead of landing what I would hope would be an intense punch against Happy’s smug-ass face, I end up going off balance. I would fall down if it weren’t for the fact that Happy catches me. There’s a fake worried frown on his face, but I can see in his eyes that he’s eating this shit up like it’s birthday cake.

  “Ah, see, Booster? You still need some more rest. See, Pixie, I told you not to let him up and out.” He sends a look Pixie’s way, and she lets out another one of those squeaks. I keep my eyes on him, glaring, as Pixie comes up to me, taking my arm.

  “Come on, Booster,” she says softly, urging. Slowly, I’m beginning to put everything together. it all makes so much sense.

  Why Pixie’s been on me so much lately.

  Why Happy led the boys to the school that night.

  I can’t do a damn thing about it right now though. Between the painkillers and the (possible) concussion, I’m only going to end up making more of a fool of myself if I stay here and try to fight this.

  All eyes are on me and Happy, wondering what’s going to happen, what I’m going to do. I know that this choice is going to break my hold—the hold that I’ve had for so long—but there’s nothing I can do about it.

  I scoff, but concede, letting Pixie lead me up the stairs. Happy has a smug look on his face, smirking at me like he’s happy that I’m doing what’s good for me, when I know he’s satisfied about the fact that I’m having to bend to his will.

  When we get upstairs, I lie in bed. Pixie stays, eyeing me a little, as though she expects me to be angry with her. Annoyed, yes. Disappointed, definitely. But I can see what’s been going on.

  “How long has he been trying to take over?” I ask her.

  Her eyes widen.

  “W-what do you mean?”

  “I’m not stupid, Pixie. Between you trying to hop my dick and now this, it’s kind of obvious. It should have been before, but I wasn’t paying enough attention where I should have been.”

  Pixie swallows. I know she doesn’t want to answer, but there’s a bit of conflict in her eyes and I can tell she’s struggling with something.

  “A while,” she finally answers. “I-I didn’t want to do it—”

  “I’m beginning to figure that much.” I glance to the bottle of pills on the nightstand. “What are those?” There’s no label on the bottle, so I’m not able to know for sure just by seeing it what exactly it is they’ve been giving me. Pixie shrugs her shoulders nervously.

  “I don’t know,” she admits. “He just gave me the bottle and told me that they would help you.”

  I snort.

  “Yeah, help me stay down. My head is fucking killing me. I feel like there’s cotton all in it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Booster.”

  I shake my head.

  “Don’t be. Just keep doing what he told you to do—for the most part, I’m not taking anymore of those pills. I’m not going to be here much longer, anyway.”

  Pixie seems startled by this.

  “W-what do you mean, Booster?”

  I grin a little.

  “Oh, you’ll see.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lena

  I’m putting in extra hours (again) to help clean up the mess from the function. The school has been closed all week, and naturally, it’s the teachers and staff that have to put everything back together.

  The whole school was completely trashed. Not only did the Wylde Ones rampage through the school gym, but after a while they moved through the whole school itself. Glass was the first thing we had to clean up; so many windows were broken that it’s been a miracle finding a classroom with its windows intact. Doors were busted down, graffiti tagged onto the walls…

  It makes me sad, seeing the school in such a state, especially knowing that replacing all of this is going to be nearly impossible.

  No one wants to go after the Wylde Ones for what happened. I don’t blame them. This is the first time something like this has happened with them, and no one knows how to deal with it. Least of all myself.

  I haven’t heard from Booster all this time. The only thing I know is that I believe with all my heart that he didn’t have anything to do with this.
He was too surprised and too caught off guard by what happened to have been directly involved in any of this.

  Which begs the question.

  Where is he?

  It makes me worry. I know that he hasn’t been arrested; the cops haven’t actively arrested anyone, and considering the fact they can’t get solid IDs on anyone, I don’t think they’re going to. None of the kids or adults were actually hurt. There’s a lot in property damages, but even the people who’ve had their cars or personal belongings ruined aren’t willing to go up against a motorcycle club like that. I can’t say I blame them.

  So what is Booster doing? I have my thoughts on this as I sweep the parking lot, looking to collect up any glass that’s laying around.

  “So, this all has been pretty crazy, huh?”

  I look up. Principal Walters has come up to speak to me. I frown. He, like others, has avoided me this whole time. I know that it’s because of Booster. It wasn’t very hard to put two and two together for the people that didn’t realize just which motorcycle club he belonged to. For some reason, it’s made them hesitant to speak to me. What used to be a source of interest and wow is now a source of contention and hesitance from others.

  If they knew Booster like I do, they would know that he didn’t have anything to do with this. But they don’t, so I suppose I can’t fault them for that.

  I turn my attention back to the remaining stray glass that’s on the ground.

  “Yeah, it’s been pretty crazy,” I agree. “But I think we’re doing a good job at cleaning up. We’ll get back on track.”

  “Yeah … back on track … I actually wanted to speak with you about that, Lena.” I raise my brow.

  “Oh?”

  “Many of us have been talking,” he says, “about your … connections with the … individuals responsible with all of this. We have some concerns—”

  “Why would you be concerned?” I ask him. “I have nothing to do with the Wylde Ones.”

  “You’re involved with their leader.”

