HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Thomas, Kathryn

  “Jane! We have to move!”

  In the distance, the bikes have slowed down, but they’ll be here soon—no doubt about that. Getting a token from Viper’s corpse is something they can’t resist. It dawns on me that the ultimate takeaway would be me and his unborn baby.

  “We have to run, Jane!” Bishop easily reaches down towards my legs and throws them into his arms. The rest of me flops around his shoulders with my hands around his neck for support. “Stay low and quiet!” He squats as he sprints off towards his bike which is pulled off to the side and hidden behind the long, overgrown weeds of the ditch. My hands reach for it in the blackout darkness as we squash through the muck and soaked leaves. He places me on top of the overturned bike and then kneels beside me. I can barely make out his face, but he finds mine and presses a finger to my lips. I watch his long finger point towards the side of the road where the shots rang out from. Within minutes, lights shine brightly on the highway and the group of four motorcycles near.

  My breath hitches in my throat as I say more prayers. I lean closer to Bishop’s sturdy body for support, resting my head on his arm. On the other side of the ditch, the bikes slow down in front of the scene where Viper’s bike skidded and landed on him. There’s no trace of me there, at least not that I can see besides my dead boyfriend and his bike with the wheels still spinning and the lights still flashing on and off.

  Their bikes come to a stop before him, and the leader kicks his bike to stand as he cautiously dismounts. He looks over Viper’s body with a look of disgust. Even the hardest of men aren’t used to seeing a body like that, even if it was one they planned on killing in the first place. Even with my limited view and the long shadows over him, I see the corner of his lip turn up at the sight.

  “Is that…?” one of the lackeys asks, pointing at Viper’s still-warm body.

  “Yeah, it fucking is!” The leader can barely contain his excitement. “With their president and vice dead, the Carnivores have got nothing to do but run!” The group sends up a long howl of victory into the night. Their fists pound on their chests, and their boots stomp on the small puddles.

  After a long moment of celebration, one of the other men asks, “What should we do with the body, boss? The cops aren’t far behind. You think they’ll see the bullets?”

  “Cops in this town are slow, but they’re not idiots. Anyone can see the bullet hole in the mirror and the ones through his shoulders and neck. His body’s gotta ride with us and we’ll dispose when we get him back there.” The man hesitates as he adds, “Plus, ain’t no one gonna believe we brought both of them down if we don’t have a body to prove it.”

  My stomach turns watching them pull the bike up and off Viper’s torn apart body. His arms hang limp as one grabs his legs and the other takes his shoulders. Water and blood trail off his shoulders and head and back down to the ground. His bald head falls down so that it faces Bishop and me. That face was one that I kissed so many times. And even though we were at our end, at least the end of our good times, there are so many memories that I can’t erase with his death. He was the one who said yes to me, who made me the club girl that I am. I can’t forget that about him. And I certainly can’t sit here and watch them toss his body on the back of a bike, tied up and strapped to someone like a kid’s backpack.

  Bishop is staring me down. His eyes burn holes into me, but my lip stiffens and I will myself to stay put. I press closer to his body, smelling the scent of his cologne and burned tires on his skin and clothes. It’s familiar to me, but I can’t place it. But as the moments’ pass, with the Snakes working on hiding Viper’s bike at the other end of the road, I become oddly calm, cool, and collected. I close my eyes and let it go.

  Right now, right here with Bishop, I am safe.

  Chapter Four Bishop

  “What in the name of Christ happened out there?” Dig roars at me. The small man can barely reach my nose on his tiptoes, but he sure looks like a puffed-up peacock, sticking his thick chest out at me. “Where the hell is Viper?”

