Broken: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel

by Natasha Thomas

  Mom told me to try dry crackers and ginger ale, but all that served to do was make more food available for me to recycle. Aunt Lou and Ade both said warm baths and lavender oil helped them, and that would be great if I could get into a bath before having to haul myself out and hug the other porcelain fixture in the bathroom.

  Sheila has been coming over every day bringing soup, casseroles, whatever she has cooked the night before, and I know she’s doing it because she cares, but a little part of me knows she’s also doing it because of how things ended with me and her surrogate son. She doesn’t want to miss out on the chance to become a grandmother, and no matter how many times I’ve told her she doesn’t need to try and buy me off with food to be a part of my baby’s life as just that; a grandmother, she still comes anyway.

  Stirring my green tea, and Sheila’s coffee she asks,

  “How you feeling, Lee-lee?”

  It’s the same question she asks me every morning, and every morning I give her the same answer.

  “I’m okay, Aunt Sheila.”

  "Hmm,” she says pursing her lips. “I’d be inclined to believe you Lee-lee if you didn’t look like shit.” I really wish everyone would stop calling me that. It was fine when I was a kid, it’s not like I don’t have plenty of nicknames, but other than my brothers I don’t feel comfortable being reminded I’m still thought of as a child. But there’s no telling some people, and Sheila just happens to be some people, so I keep my snarky retort to myself.

  Laughing I tilt my mug at her and reply,

  “Thanks for that Aunt Sheila, I appreciate the honesty.” I really don’t, but I’m sure the hint of sarcasm I injected was enough to let her know that.

  “If it makes you feel any better, he doesn’t look much better than you, child.” It does and it doesn’t. I don’t have an inclination to discuss King Fucktard with her again, so just like before I keep my comments to myself. This is the same routine just a different day, and I’ll be damned if I let talk of him ruin another one of my mornings. “You’ve got a doctors’ appointment today don’t you? What time? I can take you if needs be.”

  As much as I love Sheila, there’s no way in hell I’m letting her come with me to my appointment. I have an internal exam booked with my obstetrician today, and if that alone wasn’t enough reason to not want her with me, the real reason why the appointment is booked to begin with is.

  A couple of days after the parting scene I had with Glock, I started spotting. Nothing too drastic, but enough to have me concerned. My doctor did an urgent ultrasound and saw that everything was seemingly okay, but when I didn’t stop bleeding he recommended I come in for a pelvic exam and further 3D ultrasound just to rule anything potentially dangerous out.

  To say I’m scared out of my mind is putting it mildly, but Dr. Hansen comes highly recommended, and has had years of experience in complicated births, so I feel somewhat put at ease by his skill and bedside manner. He assured me spotting isn’t completely abnormal, and I’m past the danger zone now so it is most likely my body settling in for the long haul. And while that in and of itself was comforting, I can’t help but feel frightened every day I wake up and it hasn’t stopped.

  Part of me wanted to call Glock as soon as it started. But the other part of me, the hurt, angry, broken part of me said to shut the fuck up and deal with it, which is what I’ve done. I haven’t told another soul, and before you say I’m stupid for having kept quiet, put yourself in my position. Everyone has been against this from the beginning, aside from Emma, Cody, Wheel’s, and Tilly that is. Even my mom, Sheila, Lou, Ade, and V have voiced their concerns about me being a mom so young and who I picked to be the father of my child.

  I mean seriously? It’s not like I actually picked Glock to father my baby, it was more like fate picked for me. I know it’s not a popular belief, that fate, kismet, the stars decided who I would fall in love with, what my destiny would be, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  Finally replying to Sheila I say,

  “No, but thank you for the offer. I need to head into Boulder afterward to pick up some parts for Uncle Tank anyway. While I’m there I’m going to look at that new baby warehouse and see if what they’ve got.”

  Smiling warmly at me she pats my hand.

  “You know your momma is planning a shower Lee-lee, so don’t go buying too much.”

  “I won’t. I just want to get a few little things, to make it feel more real you know?” Because it hasn’t; felt real that is. With the confrontation at Chasers with my dad, who mind you still has not spoken to me once, then the argument with my grandpa’s and the other guys, I’ve had to try and make amends with everyone. All with varying degrees of success mind you. Uncle Tank, Reaper, and Arrow were easy. They’re big softies at heart, and after some rapid blinking, crocodile tears, and exaggerated whimpering they were happy to forgive and forget. Mostly I think they did it to stop the poor, hormonal pregnant woman from blubbering all over them, but whatever, it worked for me.

  My grandpa’s were a bit harder to convince, but with grandma B on my side, and a few stern warnings to her husband and his best friend to behave, pull their heads out of each other’s asses, and the threat of castration laid on the table, they eventually caved just like she knew they would and started talking to me again. Granted it didn’t take long for them all to forgive me for not coming to them first, but to me it felt like an eternity. We are all so close that going only a few days without speaking is akin to a lifetime.

  The three weeks that followed when Glock was absent, or if he wasn’t he was firmly pushing me away, were hell. I hated that he wouldn’t talk to me, he wouldn’t let me comfort him. And then there was the fight that effectively ended us as well as the last two weeks without him. I’ll openly admit that I’ve been going through the motions, and subsequently this pregnancy has felt more like a dream than reality, but I’m not sure how else to handle it.

