Prince's Secret Baby

by Riley Rollins

  They slap handcuffs on Hunter and haul him to his feet. Before I can get a word in edgewise, they flip up the segmented counter and shove him past the crowd, out the front door.

  The crowd is in a full uproar now, shouting and yelling and surging out of the door to where the sheriff's cruisers sit parked outside. I follow them out into the warm, humid morning after telling Jason to power off all the equipment and comply with the sheriff's orders.

  I willingly surrender myself to a deputy standing outside, and he clicks the handcuffs tight behind my back.

  My heart pounds, but I knew this was a possibility. The likely outcome, even. Now it'll be up to the justice system to decide what happens to us, the shop, and the mayor.

  The deputy escorts me to his car and buckles me into the backseat. I crane my neck, and I see Hunter through the tinted windows, sitting in the backseat of another cop car. I spy Jason at the front door of the café, shooing out the last of the customers and locking the door tight.

  Soon, the deputies return to their cars and we start driving slowly down Main Street toward the police station. Crowds of people march on either side of us and in front of us, and it probably takes half an hour just to get a half mile down the street. When we arrive at the station, they take us in for processing.

  I pace around the cell. Hunter sits on the single cot, arms crossed on his knees. I have to pee, but the cell toilet is in plain view of everything, and I'm not about to drop my pants and pee in front of the cops. Or in front of Hunter, for that matter. I knew this could happen, but I'm getting more and more anxious as reality sets in.

  "We're going to lose the shop for sure now," I say. I grip the cell bars with both hands, and I feel like a caged animal.

  "Play it cool," says Hunter, "I've been in worse jams. Many times."

  I whirl around. "Oh, so now you're Mr. Cool. You'll be lucky if they don't charge you with assaulting a police officer."

  Hunter turns red. "Just wait for the media. They'll be coming."

  Sure enough, within the hour, we spot media vans outside, through the tiny, thick jail cell window. I finally manage to calm down, and I sit on the cot next to Hunter. I move in close to him, and put my hand on his knee. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it.

  Around the corner in the main part of the police station, a loud argument breaks out. It sounds like the media is trying to get access to us.

  "Thanks for being with me," I say. "I would have given up without you."

  "Don't thank me yet," says Hunter.

  A guy in a suit with slicked-back black hair comes around the corner. I stand up from the cot. He quickly extends a hand between the steel bars and I shake it.

  "I'm Joe Rose," he says. "I'm an attorney with Rose & Rose and I'd like to provide my services to you pro-bono. I heard what happened."

  "Thank you," I say.

  "This isn't the first time the mayor's done this, you know. He loves throwing his weight around to intimidate people. He's in dereliction of his duty to the people. And he's committing crimes by doing this."

  "I couldn't agree more," I reply. I'm thrilled to hear the phrase "he's committing crimes." Maybe this is all going to be okay after all.

  "I just hate that he's hassling a married couple that went into business together."

  I look over my shoulder at Hunter and he smirks.

  "Just hang tight, guys. I'm submitting a petition for your release and a stay on the shutdown order. We'll sort this out."

  22

  Hunter

  "This is completely insane."

  Tess and I stare at the documents on the lawyer's desk, our jaws hanging wide open.

  After Joe Rose successfully petitioned for our release and posted our bail, he hired a private investigator to help build a case against the mayor. To take him down for good, and put an end to his corrupt ways. And what the P.I. found, well, I couldn't have guessed it in a million fucking years.

  "Your father had a rivalry with the mayor," says Joe to Tess. "They were both vying for the same woman."

  Tess blinks. "My mother?"

  "Exactly."

  "How did you even find this out?" she says.

  "Oh, this is only the beginning of it," says Joe, poking his index finger hard against the stack of manila envelopes on his desk. "The mayor has a lot of enemies. And it doesn't take much to get people talking."

  "And you said there were police records?"

  "Yes. Your mother filed several harassment complaints against Mr. Wilkinson before you were born. It seems he wouldn't take no for an answer."