  “He’s gone,” Rivet’s mousey voice squeaks from across the hotel room. She hasn’t moved an inch since we checked in. Her knees are pulled up to her small chest, and her arms are wrapped tight around her legs, almost as if she is a turtle protecting herself by retreating into her shell. She’s got that look about her, like she is someone who has seen too much and done too little. Her teeth chatter together, and her long, wet hair drapes over her eyes in crimson-brown strands. But despite her tough-seeming exterior, her fear and terror and disbelief are palpable. As they should be. Her boyfriend is dead. It’s the kind of thing she should be horrified over.

  “He’s gone,” Dig repeats, not seeming to care that this chick is shell-shocked out of her damn mind. “He’s gone?”

  “Yeah, he’s fucking dead!” I blurt out, forgetting my place. Dig’s been Viper’s right-hand man for a good long while now. Well, maybe not right-hand—more like third in command, really—but whatever his real position, he has acted more like a lackey than a foot soldier, following Viper around like a puppy dog seeking nothing but to please its owner. But there’s nothing I can do about that now. Brothers are brothers and blood is blood. Losing one of our own means putting on some air of respect for the dead.

  I bow my head slightly and dial down my rhetoric about as much as I can. I take a breath, shake my head, and then continue. “The Snakes that shot him and his bike down, loaded up his body and took him back west. They were talking something about ‘disposing.’ From what I’ve heard, they do these drops at the Bernadino dump, the one just outside the city limits. Somebody in their gang has got an in over there. If you want, I can arrange some guys to get his remains in the morning.”

  “You ain’t doing nothing, you fuckin’ jerk-off,” he shoots back, his spit flying at me through his yellowed, gritted teeth. “You ain’t gonna do a goddamn thing ‘til I know you’re clear. You get me? You had one fuckin’ job: to protect our asses. Your boys failed miserably. This whole fuckin’ mess is your fault. Viper is dead because of you.”

  “That’s not true!” Rivet whimpers, breaking her grip to slide herself to the end of the bed. “If it weren’t for Bishop, I would’ve been dead or taken. He couldn’t have stopped it if he tried. He rode at the head to get us out of there, not to put us in danger.”

  It’s admirable that she’d try to defend me like this, her eyes glowing with insistence, but her word means nothing in the club world. She’s a chick, an unclaimed one at that now that her man is dead. The fact that she lived and he died is of no consequence to Dig, which I can see by the way he looks her over with eyes full of disgust, almost seeming to say that it should have been her, not him.

  Dig ignores her altogether and turns back to me. “Tell your boys to meet me at the bar. We’re gonna retrieve the pres’ body tonight. No way I’m gonna leave him out in this damn storm to rot in the sewer and wastewater. We’ll deal with Viper’s corpse tomorrow.”

  “And what the fuck am I supposed to do?” I ask, already guessing at the answer.

  “You’re staying here. If the Snakes saw you or her, they’ll be on the lookout, and I’m not wasting any more manpower on your asses. Tomorrow, you’ll meet us at whatever’s left at headquarters, and we’ll talk punishment.”

  “Who put you in charge?” I say, my anger simmering on the back burner.

  Dig takes a few paces in his oversized boots, scuffing his steel-clad toes on the red shag carpet. His hands rest impatiently on his hips, and I can see he’s gearing up for something. I anticipate it before it lands—a fist directed at my face just narrowly misses me as I duck under. It gives me a clear grab at his arms so that I can pin them back to his side.

  “Get the fuck off of me!” he cries out. “Do you know who the fuck you’re messing with?”

  “I do, and I ain’t having it!” I shout back, pressing his dumbass into the wall. Next to us, the small glass vase of fake flowers falls to the ground and shatters into several large pieces. Dig
looks down, attempting to move his feet in the direction of the shards, but I’m there before he can even think of slicing me with the largest one. My boot kicks them over to Rivet who cowers back in the corner.

  “Are you done?” I ask, pounding him again. When he doesn’t answer, just pants in response, I release him from my grip and let him fall back into the wall and down to his knees. It takes him a second to recover, but he looks more trollish than ever. The gross thin beard looks even whiter under his rubbery, pale cheeks.

