Protecting His Baby

by Nikki Chase

  “You have two minutes.” Pete kicks the bathroom door open and shoves me inside, then gives me my plastic bag. He glances at his watch and gives me a creepy look. “I’m coming in after two minutes whether you’re ready or not.”

  “Fine.” I push on the door but Pete kicks it open again.

  “Did I say you can close the door? You’re not locking me out.”

  I sigh. “I can’t go with you staring at me.”

  “Do I look like I care?” Pete chuckles, his gaze falling to my crotch. “Like I said, you have two minutes. If you take longer than that, I’ll take that as a sign that you want me to help you.”

  Jesus. This guy is delusional.

  “The clock starts now.” Pete presses a button on his watch and stares at me with eyes full of expectation.

  I guess I have no choice. It has been, what, almost twenty years since I last had an audience when peeing?

  Still, that means this is not my first time. Besides, I’ve been holding it in for a while now and my bladder is starting to hurt.

  I take out the blue box from the bag, tear the packaging, and pull out the long, white, plastic stick. Luckily, it’s not my first time using one of these things either, and I don’t need to read the instructions.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Pete standing just outside the bathroom door, lighting a cigarette. I try to forget he’s there as pull my jeans down, hover over the grimy toilet, and direct my stream to hit the end of the stick.

  Thankfully, I finish at about the same time Pete’s watch beeps, which probably means it has been exactly two minutes.

  “Time’s up,” he barks.

  “Yeah. Yeah. I’m done.” I pull my jeans back up and glare at him as I walk out of the bathroom.

  “Nice ass.” Pete grins, showing me a row of yellow teeth as he smacks my butt and squeezes a cheek. With no shame or remorse, he stares at me. “Give me it.”

  Reluctantly, I hand the pregnancy test stick over. If I remember correctly, it takes a few minutes for the result to show up on the little window on the side of the stick.

  Am I pregnant? With Logan’s baby?

  I’ve missed my period—only by two days—but I’m normally super regular. And I feel a certain something . . . I can’t explain it, but it’s too similar to the way I felt back then for me to ignore it. The “flu” symptoms that Melinda noticed could be just sadness from losing Logan, or pregnancy symptoms.

  Pete turns off the lightbulb and pulls me by the arm, this time grabbing my butt occasionally. Apparently he feels like we’re a lot closer now after the bonding experience of watching me pee.

  As we walk past Rosa, Pete presents her with the test stick.

  “Ew,” she says. “That’s fucking gross, Pete.”

  Rosa’s other minion, an overweight man with weirdly tiny hands, laughs.

  “I’m not touching it. Hold it for me,” Rosa says.

  Pete says nothing although his face says he’s not happy. He puts the white stick on the floor beside my chair as he sits me down and pulls my arms back.

  With my heart pounding, I keep my gaze on the test stick as Pete wraps a rough length of rope around my wrists, my waist, and the chair. By chance, Pete placed it with the window side facing up.

  Positive is . . . two lines, right?

  How long does it take for the result to show up?

  And how long has it been? I don’t have my phone, and I don’t wear a watch, so there’s no way for me to check the time.

  Before I see any change, Pete pulls a stinky piece of black cloth over my mouth and gets up, taking the test stick with him.

  “Where are you going?” Rosa asks when Pete skulks away to join Ted.

  “To smoke. I thought you don’t like the smell,” he says.

  “I don’t. That’s why you’re not going to smoke, dumbass,” Rosa says. She points at the concrete floor in front of her. “Stand here. Hold the pee stick up.”

  Pete’s face falls, but he takes his place and does as Rosa wants anyway. Ted grins.

  These two seem to take enjoyment in the other’s suffering. Maybe that’s a detail that will be useful . . . if I manage to survive this.

  I know I’ll live until tomorrow night, at least.

  Rosa will have dinner with Logan tomorrow—a romantic candlelit dinner, by the sound of it. And she’ll probably want to keep me alive until then, just in case Logan demands proof that I’m okay.

