Obsession: A Bad Boy's Secret Baby

by Flite, Nora

  “She mentioned they were... not so involved.”

  I bit back a laugh. “That's a nice way to put it. Yeah. They've been weird about this whole mess. It's like, no one seems to care that she's missing!” Ruffling my hair, I pleaded at him with my eyes. “Can you tell me anything?”

  Tugging at the front of his thick sweater, he gave me a sideways smile. “I'll do what I can. Sit, relax. I'll get us something to drink.”

  Crumbling onto the couch, I returned his smile, though mine was weaker. “Thanks. And thanks for talking to me.” I hadn't noticed how many knots were in my stomach, but now that I was sitting, they began to relax. “When was the last time you actually saw her?”

  His voice called out, saying, “Hmn, let me think.” He was hidden in the small kitchen; glasses clinked, liquid sloshing. When he came back, he sat across from me, handing me a cold cup of something red. “I'd say that night, like you mentioned.”

  Sipping my drink, I wrinkled my nose. Ugh, strong. “Okay, what time did she leave? And did she seem okay?”

  Reclining until he looked downright comfortable, Fiddle drummed his free hand on his knee. “Shit. I don't know. Pretty late, she looked... distressed.”

  My heart swelled up, clogging my throat; I washed it free with more of the drink. “So she didn't sleep here, like she said she was going to?”

  Fiddle tensed, perching his lips on his glass. “Guess she changed her mind.”

  None of this was making sense. Sitting forward, I noticed an odd tightness in my skull. I was getting upset over this news, news I should have gotten days ago. “Why didn't you tell the police?”

  “What, and incriminate myself?” His lips pulled high at the edges until they revealed his pale gums. “I'm not that stupid, girl.”

  “Flora,” I mumbled. My tongue wasn't behaving, it was too thick... too slow. “It's Flora, don't call me 'girl' I... what's wrong with me?” Shaking myself, I went to set the drink down on the floor. I couldn't have said how, but suddenly I was stretched out, the rug kissing my cheek. I didn't remember falling.

  What was happening?

  A foot appeared by my head. “Shh,” Fiddle whispered, bending to retrieve my glass. “You almost spilled this. What a mess that would have been.”

  Talking had become the hardest thing in existence. Moving was a mere dream. Struggling, I turned my head so I could stare up through my blurring vision.

  “Sorry about this,” he said. The white-glow of a cellphone highlighted his hard features. Was he calling someone? “Lucky's list was complete, but you came sniffing around. I'm sure he won't mind an extra girl. Loose ends are dangerous.”

  Lucky? Who the hell was that? The synapses in my brain tried to fire, connecting the strings of this whole scenario. It really had been Fiddle who'd done this. He was responsible for Claudine vanishing! I'd been right, but what good did that do me?

  I'd walked right into his grasp, made it clear no one knew I was even here. I'd set up the easiest path for this bastard to drug me without consequence. I wanted to be angry, but I was too exhausted. Too hollow.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled, talking to someone on the line. “I've got another, last minute addition. I'll need a pickup quick. An hour? Sounds perfect. See you soon.” Hiding his phone in his jeans, he sighed. Settling on the couch, his position made it so I could see only the soles of his shoes. There was no regret in his tone. “You were too easy. At least Claudine fought more.”

  Claudine.

  You can call me insane, but as I slumped there, lifeless and numb, I had a burst of hope. A part of me that flickered to life, realizing with the utmost clarity that—even if I'd fucked up—I was still on the right track.

  My goal had been to find my sister. If I'd understood that phone call, I was about to endure the same fate as Claudine. The chance of us meeting, somewhere down the line...

  It had just increased in my favor.

  As I faded away into the claustrophobic ink of sleep, I had one last satisfying thought. One final mantra to keep me sane as I awaited for whatever monster was crouched on the path ahead.

  It's for the best.

  Chapter Two

  Ronin

  “Looks like we're at an impasse.” Repo crossed his arms.

