Don't Take My Baby (Twisted Ghosts MC)

by Zoey Parker

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t,” I told her in a calm voice. “I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t know until after we’d slept together, until after this had already happened,” I added, gesturing to her tummy that was growing rounder by the day. “I didn’t know until afterwards. I swear to god, Isabella.”

  Isabella looked at me. She bit her lip. “I don’t know whether or not I can believe you,” she said in a low, soft voice. “I don’t think I can trust anything else you say to me, Zane.”

  I rolled my eyes. “This is total bullshit, Isabella,” I said. “Come the fuck on. What would I have to gain by lying to you?”

  Isabella looked at me, her blue eyes wide with fear. “I don’t know.” She sniffled. As I watched, she crumpled on the floor until she was hugging her tan knees with her skinny, tan arms. “I don’t know anything. Everyone lies to me! I don’t have any family! I didn’t have a singing career! And now you’re basically holding me hostage!”

  I frowned. “You think that ring on your hand means I’m holding you hostage? I’m hurt, Isabella.”

  She glared at me but didn’t respond. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said flatly. “I don’t think I can be with you anymore.”

  I walked over to the table, sat down, and patted the tabletop with my hand. “Come sit. We’ll talk.”

  Isabella glared at me but she didn’t move. Instead, she hunched over more tightly, flipping her head down so she was hidden by a mass of blonde hair.

  “Come on,” I repeated. “I’m not gonna sit here all fuckin’ day. I had fuckin’ plans until you came running downstairs like a banshee out of hell.”

  She looked up at me and blinked. “I hate you,” she said softly.

  “I don’t give a shit,” I replied mildly. “You’re stuck with me for now. I’m your baby daddy, remember?”

  Isabella looked away. “I wish I weren’t pregnant,” she said softly. “I wish we had nothing to do with each other.”

  I sighed. “Isabella, look. I’m not gonna say this again. We have to get this shit taken care of, okay? Come on, sit down and I’ll tell you everything. Yes, everything.”

  Isabella gazed at me through a mess of hair. “I don’t believe you. You had every chance to tell me from the beginning and you didn’t. Why should that change now? How do I know you won’t just tell me more lies?”

  I ran a hand through my dark hair and rolled my eyes. I was getting really exasperated with her shit, and I just wanted to be alone, with a beer, maybe in a strip club somewhere. I couldn’t deal with any more of this weak feminine bullshit. Isabella had already spent more time crying in the past week than I’d seen in the past five years, and I needed a fucking break. “I don’t enjoy this any more than you do,” I said icily. “I tried to make things nice for you, but apparently, that wasn’t enough.”

  Isabella looked chastened. Finally, she stood up and walked over to the table, holding her head high and her back straight. “Fine,” she snapped. “Tell me. Tell me everything, Zane, and don’t leave anything out this time.”

  I took a deep breath. “You have to promise you’re gonna let me talk, okay? No interruptions. You let Zane speaky weaky and then we can talk.” I shot a sarcastic smile in her direction. “Sound good?”

  Isabella rolled her blue eyes. “What other choice do I have?”

  I nodded, feeling satisfied. “Good,” I said. “Your father, Gianni Bianchi, was second-in-command to my father. He was in the mob, the mafia, the family business, whatever the fuck you wanna call it. He did a lot of bad shit, and I watched maybe a third of that go down. He was loyal, and my father loved him. My father is Lionel Ricci, head of the family business. He’s been in charge for over thirty years.”

  Isabella looked at me with a shocked expression on her face. I could tell she wanted to interrupt but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

  I continued. “And he left you a shit-ton of money, girl. Like, a huge fortune. And the reason I haven’t told you is because I was afraid if you were grabbed or kidnapped, that would be the first thing you’d tell your captors.” I raised my eyebrow at her and Isabella blushed deeply. “So, you can see, this has been for your own goddamn good. Fine goddamn job you’ve done of repaying me.”

  Isabella blinked again. “My father didn’t have anything to do with the mob,” she said softly. “Mom always said he worked in construction and he died in an accident,” she added, glaring at me. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Zane. Don’t tell me lies about my father!” She started crying again, breaking down into sobs and propping her head up on her arms.

  I let her cry for a few seconds, letting a deep sigh out and leaning back in my chair. “I ain’t lying to you anymore,” I hissed under my breath. “I told you I was gonna tell you the fuckin’ truth this time. It ain’t my problem if you don’t wanna believe it.”

  Even though it was only the middle of the afternoon, I stood up and walked out of the kitchen towards the little bar I kept in the dining room. I needed a fucking drink, and damned if I wasn’t going to get one. Isabella’s sobs flooded the room with noisy, sniffling cries. She sounded like a little kid. My irritation with her was growing by the second. I was sick of dealing with this woman who acted like a tough broad, only to be confronted with the slightest notion of something off-color and then turned into a sniffling, sniveling little brat.

  “Isabella, I don’t have time for this shit,” I called loudly. “I have some shit to get done today, so you better fuckin’ wrap up that crying jag soon.”

