Don't Take My Baby (Twisted Ghosts MC)

by Zoey Parker

  Something shifted in my belly, seemingly in response to what I’d said. I jumped a foot into the air: I hadn’t ever felt the baby move before. I hadn’t been pregnant for very long. Naïvely, I didn’t think babies could move for a few months. But sometimes, lying awake at night, I felt something that resembled a heartbeat. Maybe it was true. Maybe the baby had always been a baby, and I just had to realize it was there.

  With a sigh, I rolled onto my belly. I’d heard some noises downstairs. Nothing huge, just some voices. But now I was wondering whether or not Zane had left. I knew he wouldn’t have called anyone he didn’t trust, but I hated the idea of being guarded by a stranger. Add that to being locked in my husband’s bedroom and it felt downright medieval.

  I got to my feet and walked over to the window. My heart sank; I was on the third floor. Zane’s house was bigger than I’d expected, even from the outside. There was no way I could jump down to safety without breaking a bone or twelve. To make matters worse, Zane’s distinctive Porsche wasn’t in the driveway. I swallowed hard. He’d left me. He’d locked me in this bedroom and left me with a stranger. My husband had left me with a stranger.

  “I hate you,” I muttered under my breath. I forgot about all of Zane’s good qualities then: his laugh, his generous nature, the way he picked me up tenderly, like I weighed nothing, the way he’d looked at me ever since he found out I was pregnant, like I was always carrying eggs, or something equally fragile.

  I decided to get out of that bedroom if it was the last thing I did. Looking around for a weapon, I spotted two decorative vases on either side of the dresser. They were so big they could have passed as sarcophagi. Narrowing my eyes, I walked over to one and tried to heft it up in my arms. But it was made out of stone, or something equally heavy, and it barely budged. Using all of my strength, I was finally able to push it a couple of inches on the carpet. I frowned. There was no way I could pick something like that up; I’d break my back. I bit my lip. There had to be something.

  Dashing over to Zane’s dresser, I pulled open the first couple of drawers. Everything was in neat, ordered, folded rows. I chuckled to myself, despite how unhappy I felt in that moment. I never would have picked Zane as the type of guy who folded his silk boxers. “You silly Italian,” I said, laughing to myself. The thought was a grim one and made me think of my father.

  My father. That was a surprise I was still grappling with. My father was still a king in my mind, the kind of king who loved my mother and me with all of his heart. But now, I had a sinking suspicion Zane had been telling me the truth. I didn’t like to dwell on it because the subject was upsetting, but it did seem to make a certain amount of sense. My father had left me a giant fortune, and now people were out to kidnap me and take every penny.

  I looked into the mirror. Even though I didn’t resemble my mother at all, sometimes when I looked at myself, I could have sworn she was there. I was every inch my father: tall, blonde, tanned. But somewhere in my heart-shaped face or the depth of my blue eyes, I thought I saw her lurking there.

  “Mom, why didn’t you tell me about Dad?” I asked my reflection, feeling a bit silly. “Why didn’t you tell me about the money?”

  I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand, for the life of me, why my mother hadn’t told me about the money. It didn’t seem fair. Parents were supposed to look out for their children, protect them. Even though my mother kept me out of trouble, I didn’t feel like she’d set me up very well for the realities of adult life. If finding out my father had been in the mob was such a shock, I couldn’t even imagine some of the things Mom had dealt with in her own lifetime.

  “A weapon,” I mumbled aloud. I had to find a weapon. I had to find something to get me out of here, or at least to allow me to fight whoever was “guarding” me. I shivered as I wondered who Zane would have chosen. A giant man with dark skin and no hair? Or someone small, muscular, pale? Someone who didn’t look deadly but who could knock me off my feet at the slightest provocation. Someone who could really handle things.

  I shivered again. Handle things, really, Isabella? You’re thinking like you’re a part of the mob yourself. I shook my head. I didn’t like this life. Not at all.

  Digging through Zane’s neatly folded underwear, I felt around for a gun or a knife, anything those stereotypical mobsters would have kept in their bureaus. But my hand connected with nothing but silk and the wood interior of the drawer. Frowning, I pulled my arm away. I went through the rest of the dresser but it didn’t yield anything more satisfying than the first drawer had. All of Zane’s clothes were folded meticulously, in very neat order. Even after I’d spent time trying to refold them, it still looked different. I realized with a sinking feeling that he was going to instantly know I’d been digging around.

  “Maybe there’s something in the bathroom,” I said as I shut the last of the drawers. I walked in, looking around for a metal plunger or anything I could grab and wield with my two hands.

  I heard footsteps in the hall. Zane’s back! I thought triumphantly. But my stomach folded itself into knots when I remembered I hadn’t heard the trademark purr of his Porsche pulling into the driveway. He hadn’t come back. It wasn’t Zane, because Zane hadn’t come home yet.

  “Hey, you,” a gruff voice said. I rubbed my eyes and then saw a muscular, squat man with close-cropped hair. He had tattoos all over his bulky neck and arms and I shuddered when I saw his hands were balled into fists at his sides. “Get up.”

  “I am up,” I said unsteadily. “I was just…using the bathroom.”