  At least that will be the case unless Logan and Rosa get off on playing these games. Maybe Rosa will kill me, snap a picture, show Logan, and they’ll have crazy monkey sex as the photo is projected all over the walls of their swanky hotel room.

  I know how insane that sounds, but it’s possible, considering Logan’s penchant for incorporating pain and injury into sex . . .

  Besides, how well do I really know Logan? For all I know, the kind-and-protective thing was just an act.

  “Fuck,” Rosa curses. For the first time, she stares right into my eyes and speaks directly to me. “Slut!”

  All night, I had been asking myself if I’m invisible because she didn’t acknowledge my presence. I even wondered what it would take for her to look at me.

  But now, I’m not sure it’s a good thing.

  “You dirty whore.” Rosa’s black boots make a rapid clack-tap, clack-tap sound on the concrete floor as she rushes toward me.

  I shrink into my seat, fully expecting Rosa to deal me a physical blow.

  And, she does. She lifts up her right hand and slaps me across the face.

  “Fucking whore!” She points her index finger right in my face and speaks through gritted teeth. “You want to be fucked so bad, right? So bad you’d try to steal my man? I’ll help you out. Help you scratch that itch away. I’ll fuck you in the ass with a rusty pipe.”

  Heat stings my face. This feels nothing like when Logan smacked my butt or my pussy. Rosa meant that slap.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid of what I might see.

  Are Pete and Ted looking for a rusty pipe right this very moment? Or do they already have it handy for moments like this? Surely there’s a rusty pipe somewhere in this filthy warehouse.

  Rosa’s perfume fills my nostrils with a fragrance so sweet it sickens me. Is she wearing too much perfume, or is that just pregnancy-related nausea?

  Oh, God.

  I’m pregnant.

  I must be.

  Why else would Rosa be this mad?

  A million thoughts run through my mind.

  Am I going to be alive to give birth to this baby? We used protection—how am I even pregnant? How is Logan going to react when—I mean if—he finds out?

  I can’t decide how I feel.

  Scared. Overjoyed. Guilty. Hopeful. Brave. Chicken shit.

  I’m way out of my comfort zone. And that’s an understatement.

  I was kidnapped by some gangsters and I’m being held hostage. I don’t even know where I am because they put a blindfold on me the whole time we were in the car.

  All I know is I’m in a warehouse.

  An unstable girl and two burly men are watching over me, making sure I don’t get away.

  And I’m pregnant.

  I may be a coward. But for the sake of my baby, I need to be different. I need to have courage. I need to be a mom.

  I take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes to stare back into Rosa’s dark, hateful, heavily made-up eyes.

  Smack! Rosa’s palm hits my cheek again, but I turn back to face her and look right back at her.

  “You know what I’m going to do, skank?” A cruel smile spreads across Rosa’s face. “I’m going to get you something. A magic pill. Get rid of that thing in your putrid cunt. My boyfriend won’t have a bastard baby and a slut baby mama running around, sucking him dry.”

  Logan

  “Fuck!” I curse into the phone.

  “I’m so sorry, man.” Caine’s voice filters out the speakers of my car. “I don’t know what to tell you. I spoke w
ith Enzo Guerriero, and he told me there was no problem. I found witnesses who saw you leave the party without touching his daughter. He said he knew his daughter was prone to drama”

  “Yeah. No shit.”

  I keep my eyes on the road. It’s hard enough driving in the dark because literally, the only light source is from my own car. But with the adrenaline pumping through my system, I need to be extra careful. I won’t be useful to anybody dead.

  Besides, considering how many similarities my twin brother and I share, and how he died in an accident late at night, there’s a good chance I’m prone to dying the same way, too.

  Caine is conspicuously quiet on the other end of the line.

  Even though he’s not my favorite person ever, he’s normally competent and efficient. Always on the move, making things happen. And nothing infuriates the Fosters more than someone messing with one of theirs.

  “So, what are we going to do?” I ask.