  Tess glances my way and I cock an eyebrow. "So you have enough dirt on him?"

  "I'm still building the case, but yes, I expect we'll have enough to get him thrown out of office. And to get your business back on track once again."

  I nod. "Nice work. I guess lawyers are good for something after all."

  Tess jams her elbow into my ribs and I cringe in pain. Guess I should shut the fuck up while this guy is helping us.

  "My dad left me a box of stuff before he died," says Tess. "I've never looked through it. Maybe now's the time."

  Joe nods. "Anything you can dig up will help."

  We sit on Tess's couch, the contents of her dad's box splayed out on the coffee table. Pictures, letters, and other mementos. I can tell it's emotional for Tess, so I manage to keep my big fucking mouth shut and not say anything to make her more upset.

  She riffles through a stack of letters. "Here's something." She pulls out one sheet and reads it over. "This is about the rivalry with Wilkinson." She hands it to me and I put it into an envelope with all the other relevant documents for Joe to look at.

  "You know, I'm damn glad your dad came out on top."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, otherwise I'd be banging something that came out of Wilkinson's nut sack."

  I cringe as soon as I make the joke. It doesn't sound as funny as I thought it would. I never do know when to stop. Tess gives me a grim look and doesn't laugh. I cough. Luckily for me, the awkward moment is broken when something falls out of the stack of papers in Tess's hand, and clings onto the coffee table.

  "What's that?" I say.

  Tess scoops it up.

  "Holy shit. That's a ring."

  "Well, I'll be," she says. "That's an engagement ring."

  The ring has a silver band, inlaid with diamonds and what looks like rubies and emeralds.

  "I didn't know that was in here," she says. "I always wished that someone would propose to me, you know, romantically."

  "You're a married woman," I tell her.

  "Oh. Yeah. I mean, a fake marriage isn't really the same."

  She puts the ring back in one of the envelopes. But when she isn't looking, I reach inside it, snag the ring, and pocket it.

  Later, we meet up with Joe again, and hand over all the relevant documents we found. He tells us he should have enough on the mayor to get him thrown out of office. All he wants in return for his services is a lifetime supply of free rainbow bagels. Tess laughs. "It's a deal," she says.

  23

  Tess

  It's the afternoon before a town hall meeting that Joe set up. There's going to be another potluck, and then after the potluck, a referendum on whether Mayor Wilkinson stays in office. If he somehow wins the vote and manages to stay in office, then Joe is going to bring an open-and-shut case against him in court. If he loses, then his career is over forever and it doesn't matter anyway. But from the gossip floating around town, I expect it to be a landslide against him.

  We all sit on a red-and-white checkered blanket in the park. Me, Jason, and Meg. Hunter's doing handstands next to us, his shirt off, and I can't stop ogling him. Neither can Meg, but I don't mind.

  Everyone is anxious, and Jason won't stop moping about Crystal. I can tell he really likes her, and he's fretting about it big time.

  "I texted her last night and asked if everything was okay. She still hasn't responded." He flips through the messages o
n his phone, checking and re-checking for a message.

  Hunter comes down from a handstand, his muscular body all lights and shadows in the afternoon sunlight. He shakes his head. "You sent that to her in a text message?"

  I pipe up to defend Jason. "That's pretty normal these days."

  "It makes you sound like a fucking pussy."

  "It would probably be better to talk in person," I concede.

  "What if it's awkward?" says Jason.

  "Just sit down with her and tell her how you honestly feel," I say. "Honesty is the best policy."

  Hunter takes a seat on the picnic blanket. He stomach is so flat and cut, even when he's sitting down. He rolls his eyes. "Don't fucking do that."

  "Then what should I do?"

  "Next time you see her, pin her against the wall and kiss her on the lips. Don't ask for permission either. Just do it."