  I’ve never been an overly gushy, emotional woman, and I can’t really relate to those that are, but there’s something to be said for having a god cathartic cry once and a while. Mom tells me it’s perfectly normal to be upset about this, that I should show my emotions rather than bottle them up. It’s a defense mechanism, or it is mine, so it’s easier said than done.

  Even when I was young I preferred to laugh rather than cry. A highly stressful or tense situation usually brought out my sarcasm and insults rather than, tears and pouting. If I was faced with anger, I returned it. I didn’t lay down and take shit from anyone, not until Glock, it was something I prided myself in. These days however, I feel like a weepy bitch ninety-nine percent of the time, and I hate it.

  I know I have to stop mopping around, that I have to stop mourning the loss of my very temporary boyfriend, but that’s easier said than done too. Hearing what I did that morning tore me apart. Probably because not for one second in the previous three weeks did I consider that was why he was distancing himself from me. I knew he was upset about how his brothers were treating him, and I have to say I was disappointed in them myself, but I had no clue it was actually me that was causing him so much frustration and distress.

  I can’t say that if he approached me, if he talked to me about how he was feeling the outcome would have been any different, because knowing Glock, when he gets something in his head it’s almost impossible to change his mind. And he had decided I was the reason for the club turning their backs on him, so the only obvious solution to him was to cut me out in order to win them back, and it worked.

  When the guys’ found out we were no longer together, that we wouldn’t ever be together again, they welcomed him home like a solider returning from war, like he’d been reborn into the brotherhood. And in a way he had. The few times I had seen him since, and those were few and far between as well as at a safe distance, Glock was acting like we never happened, like he and I weren’t having a baby together, that I’d never existed for him, and that hurt. It hurt more than I can put into words.

&nb
sp; If one of the brothers saw I was in the same room while Candice was crawling all over him they would try their best to engage me in some meaningless, transparent conversation in an attempt to distract me. It never worked and I was torn whether to appreciate the effort, or to be pissed at them they were covering for him. I more often than not opted for the pissed side.

  One thing I can tell you is that I’m nothing like Ade V, or my mom. I won’t pretend this never happened and forgive whatever shitty things he says or does. I won’t let him steamroll me, and I won’t beg him to take me back. I’m a firm believer in Glock having made his bed so now he needs to lie in it. I can only hope that bed is made up of rusty nails, it would be a good punishment for him being such an asshole.

  The times he’s seen me he’s smiled at me, given me a head nod or wave, and pretty much pretended like we are all fine and dandy. I think not. It’s at these times I shot him the finger, ignore him, or pointedly glare in his general direction. Not great repayment I know, but I don’t have a lot of recourse in this situation.

  Rules are rules, and one of the big one’s is not disrespecting any patched brother in the clubhouse. I might get away with more than most, seeing as who my relatives are, but that doesn’t mean now that I’m not his property any more Glock couldn’t be spiteful and have me removed if he felt like it. I already found out he did something of the sort the other week when I was told in no uncertain terms I couldn’t attend the usual Friday night party at the club.

  Poor Uncle Tank, as the official Enforcer for the MC was sent to deliver the news that my presence wouldn’t be welcome that week, and it was best if I stay home and put my feet up. Like I was some kind of ninety-year-old with a bum hip and leprosy. I have never felt so enraged and defeated at the same time. Uncle Tank bore the brunt of my anger, and even though I called and apologized to him the next day, I felt awful for yelling at him for being a no good, dirty traitor. And yes, I did use exactly those words. Thank God he wrote it off as pregnancy hormones, gave me a huge hug and told me he loved me, or I may have been forced to kick his overgrown ass.

  I’m not naïve enough that I didn’t know why I was being evicted. Even a blind, deaf, animal from a testing lab after too many experimental drugs would know why I wasn’t welcome, but far be it from me to follow simple instructions, that would have made it too easy on them. So I did what any pissed off, pregnant female would do, I went anyway.

  Mistake number one was thinking they’d let me in the door without incident, but luckily for me, my good friend Pike was on the door that night and with a little subtle reminding about how I kicked his ass last time, and that I wouldn’t hesitate in doing it again, he let me in.

  Mistake number two was not planning for what I’d do if I was, which invariably I was, faced with Glock and another woman. Again, luckily for me a few of the Vengeance brothers were in town visiting, so I wasn’t left standing with my mouth open in shock for long. My all-time favorite Vengeance member, Fury, was by the bar when he spotted me. It took him less than a minute to assess the imminent danger Glock was in from my fist and his junk before Fury walked over, and escorted me to a group of tables that were currently unoccupied. The conversation we had is still ringing in my head, and his words play over and over like a lullaby that soothes me to sleep the nights I’m upset and restless.

  Sitting in the chair directly beside me, Fury take my hand asking,

  “Heard a bit about what went down, you okay little one?”