  Isabella only sniffled and sobbed in response. Rolling my eyes, I poured myself a double neat whiskey and knocked the whole thing back in one gulp. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dialed Jake’s number and held the phone up to my ear.

  “Yo,” Jake said after the second ring. “What’s up, man?”

  “You got any news on that deal?” I raised my eyebrows. “We gotta figure that shit out soon, dude. Lionel ain’t gonna sit around for much longer, and I can’t risk losing this promotion.”

  Jake laughed, a rich, deep, throaty sound. “Sounds good, man,” he said, like I hadn’t just asked him a serious question. “You wanna talk about that later?”

  “No,” I said through gritted teeth. “I wanna talk about that shit now, asshole. This was supposed to be worked out two weeks ago!”

  Jake laughed again. “You can’t rush perfection, bro,” he said casually, in a way that infuriated me. I wished I could reach through the phone and punch him. “You can’t keep hustlin’ me like this. I ain’t got nothin’ for you.”

  “Are you fuckin’ worthless? You promised me this deal ages ago! I bet you don’t even know any fuckin’ Russians! You’ve been lying to me this whole goddamn time!”

  “Jesus, relax, Zane,” Jake said. “I’ve been busy, that’s all, fuckin’ busy. Which is more than your pampered ass can say.”

  Seething, I hung up the phone without replying. Something was starting to smell like a rat, and that rat’s name was Jake. If he didn’t help me out soon, I had no idea what I was gonna start doing. I had to work out this deal, or else Lionel was gonna look me over when it came time to die. I had to do something.

  “Yo, Isabella,” I said loudly, calling back into the kitchen. “You know anyone who does blow?”

  Isabella gasped. “Zane, what the fuck are you talking about?” She sounded more horrified than ever. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Yeah, I was joking,” I said loudly. Jesus. Fucking woman couldn’t even take a joke!

  Chapter 23

  Isabella

  I couldn’t stop crying. No matter what I did, the tears kept falling more quickly than I could wipe them away. My face was a mess of snot and tears and I knew I probably looked horrible, but I didn’t know what to do. Zane had just dropped the biggest lie on me of all time: my father was in the mob, and I was some kind of heiress. I shook my head. I hated Zane. I wished I’d never laid eyes on Zane Ricci, that I’d never met him. I wished I’d spent the rest of my
life as a spinster, missing Kyle, my one true love.

  The fact that I’d had a nightmare about Kyle trying to rape me earlier had completely escaped my mind. Right now, I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. I hated myself for falling into Zane’s trap and for not listening to my gut. I never should have gone home with him; hell, I never should have let him buy me a drink! This was all horrible, and it was all my fault. I hated myself more than I’d ever hated myself before. And I hated this baby in my belly, because it reminded me of him and what I’d done. It reminded me I’d actively taken steps to ruin my own life.

  I couldn’t believe he’d lied to me. I couldn’t believe he’d told me my father had been involved in organized crime! My father! Gianni Bianchi, the family man, the man who had charmed my mother into falling in love with him. The man who had been so protective of me as a baby that Mom had said he’d kept the window shades pulled tight, just because he didn’t want anyone to even seen me.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  “Zane,” I called loudly. “Come in here.” My tears had stopped for a moment and I wiped my nose on my sleeve, leaving a wet, iridescent streak.

  “What?” Zane came in, leaning against the frame of the door. He looked just as sexy as ever: muscular torso exposed in a tank top, dark hair slicked back, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. I had to look away or else I knew I would start to get aroused. Damn pregnancy. Turning me into a goddamn broodmare.

  “I want you to sit down,” I said calmly. “And explain to me why you lied. Why did you tell me my father was involved in organized crime? And where the hell did you get that locket?” I tried hard to keep my voice quiet but it was difficult.

  Zane frowned. “I wasn’t lying to you,” Zane said slowly. I glared at him and he lowered his ass down into a chair. “I was telling the truth, Isabella.”

  “Bullshit,” I said softly, shaking my head. “You were lying, and I know you were. Why did you tell me that shit? Are you trying to make me feel bad for you? Or are you trying to get me used to a lifetime of crime?” I frowned at him. “I don’t want our baby involved in this shit,” I said defensively. “I never want our baby involved in anything illegal, you hear me?”

  Zane laughed, a full-throated sound that came from his belly and bubbled up through his throat. “I ain’t lyin’,” he said again, shaking his head at me. “You’re really something else, Isabella. Why do you think I’m trying to fool you?”

  I glared. “This is serious. My father was a good man. He loved his family, he loved his wife, and he loved me. He never would have done anything to put us in danger, you hear me? My father was a good man.” My voice was shaking and I couldn’t figure out why.

  Zane raised his eyebrows. “Well, honey, I didn’t say he was a monster,” he replied. “I didn’t say shit about him being a good man or not. All I said was he was my father’s second-in-command.”

  “And what happened to him?” I narrowed my eyes. “If you know so fuckin’ much about my family, what happened to him? How did he die? How did he live?”

  Zane clasped his hand over his heart and made a sentimental face at me. “Oh, how did he live?” Zane threw a hand to his forehead and threw his head back. “How did he live? Are you fucking kidding me, Isabella? This isn’t a goddamned soap opera!”