  “I don't much care for your bullshit words. I don't give a fuck that you're willing to give us control of all your drug business. From what I heard a shift in your leadership is getting you out of it anyways. I couldn't give a fuck about your leftovers. What I want is the Steel Veins the fuck out of New Jersey. All of it,” Lucky, the Knights' president, stated definitively.

  Lucky looked to be in his late forties, he kept himself in decent enough shape. He wore a worn deck of cards in the breast pocket of his loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt. I'd heard he was quite the gambler. That was about the only good thing about the man.

  This is going about as well as I'd expected.

  The Knights of the Only Order were the new kids on the block, as far as the big clubs went. New clubs pop up all the time, but few have their tenacity. In the last five years the Knights have been invading and eradicating all of their neighbors. They've been growing faster than any club in history. There's a goddamn waiting list to become prospects because all their members are making money hand over fist, and no one outside their patch fully knows why.

  Whatever the reason, it was bad news.

  I leaned against the wall of the brothel, focusing on everything but the conversation. That was Repo's job. I was here to make sure that Repo got out alive. That's why Remy sent me, personally. I was the only one crazy enough to walk into what was most likely a trap and be able to walk out again.

  Of all the places to pick as neutral ground, why here? I wondered. Between the open layout, people coming in and out, and all the near nude girls walking around, this was a terrible place to have a private, focused conversation.

  Unless that was exactly why it was chosen; to keep us distracted.

  I was downright excited when they told me where this meet up was taking place, but seeing it first hand was disheartening. Whoever ran this place kept the girls in a drug-induced stupor. They floated from one John to the next like they were set to automatic. The whole place had this downtrodden vibe to it that, at the very least, did absolutely nothing for me. As far as I knew, the Knights didn't own the building, they just frequented it a lot.

  “And I'm telling you that's not going to happen,” Repo said. “We have chapters here that have been rooted for decades. You need to show the appropriate amount of respect. The Steel Veins are easily twice as big as the Knights.”

  “For now.” Lucky shrugged, reclining in his chair.

  Those two words rang like a dinner bell. This whole tedious meeting made it clear that Lucky and his guys were hungry and ambitious. This wasn't just about turf negotiations, they saw the Veins as their next meal. I tried not to think about it much. Larger club problems were for someone higher up on the totem pole than me.

  This club wasn't to be taken lightly, that's why Repo was sent. Remy'd have come himself, but he knew they'd try to kill him. By sending Repo he wasn't giving the Knights the chance for a preemptive strike. That, and Repo was damn good at his job.

  “Why allow us to come if you didn't want to negotiate?” Repo asked.

  “Hey, wallpaper,” Lucky said, looking at me. “What do you think of your boyfriend's question? Why would I do that?”

  Because you're more than the dumb thug you portray yourself to be. Because you want to gauge the Veins' response and see how much of a threat we thought you were.

  And because fuck you, that's why.

  “No idea,” I said.

  “Of course not.” Lucky laughed and whistled to someone outside of the room for a beer. “Look at you. You're a fucking pet refrigerator. I'm surprised you can speak at all.”

  My eyes narrowed. Repo glared intensely at me, trying to persuade me from doing anything foolish. I stayed silent.

  A topless girl promptly came in
and handed the perspiring bottle to Lucky. He slapped her ass so hard as she left that it launched her forward a step. The girl yelped, biting back a pained cry and quickly dashing from the room.

  Lucky grinned at me and shook the sting of the slap out of his hand. “You make sure that wall doesn't fall down, huh?” He shifted his attention back to Repo and they resumed the discussion. Repo had briefed me on the special kind of shitbag that Lucky was before we pulled in, but even still, this asshole was really testing my patience.

  Another thing that went right up my ass was that they didn't honor the initial agreement about how many enforcers were allowed. Lucky had his muscle—a large, scarred-up Serbian guy who wore a sergeant-at-arms patch, standing behind his chair. He also had at least one other guy pretending to be a brothel client in the room on the other side of the grand staircase.

  A door on the far side of the stairs was suddenly pushed open, a train of girls led in by a smartly dressed fat guy. A third biker coming down the stairs greeted him. He wasn't one of Lucky's guys, but they certainly knew each other.