  I’ve always loved the idiosyncrasies that make up this man. On the outside Fury is rough, and intimidating, much more so than any of the men that belong to Devil’s Spawn. Or maybe that’s because I don’t see them as they are seeing as they’ve always been family to me, but Fury has always been scarier than any man I’ve ever met. But on the inside, Fury is strong but insightful. Direct but not hurtfully so. And he’s almost poetic in the advice he gives. I’ve always gravitated toward him at hog roasts and gatherings he’s attend since the time I was old enough to understand the kind of wisdom he has is unlike any other.

  “I’m not going to lie Fury, I’m angry, upset, and pissed at him, but I’ll move on. What else can I do?” I say squeezing his huge hand with my much smaller one.

  “You know that boy’s got a fuck ton of baggage, yeah? Probably more than most of the men I know, and I know some pretty damage guys, Lexi.” He’s not telling me anything I don’t know, however I’m unsure how that relates to me and Glock.

  Glock came from the foster system. He ran away just before he turned sixteen, and from what I know he didn’t run because they were a model family. Other than that I don’t have a lot of details to fill in the gaps. Glock hasn’t told me, and I haven’t pushed him to. It was evident any time someone asked about where he came from before Priest showed up with him out of the blue one day that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I respected that. I knew when he wanted to he would tell me, or at least I hoped one day he would trust me enough to divulge his innermost secrets.

  “I know,” I say releasing a long held in breath. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, holding my breath waiting for the pain of losing Glock to subside. It hasn’t worked yet, but I can live in hope.

  “No, I don’t think you do, Lexi. That boy has baggage that doesn’t go away no matter how much light you bring into his life. He’s not going to wake up one day, and that weight he carries around with him will have disappeared. What he’s got inside is something he’s gonna have to learn to live with, and the woman by his side is too.”

  “He didn’t give me the chance to learn to deal, Fury. He made his position on how he felt about me perfectly clear when he said he resented me for the clubs actions,” I say huffier than I want to.

  Patting my hand he replies,

  “Yeah, heard about that too.”

  “You hear a lot for being hours away. How does that even happen?”

  Fury laughs drawing the gaze of a few people standing close enough to witness the rare, but beautiful event. He doesn’t laugh often, but when he does it is a husky, rich sound that could probably melt panties if you were a breathing female. It’s just a pity it does nothing for me, aside from make me smile.

  “I’ve got ears on the ground everywhere, Lexi. It’s my business to know what’s going on. It’s the reason I’m still alive and kicking after all these years.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got plenty of ears then isn’t it?” I say snorting at his comment about being alive and kicking. If there’s one thing I know about Fury that would be, it would take a mountain of a man that’s also an experienced fighter and marksman to take him down. And it would take a hell of a lot of luck and the stars to be perfectly aligned for whoever it was to have the first shot at taking him out.

  “I need you to listen to me when I tell you this, Lex. I don’t say this lightly either because it’s not my fucking business to get involved in, but you’re hurting little one and I don’t wanna see that either. So, you listening?” He asks winking at me.

  “I’ll listen to anything you have to say, it’s not like I couldn’t use the advice.”

  “It’s not advice little one, more like insight.” Nodding at him to continue, acknowledging that I’m listening he says, “When Glock got here he was fucked up. Not the kind of fucked up that heals, like after a good beat down, the kind that gets in your head, fucks with it, and you don’t come out of it the same. Boy had a bigger chip on his shoulder than the Grand Canyon is wide. What you don’t know, probably because you were too young to fucking tie your own shoes back then is, Vic sent Glock up our way for a couple of months to straighten his ass out.”

  I gape at Fury. No one ever told me Glock had been sent away, not even the man himself. Closing my mouth with his hand Fury goes on.

  “Close your mouth Lex, you’ll catch flies. The kid was a pain in my ass, but after a few weeks of hard labor I tried the little bastard out enough for him to start talking, and when he did I wished he hadn’t started. I don’t kn
ow shit about the details, but I know enough to know he’s not making a choice to put his brothers first.” I go to interrupt but he stops me with a raised hand. “I asked you to hear me out little one, and I meant it,” he says sharply but with no anger behind it.

  “Glock doesn’t have family Lexi, he’s got his brothers, or that’s all he did have until you came along. But you’ve got to understand that when he started feeling things for you he didn’t think it’d ever go further, so he still put his brothers first. The only person I know of that isn’t in the MC that he’s got a strong enough bond he might consider putting above them is Rob. Even then that iffy whether he’d be able to choose him over them.”

  Releasing my hand he sits back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him crossed at the ankles.

  “Rob wouldn’t make him choose though, and before you say it, I know you weren’t either, but to him that’s what it felt like. That he’d lose his brothers if he put you first, and that’s not something he could, probably still can’t come to terms with. I’m not saying it’s right, fucking far from it, it’s wrong, really fucking wrong, but you’ve gotta get that in his head you equal the loss of everything he feels he needs to keep himself grounded. You come with the possibility of walking away one day if his shit gets too much, these guys’ won’t do that. You come with the chance he might fail you, and to him that’s unacceptable. And most of all, you come with the likelihood you’ll never be able to love him the way he loves you, so fucking completely that without you he isn’t whole.”