  “I know,” I said through gritted teeth. “That’s why I want you to stop lying to me.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him, trying to look as evil as I could manage. “I want you to tell me the truth.”

  Zane grinned. “Oh, so you want the truth now?” He nodded at me. “You really want the truth? The whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

  “Yes!” I cried, feeling exasperated. “Yes, I want to hear the fucking truth!”

  Zane raised his eyebrows at me. “So, she wants the truth now, huh?” He looked around the room like he was faced with an audience. “She wants the truth?”

  “Yes!” I practically yelled. “Yes, I want the fucking truth!”

  “Good,” Zane said. He grinned and leaned over conspiratorially. “Okay, Isabella. The truth is…your father was in the mob! He was second-in-command to Lionel Ricci, of the famous Ricci family. He killed people! He did drugs! He was in the fucking mafia! How many other fucking times do I have to fucking tell you?” Zane was raging and loud and he made a fist with his hand and slammed it down on the tabletop. “He was in the fucking mob!”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said.

  Zane laughed bitterly. “Then you’re a fucking idiot,” he said. “Here, wait here.”

  I was about to protest when Zane stood up and trotted out of the kitchen. I heard him rustling around in the other room but I didn’t ask to know what he was doing. I didn’t want to know what he was doing. I was sick of Zane. Sick of his lies, sick of his arrogance, sick of his asshole ways. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself get involved with someone who was so obviously toxic and dangerous.

  “Here,” Zane grunted. He came back into the kitchen carrying an old photo album. “Look through this. See your fuckin’ precious daddy. Then tell me you don’t believe me.” He dropped the album on the table in front of me.

  A cloud of dust rose, irritating my senses and making me sneeze a couple of times in quick succession. I looked at him with wary eyes before taking the cover between my thumb and forefinger. “I don’t want to see any sick shit,” I said carefully. “This better not be a snuff album.”

  Zane practically exploded. “Jesus, Isabella, do you think we’re fuckin’ monsters? Of course, this isn’t a fucking snuff album! It’s a fucking family album! Jesus fucking Christ,” he repeated, rolling his eyes. “You’re about the most troublesome woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You live in a fuckin’ bubble of privilege, you know that?”

  I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened the album and starting thumbing through the photos. A lot of them were black and white photos of little kids, it looked like they were taken in the 1950s and the 1960s. “Who are these people?”

  Zane reached over and pointed to one of the cherubic-looking little boys. “That’s my pops, Lionel,” he said. “This is all his childhood.” Zane let me flip through a few more pages before he grabbed most of the pages with one hand and turned to the end of the album. I was startled to see a color photo of a man who looked like an older, paunchier Zane with his arm around a tall, tanned blond man…who looked like me.

  “That’s my father,” I whispered. I even saw the locket around his throat. Suddenly, my stomach went cold and the blood in my veins turned to ice.

  “Yep,” Zane said. He smirked at me. “Believe me now?”

  I shook my head vehemently. “Just because they were in a photo together doesn’t mean my father was in the mob, Zane.”

  Zane rolled his eyes. “Fine, Isabella.” He grabbed the album off the table and threw it at the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall. “Fine! Don’t fuckin’ believe me! Spend the rest of your life in ignorance about who you are! I guess if I told you that you stood to inherit millions that wouldn’t change anything! Would it? Would it!” He leaned in my face and screamed at me. “I guess that wouldn’t fucking matter!”

  I blinked. “Millions?”

  Zane laughed bitterly. “You fucking women,” he said in disgust. “All you care is about money.”

  “I can’t believe you kept this from me,” I said quietly. “I can’t believe you pretend to care about me and then you’d keep the identity of my father from me, my inheritance from me! You don’t care about me at all,” I sniped. “You don’t give a fuck about me. You wanted to lie to me and keep me in the dark the whole goddamn time. I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted my fortune all for yourself!”

  “Because I’m so obviously hurting for money,” Zane retorted. “Yeah, I know, I live in a hovel, right?”

  I’d had enough. I stood up from the table and stalked upstairs, picking my way delicately around the album and chunks of drywall that had fallen on the floor. Zane stood up and chased after me, but I was
faster and I made it to the bedroom and slammed the door before he could catch up.

  “Isabella!” Zane yelled as he banged on the bedroom door. “Don’t you fuckin’ go anywhere! Don’t you leave, Isabella!”

  “I’ll do what I want,” I said in a shaky voice. “I don’t need you anymore! I have my father’s money!” I looked around the room for my belongings, getting dressed in a pair of jeans and my own remaining shirt. I threw the scarf around my neck and threw Zane’s shirt on the floor. After a second, I walked back over to the shirt and stomped on it, tearing it up with my heels.

  “Isabella, come on,” Zane said. He pounded on the door with a fist. “Come out, we’ll talk. Everything will be okay.”

  I laughed. “Nothing will ever be okay,” I snapped. “Because of you! You lied to me, Zane! You tried to keep my own history hidden and secret from me!”