  The biker had the girls line up against a wall, telling them to stay there and wait. They were dirty and disoriented, definitely not brothel material, at least not in this country.

  One scared girl immediately caught my eye. A redhead in an overstuffed coat, she looked different than the others in a way I had to take a second to place. Despite being caught in the same drug-induced haze as the rest, it was impossible to mistake the energy, the freshness, that the other well-worn women didn't have.

  She kept lowering her eyes, sinking into her coat like it was armor. The other girls were limp, some with their breasts hanging out, or close to it.

  Modesty in a brothel? What the fuck was this?

  The fat man in the suit walked in and whispered something to Lucky, darkening his expression. All I caught was one name: Tully.

  When the man had finished talking, the pres roughly grabbed him by his collar, jerking him in closer. “That micromanaging little...” Lucky muttered. “You drill it into my brother's fucking head that if he nags me with that shit one more time, I'm going to shove my fist so far up his ass, I'll be able to use him as a fucking sock puppet!” Lucky pulled the frightened messenger to the side and in hushed tones continued, but being that the room was quiet and waiting on him, I heard every word he said. “I am well aware of the shipment date, so are all of my men. The girls will be there on time. Until then, they get moved when and how I fucking say they get moved.”

  Lucky shoved him away, watching as the fat man scampered to the back of the room and waited. Then he cleared his throat and straightened his tussled shirt.

  “Looks like you've got other business to attend to,” Repo started, seeing that this conversation was fruitless. “We'll show ourselves out. I'll let Remy know—”

  Repo was still talking, but my ears had begun to ring. The Knights are running a shipment of girls for a human trafficking ring. The realization slammed into my gut, stole the air from my lungs. I felt incredibly stupid for not catching it right away. My mounting anger towards this man grew by the second. Who was his brother, this Tully guy? Was he part of another club?

  My eyes wandered back to the wall. The redhead was shrinking by the second, swaying.

  “Those just for show?” I interrupted Repo and pointed at the deck in Lucky's pocket. “Or do you actually know your way around a deck of cards?”

  Few evils crept under my skin more than people selling people. It made my fucking knuckles itch.

  Repo turned his back to Lucky and whispered to me, “What are you doing?”

  “Relax, we're done, right?” It felt like I had blinders on, my eyes were locked on the Knights' pres and nothing else. Some shit I just couldn't let slide. With the negotiations over, I was officially off the clock. Now it was my time. “I'm just having a little fun.”

  Lucky looked at me inquisitively. I didn't fully know what I was going to do. It was like I'd toppled the first in a long line of dominoes inside of me and set something larger into motion. My plan, if I had one, began and ended with me fucking this asshole up.

  “The refrigerator speaks.” He fished the deck out of his pocket. Soon, his hands and cards were flying all over the place in what was unnecessary grandiose shuffling. He was obviously pleased with himself and seemed like the type of guy who looked for any chance to show off. “The fuck do you think?”

  “Ronin...” Repo grabbed my shoulder.

  I brushed his hand off and took his seat across from Lucky. “I think you know your dynamo shuffle and a few dainty flourishes, but you haven't answered my question. Can you actually play, or are you just incredibly skilled at hand jobs?”

  Lucky frowned. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. “What's your game?”

  “Poker. Any way you like,” I casually replied, stemming a rising anger.

  The fancy dressed fat man cautiously, but stubbornly, protested. “Mr. Hayes, the girls—”

  “Can fucking wait,” Lucky barked, shuffling the cards back and forth, eying me in the silent room. “What are we playing for?”

  Glancing at the girls, I considered the redhead again. For a split second she lifted her chin. She met my eyes, and I saw how gray hers were. Like storm clouds that wanted to drown me in rain.

  “That girl,” I said, “In the big coat.” It was an easy choice.

  “That's... an expensive ante,” Lucky said. He wasn't wrong. Buyers paid a premium for innocence. The rest of the girls had some miles on them, but not her. She had clear skin and hair. Sure she was high, yeah, they all were, but she didn't wear junkie as well as the others. Of all the girls, winning her would sting Lucky the most.

  I convinced myself that was the whole reason I chose her.