  “I . . . Look, my father just got admitted into a hospital, and I’m waiting to see what’s happening. The boys, they’ve got their hands full tonight. I’ll get back to you by tomorrow morning,” he says. Not exactly what I was hoping to hear.

  “That’s not good enough, Caine. We both know Rosa is unstable. I don’t know what she’s going to do.”

  “I don’t think she’s crazy enough to actually hurt your girl.” He sighs. “Here’s what I think you should do. Go meet up with her tomorrow night like she wants you to and get her to release the girl.”

  “Nope. Tomorrow night is too long for me to wait. We need to talk to Enzo.”

  “I’ve actually been trying to get in touch with him, but he hasn’t called me back. I’m sure he’ll call as soon as he listens to my voicemail and learns my father’s been hospitalized.”

  “Give me his phone number.”

  Caine pauses. For obvious reasons, it’s not normal procedure to give out the phone number of another mafia boss. But he seems to understand the seriousness of the situation because he then gives me the ten digits.

  “Also,” he says, “my father and I were supposed to meet him for dinner. If you can’t get in touch with him by phone, you can probably find him at Luigi’s.”

  “Who the fuck is Luigi?”

  “It’s the name of the restaurant. It’s downtown. Google it. I have to go. A nurse has been getting on my nerves all night. Good luck.” Caine hangs up.

  A spark of anger heats up my chest at the knowledge that I’m completely alone tonight. I thought they were going to have my back.

  But Caine’s got his own crisis to deal with right now, and I can handle this. I’m not alone. I’ve got my gun with me, and my gun’s pretty good at solving problems.

  Luigi’s. I enter the name into my GPS and watch the little machine show me a route.

  At least I know where to go now.

  After Rosa’s phone call, I stared at the picture she sent me of Harper over and over again, trying to figure out where they were.

  But I could only see gray walls and some cardboard boxes. Not exactly great clues. They could be anywhere.

  Caine wasn’t wrong. Worst case scenario, I can just go to dinner tomorrow night with Rosa and ask her to release Harper.

  If she tries to fuck with me, I’ll just have to give her a taste of her own medicine. Kidnap her and threaten her dad into releasing Harper for me.

  I’ve never met Enzo before, but I hope he’s a reasonable guy.

  Caine did say Enzo’s aware of her daughter’s penchant for drama.

  Still, there’s a chance he’ll completely ignore me. Rosa seems like a spoiled princess, and I’m pretty sure Enzo’s at least partially responsible for that.

  If she tells dear daddy I’m lying to him, why should he believe me over his own precious daughter?

  I have Rosa’s text messages, at least. If he won’t believe my words, surely he’d believe text messages coming from his daughter’s phone number.

  My baby.

  The words keep playing in my head. It feels strange but not in a bad way.

  I’m not used to having family at all. Aside from my stint at the hospital, I’ve never had anyone depend on me. And I didn’t enjoy feeling like I needed to be a reliable person. It was a burden.

  But this . . . This is different. Assuming Rosa wasn’t just lying like she normally does.

  I might have a baby. And Harper might be the mother of my child.

  I have no idea what the truth is. I guess I’ll find out when I speak to Harper.

  But baby or no baby, I’m going to save her. Even if it kills me.

  It’s not just because I don’t want her death on my conscience. I just can’t imagine living a life where Harper no longer exists.

  Logan

  “Don’t move.” I shove the gun against Enzo Guerriero’s back.

  I’m not scared. But maybe that’s because the adrenaline that’s flooding my body is blocking my fear right now.

  After all, I’m in the middle of a busy restaurant at dinner time, standing behind the chair of one of the most feared mafia bosses in the country and holding him at gunpoint.

  “Don’t be rash,” Enzo speaks slowly. Calmly. “My men have surrounded this place. You won’t get away with this.”

  “I don’t care about getting away with this.”

  Enzo’s people are still chatting among themselves and laughing while they eat dinner. But this won’t last long. Soon enough, they’ll realize something is wrong.