  “He had nothing to do with this. You’ll notice how he wasn’t getting in on the action of everything that night?”

  I hear Principal Walters bristle at that, giving a little scoff.

  “Well, be that as it may, there’s still the fact that there’s some very obvious, very lasting damage that’s gone on here. And we’re worried—”

  “That what, I’m going to encourage it? That I condone it?”

  “Well, we’re more worried that this will be a reoccurring thing, if you’re involved with this man. Whether or not he was directly involved is irrelevant; it’s pretty coincidental that the school you happen to work at was targeted, and he’s the man you’re involved with, no?”

  Ah. So, we’ve gotten to the heart of the matter.

  Part of me wants to be angry, and I think in some ways, I am. This is ludicrous. I’m one of the most dedicated teachers at this school. On the other … I know that most of the others (meaning not Principal Walters) are likely truly worried about the safety of the kids. I know I am.

  “Principal Walters—”

  Before I can anything, there’s a familiar, rolling thunder of an engine.

  The tension for those working in the parking lot is palpable. That’s the sound of a motorcycle, the current source of our anxieties. Almost everyone stops, looks up, and every head turns in horror.

  I, however, find myself relieved. It’s Booster.

  He’s come alone, and while he’s not apprehensive, I can tell there’s a certain kind of tension that’s on him. He’s not sure about being here, and I can understand why. Most, if not all, of the people that are here right now don’t want him here. Most, if not all, of the people feel that he’s single handedly responsible for the events that took place.

  But they don’t know Booster like I do.

  I know that he could have never orchestrated something like that.

  It’s a surety that, upon first meeting Booster, I wouldn’t have had. But now, it’s different. Now, I’m carrying Booster’s child, and there’s a bond there that no one else here will be able to understand. I accept that.

  I look on for a long moment. I can tell he’s looking for me; as soon as our eyes meet, it’s as though no one else around us matter. There’s a small communication in that look—he wonders, I can tell, if I’m going to spurn him.

  I know that everyone else wants me to, but instead of doing what everyone else wants, I go to him. He looks miserable. Closer, there are bags under his eyes, as though he’s lost a lot of sleep wondering and worrying over something. It has me reaching out to him, running my fingers along his cheek. Booster sighs and leans into the touch.

  “Hey,” I say softly.

  “Hey.”

  “You’re all right.”

  “Relatively speaking.”

  I embrace him on his bike in full view of everyone. That’s all that matters right now—letting Booster know that he’s not alone, and more as well in letting the onlookers know in no uncertain terms where I stand—which is with Booster.

  I hear the gasps, and the slight swearing at my actions. Openly, I kiss Booster.

  “This is pretty damn brave of you, doll,” he murmurs against my lips.

  I smirk a little.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  We head out on the bike to the same secluded spot we went to months ago. Booster doesn’t tell me where we’re going when I slide onto his bike, but I know by the trail that we’re heading to the little overlook. Though the day was tainted by the (misinformed) discovery that I made in his jacket, I’ve held the sentiment of the gesture in my heart since that day.

  It’s only fitting that we come back here at a time like this.

  When we get there, Booster parks his bike. We stand in silence side by side, overlooking the valley. It’s the middle of the day, so there’s no rolling fog covering the bottom of it. I watch cars drive by every now and then on the road in the little valley neighborhood, and wonder how many more times I’m going to stand here with Booster, contemplating my place in life.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, “a lot over the last few days.”

  “About?”

  “The future. Us. Everything.”

  He tells me about the discovery that he made, about his vice president, and the woman that his VP is with. It’s all … very shocking to me. I hadn’t expected that kind of drama and backstabbing to be present in a motorcycle club. I hadn’t expected Booster to be in the middle of it all, but it does explain why he didn’t know about any of this.

  “I’ve always been a part of a club,” he says to me, leaning over the railing of the overlook. “I’ve never not had that solidarity … that comradery. But before I even met you I knew that I was growing apart from things. The Wylde Ones … they follow me. They listen to me. I think most of them even respect me, but it’s not enough. I don’t want what they want.” He shakes his head.

  “And even then, I would deal with it, you know? I would stick around with it, but there’s nothing anymore tethering me to them. Not the memories of the good things—and now this shit with Happy. If I’m not around, what I say and the way that I lead isn’t taken into consideration. And it’s not a me thing, I’ve realized. It’s them. All of them.

  “Learning what I did about what Happy did … It was the last straw. I could have stayed … maybe even would have. But with you … the baby…”

  Booster trails off, his brow furrowed and his bottom lip worrying between his teeth. I can tell that what he’s going through right now is hard for him; this is a big life change that he’s implying.

  I rest my hand on his shoulder. I hope that I can soothe him, and I measure my words in my head before I can speak them.

  “Booster … Do you think maybe you were always looking for something more than the club and you didn’t realize it? With the child … me … Everything that we’ve been going through. Maybe it’s not the other way around. Maybe this is what you’ve alwa
ys wanted and now you’re finally getting it. All that stuff with Happy is just a confirmation that you’re making the right choice. They’re not your family … but I could be. This baby could be. We could be a family together.”

  He makes something of a surprised noise.

  “I never thought about it like that before.”

  I smile a little.