HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Thomas, Kathryn

  The boys, on the other hand, have to go through a trial by fire. The president sets them off on some tests and missions. It’s a process that takes a month or two—or sometimes much more—to go from a trial rider to a full-fledged offer of membership. Of course, once they finally get into it, they are in it for life—unless they are stupid enough to do something so horrible and despicable that flies right in the face of the club rules that they get themselves excommunicated. Even that’s rare—usually, guys aren’t stupid enough to try something so overt, and if they do, they’re usually offered an out in retirement before shit can get that far. But to be honest, few take that out, even if it’s offered. Most guys stay lifers; they take their club seal to the grave and their oaths to their cold, dry, purple lips.

  The president calls on this oath all the time. For new members in their initiation or trial periods, the presidents will drill them on the oath until the boys have it memorized by heart (though sometimes, it’ll be their underlings or lackeys, which are often the same thing). The older men recite bits and pieces of it as they toast their beers. More importantly, not a single, solitary soul is allowed to leave a club meeting without reciting it at least once, and it has absolutely got to be in front of the president—and if it’s not , they have to do it all over again.

  Tonight, all the men bend at their knees in front of Bishop. It might seem to an outsider like they’re bowing before a king, but honestly, it is not anything like something dapper or regal. This bar parking lot ain’t a shiny, beautifully tiled palace floor, and these fellas around me sure as fuck aren’t knights—far from it. They’re as raggedy as guys can get. Their balding heads reflect the pale, white light from the street lamps above them. Their bandanas are stained with blood, sweat, and grime, and probably smell worse than they look. Their black leather jackets are worn and dusty from hours upon hours sitting on their bikes riding through every kind of weather and landscape imaginable. Most have glazed grins and bloodshot eyes from being awake for hours on end, or from just being drunk or stoned. They look, in other words, like the gang of unwashed, unkempt badasses they actually are.

  But Bishop clearly doesn’t give two shits about any of this. He’s high on his own self-importance. His chest puffs out like he’s some kind of emperor of legend as he waits to hear them say it—to pledge to him their fidelity for life. The boys start with a slight murmur of the first few words. As it continues, though, the murmur slowly becomes a roar of low voices tumbling through the deep, black night. I press my back against the entrance to the bar as I listen to them recite the words I know so well. I mouth them myself, finding myself growing more obstinate with every syllable.

  I am a Carnivore. I will wear my colors with pride and honor. I will defend my territory and my brothers anytime I am called. I offer this club my sweat, my blood, my breath, my life. I will ride alongside each of these men, defending and protecting what is mine and what is ours, until my last day on this earth. Carnivores today. Carnivores tomorrow. Carnivores forever!

  Bishop’s chin arcs into the air, giving an almost haughty signal of his approval. He has grown in confidence hearing their voices strengthen throughout, and he smiles wildly as the last cheer goes out. The remaining few stragglers finish their pledge, and he addresses his men as the new leader.

  “Carnivores—brothers—I have to admit, I didn’t expect to be up here, leading you all today. I’d be lying if I said I ever wanted this—to be your leader. But you’ve chosen me. For that, I’m honored, and I pledge to lead you loyally, and with the strength you have come to expect from your leaders.”

  Somehow, in the pauses between his words, his dark eyes find me. I blush as I try to move back into the bar again, but his words stop me in my place. “Tonight, we’ve lost… Well, we’ve lost a fucking hell of a lot, haven’t we? We’ve lost men, good men. Tomorrow, we’ll honor their memories, their triumphs, their hard work and dedication to the Carnivores.

  “But men! Tonight, I don’t know about you, but I’m pissed the fuck off! Somewhere out there, in this godforsaken city, those motherfucks in the Snakes and the other clubs are laughing their fucking tight-clenched asses at us, because they think we are weak. Every single one of them is out there right now plotting against us. I know that usually after elections, there’s a party or something to honor the new president. But that’s not what I’m all about. Tonight, my brothers, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  He sighs heavily as he looks over towards Dig, who is still kneeling before him. “I know we’re not all on the same level, but after a night like we’ve had, I’m more convinced than ever that this club simply cannot afford to be divided. Twenty-six of you voted for Dig. I promise you, I’m not gonna ignore that fact. I’m your leader, and you have sworn your fealty to me. I expect it. I won’t accept anything less.

  “But I’m also not blind. I know how passionately many of you feel. And I need someone I can trust, someone who is as dedicated to the Carnivores as I am. So as of this moment, I’m appointing Dig as my second-in-command. He’ll be in charge of reporting in on morale and executing my orders.

  “Dig, will you take on the duties of my number two?”

  Dig doesn’t respond for a long while, and when he does, his voice is hoarse and reluctant.

  “Yeah,” he says cautiously, eyeing his new president carefully. “Yeah, I suppose I’ll do it. For now.”

  Bishop ignores that last part and moves on, appointing the rest of his leadership and establishing a new security regimen that will be both tighter and, apparently, more disciplined. He actually sounds like a leader; I’m as shocked as anyone. When he’s done, he speaks to the men as a whole again.