  "Well that's just ridiculous," I say, "That's—"

  Hunter interrupts me by sweeping a hand behind my back, crushing his lips against mine, and gently laying me down on my back. The kiss fills me completely, his masculinity flowing through me like a river. When he finally lets me come up for air, I'm breathless. I sit up. Meg and Jason gawk, as do a couple passers-by in the park.

  Hunter grins. "See? Never listen to a woman when she tells you what she wants. They don't know half the damn time."

  I slap him on the arm. "You're an asshole."

  "A charming asshole."

  "You guys have it easy," says Jason. "You knew you wanted each other from the beginning. And now you're married."

  Hunter and I exchange glances. We chuckle, and Jason just looks confused.

  "Just do what I tell you, kid," says Hunter. "It'll work out fine."

  Inside the church basement, a low rumble cascades back and forth through the crowd. From the minute I step foot inside, I know it's the end for Mayor Wilkinson. The mood in here is pure discontent. Everyone wants him gone.

  The dinner passes by in uncomfortable silence and hushed whispers, and I wish we could just have the vote already and get it over with. Last time, the mayor was up on stage and working the room the whole time, hanging out with his important investor buddies from California. This time, he's nowhere to be seen. The food tastes delicious tonight, but my stomach twists and turns and churns the entire evening, and I barely have an appetite. This always happens to me when I'm nervous. All I can eat is pie.

  After we all put down our dessert and finish our sweet teas and coffees, it's finally time for the vote. At last. A city official comes out on stage and gives us instructions. To vote to keep the mayor in office, stand on the left side of the room. To throw the mayor out of office, stand on the right side of the room. A couple of young kids lay out a rope, dividing the room into two halves.

  People eye each other, trying to size up who will do what. Hunter and I immediately stand on the right side along with Eddie, Oscar, Jason, Meg, Mr. Roberts from the credit union with his hand sanitizer, cranky old man Marnes from the gas station, and all our other friends. People filter back and forth, and a couple of undecideds hop sides at the last minute.

  When people settle in, the vote is clear: Mayor Wilkinson is gone.

  "By a decisive majority," says the city official over the room's PA system, "Mr. Wilkinson's mayorship is hereby terminated."

  Two or three people start to clap, and soon a thunderous applause breaks out in the room. A few disgruntled supporters of the mayor storm out the back exit, but most of the losing side shakes hands with us and wishes us well with the shop.

  "Now," says the official, tucking some papers under his arm and wrangling the microphone cord, "we need a new mayor."

  I look around the room. It didn't occur to me that there would need to be a new mayor elected right away. A murmur goes through the crowd. "Watch them elect someone even worse," mutters Oscar.

  A voice calls out from the crowd. "Hunter Thorne!"

  Next to me, Hunter jams his hands in his pockets and coughs uncomfortably. But cries of "here-here" echo throughout the church basement, which turn into chants of "Hunter! Hunter!"

  I bite my lip. I can tell the crowd demands an answer right now. But Hunter and I haven't even finished talking about where we stand. If he agrees to be the town's mayor, then that means he's staying in Maple Ridge for good. It means he's staying with me for good. Right?

  People clap him on the back and push him toward the stage. The people's choice is clear.

  Hunter finally steps onto the platform, and the crowd breaks into applause. He takes the microphone.

  "Thank you everyone," he says. "Thank you."

  He grins and then raises the mic to his lips again, and the crowd quiets down.

  "I cannot claim to be a perfect man," he says, "but I pledge to put the people of Maple Ridge first. You all deserve a leader who will represent your interests."

  More clapping and cheering.

  "I am not a perfect man, but I do have a perfect woman," he says, "and her name is Tess Thorne."

  I blush hard. I never realized how good Tess Thorne sounds.

  "I accept the will of the people. It is my privilege to serve you as the next mayor of Maple Ridge."

  I look at the test strip and blink. The little red lines appear. I can't believe my eyes.

  I'm pregnant with Hunter Thorne's baby.

  I knew something was up with my period. But this fills me with a sense of joy I never knew was possible. I feel a sense of completeness now, that I haven't felt, since, well, ever.