  “Tomorrow. We’ll settle this shit tomorrow.” His voice is grainy and injured. I should have pressed down harder on those vocal cords of his. Hearing him croak is the only small satisfaction I’m getting tonight.

  “I can’t fucking wait,” I reply, watching him open the hotel door and attempt to slam it. The heavy wood door creaks shut slowly as if to taunt him further. It takes all I’ve got not to burst out laughing at his poor attempt at a dramatic getaway. Fucking diva. He doesn’t know what’s coming for him tomorrow. If he thinks he can mess with me, he’s got another thing coming.

  While Dig was in with Viper, he sure as hell doesn’t have many fans from the rest of the club. Viper himself was one of those guys who divided a room. Unlike our Pres, he didn’t make anyone feel welcome unless they were ready to kiss his ass and his ring. You were either with him or against him, and I made no motions to be in his little fraction. All they did was spend their time plotting and pouting over things they thought they deserve. And now, dealing with Dig, it’s easy to see why he was so quick to line himself up with Viper. They are one in the same—both little pussies with a pride problem.

  I’m still raging when I feel her come up behind me. She tiptoes so I can only hear the swoosh of the carpet and a squeak of a floorboard under her feet. She stops a few inches between us, but it could be an ocean apart. The girl is in her own damn world. As I turn to face her, I watch her deep-set eyes become more and more clear. She turns slightly, and I notice something I didn’t before—blood, fresh blood.

  “Whoa. Jan—Rivet!” I exclaim as I reach for her arm. She flinches almost instantly and places an arm around her stomach. “Jesus. Let me look at you. You’re fucking hurt!”

  “I’m not.” Her voice shivers. “I’m fine. But I have to get out of here. I can’t stay here…” Her voice trails off as she tries to think of some excuse. Her face only becomes more ashen and terrified as she goes on, rambling about something at her house that she needs to check on—maybe a cat or a plant. She’s not specific.

  “Fuck that!” I say, reaching for her arm. She pulls back again and this time runs towards the other side of the room, nearly tripping over the side of the bed.

  “Get away from me. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.” Her voice travels up an octave at least as she cries. Her hand covers the large brown and red smear down her arm—road marks from the gravel. It was hidden by the sleeve of her shirt, and in the chaos of getting her somewhere safe, I missed it all. I should have checked her out when I got here. This girl is gonna bleed out on the floor if I don’t get her some damn help.

  “Listen!” I shout over her. “I’m no medic, but I’ve got a first aid kit in my bag there. Let me help you. I’ll clean it up and put a wrap on it. That’s it.”

  “You’re not gonna come anywhere near me.” Her eyes are set aflame as she adds, “I mean it!”

  My patience wears thin, and I pant in frustration. “Listen, Jane, or whatever the fuck you’re calling yourself. I am already deep in shit with the club, and I ain’t going to push it by having Viper’s girl come back to them looking like a piece of road worn bacon. If you don’t let me fix it, I’m going to force you.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she replies, her eyes lowering into a headstrong glare.

  “Try me!” I take two large stomps towards her. She flies backward onto the bed. The white comforter is almost instantly smeared with her blood. She looks down at the stain and then towards her arm as if she didn’t believe me before. The shock is the perfect opportunity to catch her off guard, and I fly at her with my hands raised. She tries to duck but is only pushed down into the bed with her chest up towards me. Without thinking, I hitch my legs around her hips with one knee on each of her sides. She squirms under me, and I try not to think about how warm she feels even when she’s covered in wet clothes that cling to her tight, lean body.

  “Are you gonna stop?” I ask, waiting for her to stop fighting me, but she only protests more, throwing her arms wildly around her head.

  “Let me go! Get off of me!”