  “All right, guys,” he says in a loud, booming voice. “I’ve given you all your jobs and duties. And I expect you make every shift and club meeting until we’re in order again. This includes providing protection to our girls. I know the Snakes, and I know they’ll be going for the ladies hard and fast like the dishonorable scumbags that they are.

  “We’re not Snakes, you hear me? And we’ll never leave our women out in the dark. Ever. Our girls’ apartments are to have round the clock security, and none of them are to perform a shift without two guards at the bar at all times. And that includes Rivet—Viper’s claim. She’s going to need top-notch security—our best guys. The Snakes may have seen her on his bike, and if they did, you’d better believe they’re going to be looking for her especially. You all know those motherfuckers. They don’t like witnesses—especially if they’ve got a gash between their legs. So that’s the deal here, gentlemen. We’re going to honor our fallen leader by providing his girl with a widow’s tribute and protection for as long as I see fit.”

  “Uh… boss…” Dig says quietly as he stands to his feet. “We, uh—we got a little problem there. See, the girl—Rivet—she’s not a widow. Not really.” I’m almost amused at how quickly this asshole stood up to offer his distaste at his new president’s command. It might actually be funny if he weren’t talking about me.

  Bishop smiles and chuckles under his breath.

  “No, you’re right, Dig,” he says, and I detect a surprising amount of menace in his voice. “She is technically not a widow.” Bishop stands and stares hard, his gaze shooting a dagger through his new second-in-command. “But you know what? This girl stood up and rode bravely with him tonight. And she was his claim. We’re not going to ignore the particular danger this young lady is in, get me?”

  He turns to the rest of the group assembled. “Listen, guys. I understand what you’re probably thinking. I’m sure there aren’t very many of you who want to offer this girl protection. But I’d never ask you to do something I’m not willing to do myself. So I’m going to provide for her protection. Rivet will come with me to one of the safe houses until we can arrange for a better place for her to go.”

  Wait. What? My mind replays his words again, rewinding ‘till I hear the part where he says, “Rivet will come with me” again. Is this for real? He’s
taking me? I’m not going home?

  I find myself feeling more than a little conflicted. After losing Viper tonight, I’m not sure if home is even where I want to be with the empty bed, the quiet hallways, the few pictures we have of us in the frames. But to be with Bishop? That’s a whole new ballgame. It’s bizarre. Why would he want to be with me? Why is he considering me so much in this?

  What does he have up his sleeve?

  My stomach aches as I search his face for any sort of sign that might be able to give me even a hint of an answer. But all I see are flashes of that night—Halloween night. His grubby hands on my wrists, his dry, chapped lips brushing over my neck, the smell of gasoline and cheap booze going from his mouth into my nostrils. So much of that night reminds me of him and, looking around this club, there isn’t another man that rings that bell like Bishop. Could it be him? Could he be the reason for the two lines on my test?

  Is he the...

  I don’t have time to think about it anymore because I have to throw myself back inside the bar. The meeting is over, so the men are pouring into the dining area and waiting for the rest of the girls to start shilling beers out to the thirsty riders about to head out for their shifts. Those ready to head home, go for the stronger stuff.

  I’m about halfway through my drink order when Bishop steps in my path, wordlessly takes my waitress notebook out of my hand, and pulls me by the arm towards the back door.

  “The house is ready,” he says, his voice like a cold, dry rasp.

  “What house?” I try to feign ignorance and innocence, but he only glares back at me and rolls his eyes. He knows I know what’s about to happen.

  “If you need anything, I’ll have the boys pick it up. They have instructions to go to your house and pick you up some clean clothes, your makeup, whatever. We’ll make a list for them in the morning. Right now, I want to get you out of here in case the Snakes ride out again. We’re gonna have to pass their territory to get to the safe house.”

  “What about the girls? My shift? I’m not leaving them bec—”

  “This is not an offer, Jane,” he says with a grunt. “This is an order.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say back stoically, meeting his coldness with my own. “But it’s not Jane, sir. It’s Rivet.”

  His full, thick lips mash together as if he is about to yell something at me or chew me out or something. I’m honestly surprised when he thinks the better of it and doesn’t say another word. Instead, he pushes me with his hand at the back of my spine towards the back door. He looks out first, surveying the empty lot. All that’s there are Dig and his men standing around smoking. They instantly stop talking as they see us walk by.

  I’m already on the back of Bishop’s bike when Dig tosses his cigarette and puts down his beer to say, “You know, I could take her. That’s what Viper would want—his guy taking claim on his girl, watching over her from danger.”

  Bishop pauses and then looks over his shoulder at me. “You wanna go home with Dig tonight? I doubt the Snakes would follow him home.”