  Gripping the test strip in my hand, I turn the bathroom knob. I look at myself in the mirror, and for the first time in a long time, I'm completely happy with what I see.

  Then I flip off the lights, leave the bathroom, and smile at Hunter who's sitting on the couch.

  "Guess what? You're not going to believe this."

  24

  Hunter

  I flip over the waffle iron and open it. A cloud of smoke billows off the charred, blackened piece of charcoal that was briefly a waffle. I wave it off and cough. "Fucking asshole of a waffle," I say.

  Tess shakes her head and playfully shoves me out of the way. "You're hopeless. Let me do it."

  Business is back to usual at the shop, and we're working on a new dish after hours: fried chicken and waffles. But the industrial waffle iron we ordered is really fucking touchy with the temperature controls.

  Tess couldn't push me around if she tried, but I gingerly step out of the way and play along. It's my baby that she's carrying in her belly, and I'm not taking any chances with her. Not now.

  She tries her hand at the waffle iron and produces a crispy, golden, flaky, delicious waffle. Next to the waffle iron, a couple fried chicken strips bubble in a frying pan, and I remove them with a pair of tongs. I place one of the pieces atop Tess's successful waffle, and drizzle it with honey-mustard dressing.

  We sit down at one of the tables in the dining area and dig in.

  "Mmm," says Tess. She crunches on a bite of fried chicken and waffles, and my stomach growls at the sound of the crunching.

  My eyes lock onto her plump, pink lips as she shovels down more of the waffles. I fucking love her lips. On my cheeks, on my lips, on my body, and all over my cock. I can't get enough of them.

  I cut off a bite with the side of my fork, and then I realize what this shit needs. Some fucking sweet butter. "Be right back," I say.

  I spin over the counter and head to the back freezer to dig around for some butter. I'll need to melt it first, but this is going to be fucking good, and—

  Something smashes into the back of my head, and I see stars and blackness.

  "Mmph," I groan, and I wake up lying on my back next to the freezer. I put my hand to my head, and when I take it away, it's covered in red.

  Fuck. All I can think about is Tess, alone by herself in the dining room. I try to sit up, but I'm dazed, and my muscles don't cooperate.

  Just out of my field of vision, I hear more banging and crashing
, then a bloodcurdling scream from Tess. I crane my neck as hard as I can, and I spot them. A couple of guys dressed in black, wearing ski masks. They hold baseball bats and they're smashing everything in sight.

  My instincts kick into guard dog mode, and through sheer willpower, I pick myself up off the floor. The room spins and I nearly fall to the ground, but I steady myself against the freezer and clench my fists until my vertigo passes.

  Tess shrieks again and the crashing continues. I put one foot in front of the other, one step at a time, forcing myself closer to the mayhem. I call on all of my Navy SEAL training to get myself into the fight, the way I've been conditioned to do. This is what I'm made for.

  With every step I regain more strength, even as I leave a trail of blood behind me, dripping down from the back of my head. When I get to the dining room, I can't believe my fucking eyes. All the windows are smashed out. The cash register is broken open, on the floor, and bills and coins are scattered all over the floor. The pastry display cases are bashed in. The espresso machine is dented and wrecked.

  And now both of the intruders have Tess cornered. They brandish their bats above her head. This is Wilkinson's last act. I just know it is.

  As far as I'm concerned, I only have one mission left in life. If I slip into unconsciousness, it won't be until I take these thugs apart piece by piece and make sure my woman and my baby are safe.

  I stagger forward, tightening all my muscles, preparing myself to kill.

  One of the men feigns toward me. He jerks to the side and swings his bat at my ribs. I reach out and catch it in my palm, which explodes in agony. I feel bones break as the bat hits me. But I ignore the pain. I rip the bat out of his hands, bring it above my head, and send it surging down into his skull.

  The collision is brutal and lethal. The man's skull splits open and his body collapses to the ground like a sack of dead meat. I realize the bat is broken in half, just a splintered handle now.