  “What's in it for me?” Lucky asked.

  “My bike.”

  “Goddammit, Ronin!” Repo protested.

  “Girl like her is worth thirty thousand. I want both bikes.”

  “Nope, I'm leaving,” Repo said. “You're on your own, Ronin. Try not to get yourself killed.” He pulled out his phone, no doubt to call Remy, and left the brothel.

  Lucky chuckled. “Looks like you're going to have to pick something else.”

  I shook my head, peering over my shoulder like I could see my vehicle through the wall. “My bike is fully loaded, valued at over twenty-thousand and I’m a nomad. If you win, I'm not just out a bike, but a club membership.” My teeth flashed. “Can't be in a motorcycle club without a motorcycle.”

  Lucky thought on it and smiled. “Okay, but we're playing Blackjack instead. Two out of three.”

  Blackjack, to me, was probably the game that was the hardest to manipulate. There was little in the way of long game tactics. In one or two hands it was hard to bluff or even gauge your opponent.

  I was up for the challenge. I lifted my eyebrows in an expression that said to bring it on.

  This was the closest I’d ever been to wagering my life on a game. Without my bike, I was nothing. And for what, some girl I'd never met? Or because my pride wouldn't let me walk away without hurting this guy?

  Funny... riding over here today, I thought this assignment was going to be dull.

  “Bring her in.” Lucky waved his guys over. There was no more reason to keep them hidden, I was outnumbered and alone. One of his bikers grabbed the prize by her hair and roughly pulled her into the room. “What's your name, bitch?”

  “Screw you!” she blurted out, wobbling on her feet and scratching at the hands that held her.

  “Alright! We got ourselves a lively one here! Those are my favorite.” Lucky snorted, then the mirth fled from his tone as he leaned in to taunt me. “After I take your bike, I think I'm going to bring her outside, bend her over your seat and... test the merchandise.”

  I didn't flinch. “You going to deal at some point?”

  “Did I strike a nerve?” Lucky asked, feigning innocence. He dealt the cards out onto the small table between us.

  My s
mile was brazen. “I'll let you know when you do.”

  In Blackjack, the goal is to get your hand's value as close to twenty-one as possible without busting by going over. I typically held at sixteen or seventeen if possible and tried to bluff my opponent into playing more cards.

  Tapping his cards, Lucky asked, “You know why they call me Lucky?”

  “I'm guessing it's because they can't call you handsome. Deal.”

  The first game was over in a heartbeat. I'd lost by two points. It was almost like he could see my cards. I wasn't a sore loser, but something seemed very off about all this.

  That's when I felt the slight scratches on the back corner of my cards. This motherfucker was playing with a marked deck, that's why he was so boastful! For all his gambling renown, Lucky was just another cheating thug.

  You mark a deck by scratching small subtle numbers and letters into the back top and bottom corners of each card. Those symbols nearly get lost in the existing designs from the manufacturer. They're incredibly hard to spot by the untrained eye. They denote what the card is.

  However, it only works if you mark all the cards and the other player is oblivious. Unfortunately for Lucky, I now knew where to look on his cards to see what he had. He was about to try a little of his own poison.

  “I'm sorry, did I win too fast? I'll try to fuck you a little slower next round.” Lucky's patronizing syllables dripped with smugness. The cards flipped and blurred as he shuffled the deck. It was all very impressive, but ultimately complete bullshit.

  “You're too kind. I'll raise you four hundred. That is, if you've got the balls for it.”

  Lucky smiled. “Who am I to stand between an idiot and his finances. You're on.” He laughed. “Boy, you're going to be walking out of here naked.”

  I adjusted my grip so as to hide the symbols on my cards, keeping on like I didn't know about the marks. “Nah, I just needed to knock the rust off. I think I'm about to hit my stride.”

  The second game was just as fast but this time... I won.

  Lucky sobered up real quick. Watching the anxiety seep in was beautiful. Lucky took on a much more serious tone, seeing through my obliviousness ploy. He wasn't a stupid man, he knew right away that he'd been had, but he also knew he couldn't dare call me out on it without implicating himself as well.