  The small stab at him doesn’t go unnoticed as the rest of his men join his side like vultures ready for their prey to fall. I eye Dig up and down. The last thing I want to do is go with the bastard. He was never kind to me when I was with Viper, even during the good times. And he was always pushing Viper to try out the other girls despite his pledge for fidelity when he took me on. Sometimes, at night, when they thought I was fast asleep on the couch or in my bedroom, I’d hear them talk about me, my body, my sexual appetite. No way do I want this man to be my escort on a night like this.

  “I’m okay,” I mutter into the back of Bishop’s jacket. “I, uh, want to stay with you tonight. I don’t want to go home or be alone.” I hope it’ll spare me some drama later, but I can see it in Dig’s beady little eyes that’s he’s far from satisfied with my lame request of Bishop.

  I shift restlessly in the seat as my arms wrap tightly around Bishop’s waist. I close my eyes and wait until he pulls out and off towards the road. Unlike the last times we’ve ridden, he’s going the back way through the city where we’ll be more exposed but less likely to be hunted down. Still, it doesn’t keep me from holding on to him as if I’ll slip off and away from him at any time.

  The road softens him. He loses that pose, the one the other experienced riders have. He’s not Bishop the new president or Bishop the security detail. He’s more at ease on the bike than anywhere else. He leans back slightly, enjoying the wind on his face and the sound of the bike following his directions. He keeps it easy, riding as quietly as he can through the near-empty streets. But at every stoplight or sign, he quickly looks in each direction for some sign his joyride is about to be interrupted.

  There’s something about a man on his bike. It’s what attracted me to club life in the first place. I never rode as I child, never had the chance to. But it’s something the other guys did around my neighborhood. They grew up riding these beater bikes that were torn apart and remade with enough stolen parts to not be traceable anymore. I tried to stay away from them. I had more ambitions than that, but I secretly watched those men from my window as they rode in circles around the cul-de-sac of the park or did sprints in front of my home on summer weekend nights. I wonder now if I was watching Bishop that whole time and never noticing. He slipped out of my life when I was old enough to know better than to hang with scum.

  But here we are, with him protecting me again like there was no pause or change in the situation. I doubt he even suspects what I suspect or can sense that I’m damaged goods. And I’m not about to let the secret out now. For as long as I am able, I’m keeping this, and my thoughts about who the father could be, to myself.

  The safe house isn’t exactly what I had pictured it to be. And for that, I am entirely thankful. The place looks normal, almost out of a movie with its white picket fence lining up to guard a small brick home with a well-manicured lawn. Two houselights frame the cherry red door, and security cameras protect each corner of the house, along with a flood light that shines brightly at us as we approach the locked gate.

  Bishop beams back at me as he points out, “It’s a long way from the trailer park, eh?”

  “Yeah.” I agree. “How did the club get a place like this and none of us know it?” It seems so out of place compared to the standard club housing in the apartment and townhome complexes in the industrial part of the city where most of the club workers reside at low rent. Even Viper’s home pales in comparison to such a normal, beautiful home like this.

  “I don’t know. The first I heard of it was a few weeks back when one of the guys had to go into hiding from the law. He stayed here for a few nights until Viper could work out some cash exchange with one of the detectives. I had to check on him a few times, do a few rounds of security watch. I hate to admit I was pretty jealous of the guy.” He looks back down at his phone where someone has messaged him the security combo and the location of the key.

  Heading inside, I can see exactly why this place made a guy like Bishop envious. Similar to the exterior, the whole place, from floor to ceiling, feels like it’s come out of a freaking movie. From the shining hardwood floors to the open layout with the white cabinets in the kitchen—it’s pristine and too good to be true. Scum like us shouldn’t be allowed in a place like this, let alone claim ownership over it.

  “It’s so…” I try to say, feeling overwhelmed at the newness. “I can’t…”

  Bishop drops into a black leather sofa in the middle of the room, kicking off his dirty boots. “You look like you belong in a place like this. I always thought you’d wind up here. I mean, you were smart—are smart. I figured you’d go off to college, become a doctor or something, and send us guys packing.”

  I fight the urge to look away from him as I reply, “I tried. I did two years in UCSD, but I couldn’t afford it, and I had no one to help me. I spent most of my nights waiting tables, serving the rich assholes at the college so I couldn’t keep up with the work.”


  “So you gave up?” One of his eyebrows rises.

  “I didn’t give up. I gave in. No one was gonna help me, and I couldn’t do it on my own. It’s not as easy as you think.”

  “I never said it was easy, but you could’ve done it.” Bishop’s words sting the very core of me. No one has ever called me a quitter before. No one has ever questioned my determination. But there are bits of me that are screaming out because it’s true. I could have made it. I could have made something of my life and winded up in a home like this of my own.

  “Does it matter now?” I reply after a long pause. I slowly make my way over to him, finding a spot beside him. “I’m here now. And so are you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m meant to be here. You’re not.”

  “How do you know that? Do you know about my dad and the life I lived back then? Everything pointed to me ending up being some MC guy’s claimed property, even with my brains.”

  “You’re too good to be claimed, Jane.”

  “Rivet.”