  The man gave me a nasty grin and I felt a trickle of ice down my spine. “Have yourself a nice little tinkle?”

  I blushed and looked away. “None of your fucking business,” I snapped. “Where’s Zane?”

  The man grinned and took a step towards me. “Zane won’t be back for some time,” He said, licking his lips. “We’re all alone here.”

  “Don’t hurt me,” I said.

  The man shook his head. Before I realized what he was doing, he crossed the gap between us and grabbed both of my hands by the wrist. I cried out, feeling the delicate bones grind painfully together under the skin. The man kept grinning as he reached into his pocket and pulled out two zip ties. While he grabbed my wrists with one hand, he carefully wrapped the plastic cords around them and pulled tight.

  Almost instantly, my hands ached. “That hurts,” I whimpered, trying to twist my arms apart and pull my hands out of the wretched plastic ties. “Can you make it looser?”

  “Can you make it looser?” he mocked me in a high-pitched voice before sneering at me. “I don’t like your tone of voice, bitch,” he added. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Don’t tell me to shut up!” I said hotly. “Do you even know who I am? Do you know who my fa—” I gasped as he quickly slapped me across the face, effectively stunting my speech.

  Before I could react, he grabbed a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it in my mouth. “I told you to shut the fuck up,” he repeated. He reached in his back pocket and came out with a roll of duct tape.

  My eyes widened and I could feel tears building as he ripped a silver strip off the roll and pasted it across my mouth. Instantly, I tasted foul adhesive and grease from the handkerchief.

  “You’re coming with me,” the man added. He stooped down and grabbed me around the knees before throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me out of the room.

  Oh, my God, what happened to Zane? I thought desperately, knowing it must have been something awful. If his friend was abducting me, then he must be in danger. My heart pounded in my chest as the man carried me down the stairs. He was hauling me like a sack of soil, but he was careful not to whack my head on the railing. Zane. Oh, Zane, what’s become of you?

  Chapter 26

  Zane

  I looked down at Lionel, dead in my arms. My own father, stabbed to death. I couldn’t believe it. His skin was already cold and hard to the touch, and the blood was starting to congeal o
n the sheets, making them look like they were covered in gobs of jelly. I shuddered as I gently laid him down on the bed. His eyes were open, like he was staring ahead at some horrible sight. Steeling my nerve, I reached forward and brought my hand to his face, closing his lids. I let out a sigh and pulled the covers over Lionel’s head. When he was covered like that, he looked like a doll: small, inconsequential. Like he’d never even been alive in the first place.

  Heading downstairs, I realized I hadn’t seen any sign of Terry in the bedroom. My throat tightened again, threating to close. I wondered if she was hiding somewhere. “Terry?” I called loudly. “It’s just me, Zane. You need to come out, okay? No one is gonna hurt you, Ter!”

  There was no reply. The sickening feeling in my gut got worse as I crept down the stairs one by one this time. Please don’t let her be dead, please don’t let her be dead, please don’t let her be dead, I thought desperately. Please don’t let Theresa be dead, please.

  “Theresa!” I yelled loudly. “Where are you?”

  There was a sound coming from the kitchen, like a crash, and I bolted in. The lights were off and the blinds were drawn. Dishes were in the sink, stinking to high heaven, and covered with the remains of food. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer.

  “Terry, if you’re in here, please come out,” I begged. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need to talk to you. You need to get out of here, Ter. It’s not a good place for you to stick around, okay?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to tune out all of my senses except for hearing. The smell of foul, rotten food was making my nauseous but I clamped my lips shut and walked towards the sink. It looked like days since anyone had been in here, much less thought to clean.

  “Terry, come on,” I called again. “I’m getting mad. Terry, come on, this is serious!”

  There was still nothing. The bad feeling went from bad to worse as I walked into the dining room.

  “Terry, come on. I’m getting really exasperated with you, and I gotta get going, but I wanna make sure you’re okay!”

  There was a sound like a muffled thump coming from one of the cabinets where Lionel had used to keep the silver. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It’ll be over soon, Ricci, just get this shit done. Wrapping my hand around the cabinet handle, I yanked it open.

  Terry’s naked body fell out. She was recently dead — almost as recent as Lionel — but it looked like she’d gone down with a fight, unlike my poor Pops. Her face was blue and swollen and her fat tongue was sticking out of her mouth. All traces of her beauty had completely disappeared. Her brown hair was matted with blood, and I realized there were cut and stab wounds all over the lithe body that had brought my father so much pleasure in his last few months.

  “Oh, my God,” I mumbled under my breath. The vomit came up faster than I expected it to and I had to twist away to keep from throwing up all over the body. I gagged and coughed and spat up hot, sour chunks of bile. The smell invaded my nostrils, mixing with the slightly sweet, rank odor coming from Terry’s body.

  Getting to my feet, I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and turned away. I couldn’t bring myself to just leave her like that, but I didn’t exactly want to pick the body up either. Finally, I yanked the muslin tablecloth off Lionel’s dining room table. Underneath the cloth, the surface was as smooth and polished as wax.