  The bowtie-and-tuxedo outfit I’m wearing helps me move under the radar in Luigi’s because all their waiters wear the same shit.

  But I’m not invisible.

  “You have a death wish, son?” Enzo asks. To his credit, he hasn’t raised any alarm among his men. Maybe he does intend on letting me walk away with no consequences. He adds, “Believe me, killing me won’t bring anyone back from the dead.”

  “I don’t care about that either.”

  “What do you want, then?” he asks. “Money? I have some money in my wallet. I’ll give you some of it. It’s chump change to me, but it may help you get out of whatever rough patch you’re in. Just don’t touch my credit cards because they’ll be a pain in the ass to replace.”

  “I don’t need your money.”

  I’ll have to admit I like the way Enzo’s handling this. How does a guy like him have a daughter as insane as Rosa? I guess the apple does fall fucking far from the tree, after all.

  If I do have a baby growing in Harper’s womb, I hope he or she will grow up to be nothing like me, but in a good way.

  “What do you want, then?” he asks.

  “I just want to save my family.” I’ve thought carefully about what to tell Enzo. I concluded that as a family man, he’d understand my motivation.

  Sure, Harper isn’t exactly “family” to me, but that will change when this is over—whether or not she’s carrying my baby.

  I’ve decided that she’ll stay by my side where I can protect her at all times. I can’t risk someone taking her away and hurting her again.

  “Calm down,” Enzo says. “Nobody wants to hurt anybody. If your family hasn’t done anything to any one of my people, I guarantee you that nothing will happen to them either.”

  I chuckle. “You have no idea what’s happening. Get up. Excuse yourself from the table. If you draw any attention to yourself, I will shoot you. I’ll do anything for my family.”

  “I understand. I’d do anything to save my family, too.” Enzo stands up from his chair and gives everyone at the table a big smile. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I need to pay a visit to the restroom. Please enjoy your dinner.”

  I cover the gun with a white napkin as I walk behind Enzo and tell him where to go. I’m no longer pressing the weapon against his body, but he knows my finger is poised on the trigger, ready to shoot at the smallest sign of trouble.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Enzo asks, keeping his voice low as we make our way past white-cloaked table
s and mostly black-clad diners.

  “Your daughter is keeping my girl and my unborn baby hostage.” I see no point in hiding the truth from Enzo. If anything, it will only help him see the gravity of the situation.

  “Rosa?” he asks.

  “Do you have any other . . . children in the family who would pull something like that?” I ask, stopping myself from calling his offspring “wackos.”

  Enzo lets out a big sigh as we walk out of the heated part of the building and into the cold underground car park.

  “Luckily, no,” Enzo answers matter-of-factly. “I take it you’re the man she accused of raping her at the party?”

  “One and the same.” I move beside Enzo and press the gun against him.

  Just because we’re having a decent conversation doesn’t mean he’s out of danger. He may be a charming and reasonable man, but I won’t hesitate to shoot him dead if he tries anything funny.

  “I’ll tell Rosa to let your girl go,” Enzo says.

  “You will. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “There’s no need for this. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  “If I didn’t do this, would I have been able to speak to you directly, without your men trying to block me?” I pull out my key fob and press the button to unlock my black BMW.

  “No,” he admits.

  “Get in.” I open the driver’s side door and shove Enzo inside.

  I walk around the car and get in from the passenger side. Pointing my gun at Enzo, I say, “Where’s Rosa right now?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I could put a tracker on her so I’d be aware of where she is at all times, but she wouldn’t like that.” Enzo gives me a smile. He’s still calm as a cucumber.

  It’s not surprising, though. I’m sure a man like Enzo didn’t get to where he is in life by avoiding danger.

  I pull my phone out of the pocket of my tuxedo jacket and show him the picture of Harper that Rosa sent me. “Do you recognize this place?”

  “Looks like one of our warehouses,” he says.

  Just as I open my mouth to ask a question, a muscular guy wearing a black suit and an earpiece knocks on my car door. He doesn’t look friendly.