  “Fine! I’ll get off you, but you’re gonna stay down.” I reach for my bandana and then her arms. In one grab, I manage to hook both of her wrists together and bound them above her head. She tries to break free, but I’m about a hundred pounds heavier than she is and at least fifty percent more muscle. She’s tough, tougher than I remember the scrawny thing being as a kid, but she can’t put up a fight to match me. And within seconds, the bandana’s got her hooked straight up to the hotel room’s metal bed frame.

  “Bishop!” she yells in vain, but I’m too busy examining her wounds. It’s a long streak of charred skin that travels from her elbow up to her shoulder.

  “Bishop!” I’m half-ashamed to admit that I’m seconds away from throwing a sock or some part of the blanket into her mouth, but I’m a better man than that. The girl’s tired and shocked. Her eyes search for recognition, and I try to soothe her the best that I can.

  “I’m just trying to help you. You don’t need to fight it. It’s not like I’m taking you for my own or something.”

  “You wouldn’t.” She lifts her chest off of the bed to meet mine, her nose and lips only inches from me. I can practically taste the strawberry gum she was chewing earlier back at the club headquarters. If I wanted, I could lean my head in and kiss her. I could do a whole bunch of terrible things to her right here in this hotel room. I’ve always had a thing for tied up babes asking for a good screw. But she’s not one of them, at least not tonight. I can’t deny that the way she looks at me isn’t appealing. Her eyes burn like embers in a fire, and her full chest pulsates heavily in the tight, clinging shirt.

  It’s been years since I’ve thought of her like this. So much has changed. She’s not Jane anymore, not even when it’s just us in this hotel room with me hogtying her down. She’s Rivet—untouchable, even when I’m only inches away. I force myself back from her, fighting every urge in my body to pounce. I get off the bed without another word and head towards the kit in my bag.

  She looks away as I begin to work, carefully pouring the small, travel-sized bottle of alcohol on a clean piece of cloth. It smears the fresh blood until all that’s left is the damaged skin. I use the tweezers to remove a few lodged pebbles, but she doesn’t even budge. It’s not until I pour the liquid directly onto the clean skin again that she flinches and blinks in pain.

  Rivet grits her teeth and looks away as I wrap the bandage around her arms. “When you’re done, I’m going.”

  “You’re not going out there, Rivet. No one is.”

  “Viper’s body,” she says, correcting me, “they’re going to get it.”

  “No. You heard Dig. Ain’t nobody going out there tonight, not in this damn storm. They’ll get it tomorrow, and I’m sure they’ll have something to honor him.” I try not to roll my eyes at the thought of the attention that piss-poor excuse for an asshole is gonna get. Ceremonies are big in MC world, and when it’s a president or even VP, we go big, or we go home. Our dead go out as they come into the world—screaming with a party.

  As I untie her from the bed, I go over what they’ve done for the dead guys in the past, even talk to her about what the Ramblers MC did for my dad when they buried him a few years back, but she doesn’t seem moved by this. Actually, she doesn’t seem to care a bit about the planning or the retrieval. Her unphased look is making me think that there’s something else there, something she’s not telling me about her and Viper.

  “You with him
for long?” I ask, not sure how or if she’s gonna take the bait.

  “Who?” she asks innocently.

  “Viper. Your boyfriend, right? He has… Er, had, claim on you.”

  “Yeah.” Rivet’s voice lowers. “He did. We’ve been together for nearly two years now. Lived together even. The girls all thought this was gonna be the year he put down the ring and made me his forever. I disagreed.” Her lips curl into a smirk, a little bit of light comes back to her.

  “Not a fan of that plan, I take it?” For some reason, I try to push down the weird fluttering that is popping around in my stomach at that question.

  “No,” she says, her voice softening as she confesses her story to me. “He wasn’t exactly the best boyfriend. He didn’t treat me real nice like everyone thought. I mean, he wasn’t a complete asshole, didn’t beat me up, remembered my birthday and stuff. But everything else, Viper was… Well, we were on the outs. I don’t think we would’ve lasted another few weeks.”