  “Terry, I’m sorry this had to happen to you,” I said as I draped the sheet over her naked body. “I wish things had turned out differently.”

  Something buzzed in my pocket and I had a start when I realized it was my phone. I shivered. There was something creepy about being on the phone around dead people. I quickly walked over to the front door and let myself out of Lionel’s house for the last time.

  “Hello?”

  There was a cold, high laugh on the other end of the phone. A fresh wave of nausea hit me and I doubled over, gagging and spitting in the bushes.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  “We have Isabella,” said a gruff voice. “And if you don’t pay up a hundred million for her return, she ain’t gonna have legs to return on.”

  There was another laugh and I yanked the phone away from my ear to look at the number. A cold chill hit my body when I realized it was Unknown. A rush of anger hit me, hot and cold and like pins and needles all over my body. I realized it was Jake. He had betrayed me, he had murdered my father, he had murdered Terry, and now he had Isabella. This had been his plan from the beginning. No coke deal, no working plan to help me out. None of that shit.

  “Fuck you,” I spat into the receiver. “You don’t fucking know who you’re messing with here!”

  The voice laughed. “Oh, Zane,” Jake replied. “Don’t you think I understand who you are by now? You’re a little hotheaded prick and you don’t think about shit before you move your mouth. You got the biggest fuckin’ mouth in New Jersey, and I don’t think you should be flapping it around anymore.”

  “Fuck you,” I replied. The phone kept banging up against my ear and I realized my hands were shaking. “I can’t fucking believe you, Jake. You’re a sonuvabitch, do you know that?”

  Jake laughed again. “I’m whatever you say I am, brother,” he replied, putting a cold emphasis on the last word.

  “Were you one of the men who tried to kidnap Isabella behind Maison Bridges? Did I punch you in the face, Action Jake?” I was so angry I could spit.

  “Like I’d tell you anything,” Jake said with a snort. “It doesn’t matter. Even if that had been me, would that change anything now? I don’t think it would, you fuck.”

  I felt dizzy and groped for one of the columns outside of Lionel’s house. I felt like I was going to faint, or vomit again, or pass out. Get your shit together, Zane, I ordered myself. This kind of shit happens in the business all the time. You’re just lucky it didn’t happen sooner.

  “You have twenty-four hours to get me the money before this sweet little blonde of yours gets it,” Jake snarled into the phone.

  “Where do you want it?”

  “Business headquarters,” Jake said. “Nice to see you’re coming around, Zane. Maybe this will be more of a pleasant transaction than I thought.”

  “Don’t fucking bet on it,” I snapped. “And don’t fucking touch her. Don’t lay a fucking finger on her!”

  Jake laughed. “She’ll be dead if you don’t get me the money,” he replied. Before I could answer, he’d hung up the phone.

  I felt like my world was collapsing. Fuck. What the hell was I supposed to do now? When did Jake grab Isabella? I cursed myself for ever locking her up in my bedroom. I probably deserved this. I thought I was so great, thought I was on top of the world. God fucking damn it!

  A chill ran through me as I realized Jake hadn’t been fucking around. If he wanted to hurt Isabella, nothing would stop him. He didn’t have a conscience, and he definitely didn’t feel compelled to listen to me when I warned him against something. Jake had always been like that. He’d always done his own thing, marched to the beat of his own drum. I’d always been jealous. Even though I was tough, I’d always listened to Lionel. I’d always done exactly what he wanted me to do.

  And that’s why Lionel preferred Jake, I thought bitterly. And look how well that treated him in the end. I knew my father preferred his foster son to me, but I didn’t realize how angry and bitter it would make me after his death. I was willing to bet anything that until the moment Jake had plunged the knife in Lionel’s gut, Lionel would have said he was the better son.

  It was all fucked up. None of it made sense. Nothing in the world made sense anymore.

  Maybe Lionel can help with this, I thought, turning around. The realization that my father was dead hit me like a ton of bricks. He can’t help. He can’t help with anything ever again. Because he’s dead. Jake killed him. Your foster brother killed him.

  I’d never felt so alone in my entire life. I knew I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and go get Isabella. She was the future; she was carrying my child.<
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  “I’ll keep you safe,” I mumbled as I looked up to the sky. “I’ll keep you safe because I couldn’t keep Lionel safe, or Terry safe. I’ll protect you and our child until my dying breath.”

  Chapter 27

  Isabella

  Behind my gag, I shrieked as the man carried me out of Zane’s house. When he’d first come to get me, I naïvely assumed he was going to keep me inside. Like maybe tie me up in the basement with a sandwich and a bucket and a couple of paper towels. Like the movies. But it brought my level of horror and panic to a whole new level when I realized he was actually carting me outside.

  “Yeah, right,” the man snorted. “I’m not leaving you for shit.”

  My eyes gaped when I saw a car in the driveway. It was a late model Mercedes. Not as nice as Zane’s car, but not horrible either. The trunk was open and I screwed my eyes closed when I realized he had plans to put me inside. I started screaming behind my gag and kicking furiously. I felt his arms waver and there was a terrible second where I thought he was going to drop me on the concrete driveway. Miraculously, he managed to keep me in his arms, despite my struggling.