THE DEVIL’S BABY

by Naomi West

  “Nah,” I say. “That’s part of it. She’s not part of the lifestyle. She’s a good girl, got a real job. She don’t need this bullshit in her life.”

  “But you care about her?” Lipstick asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess. I want her, but that ain’t the same.”

  “No,” she says. “No, it’s not.”

  Chapter 11

  Millie

  New York City is a pretty overwhelming city. So many people. Too many people. And sharing a hotel room with Phillip feels … Well, I feel like I’m cheating on Axel, which is crazy, since I’m not even with Axel.

  No, I’m not with him, even though I’m knocked up with his kid.

  What a mess.

  Phillip got this nice little suite in what he called a boutique hotel in Manhattan. The sounds of the city are so loud. There’s so much honking. Always with the honking. And construction noises. And beeping. I don’t know how people live here, and I really wish I could just be in my house with my cats, alone.

  I sit on the couch, watching thpe television without really seeing what’s on. My hand is errantly rubbing my stomach. There’s a small being in there. A tiny little life form that is half me and half Axel.

  Phillip comes out of the bathroom after taking a shower. He’s clad only in a towel and his hair is dripping wet. Steam comes out as he emerges.

  “Some like it hot?” I ask.

  “The water is either cold, lukewarm, or boiling hot,” he says. “I went for boiling.”

  He wanders over and sits next to me on the couch. His hand covers mine on my belly.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I just want you to know I support you,” he says. “I’ll always support you.”

  I turn to him. “I don’t need you to support me,” I say.

  “That guy is not going to be able to give you and the baby what you need,” he says.

  “That guy has a name,” I say tersely.

  “Oh, right. Asshole, was it?” he scoffs.

  “You’re not helping,” I say. “You promised you could be my friend. And being my friend means being respectful of the father of my baby.”

  “Sperm donor, you mean? He’s no father,” Phillip says. “I could be a father to that baby. We could be a family.”

  “Oh, and I’m supposed to believe you’d just be okay with being a father to a child you know isn’t yours?” I ask with a bitter laugh. “You wouldn’t lord it over my head at all, I’m sure, that you’re helping raise some other guy’s baby, that your hard-earned money supports a baby that isn’t yours.”

  “How do we know?” he asks. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”

  “Why would you want this, Phillip?” I ask.

  “Because I love you, Millie,” he says. “I told you, I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let you go. I want you back, and if that means having you and your child, then so be it.”

  “But why? Why do you want me back? Why try so hard? Why keep calling and texting? Why keep showing up?”

  “Because I love you,” he says. “I already said it.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I say. “We were together for thirteen years, Phillip. We were barely more than babies when we got together. I feel like … I feel like we were together because it felt like the right thing to do. Like we stayed together because we were afraid of being apart.”

  “That’s not true,” he says.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “It’s not,” he insists. “I loved you.”

  My eyes just about pop out of my head. My mouth forms an “O.”

  “I love you,” he says. “I meant … I love you.”

  “You said loved,” I say. “Past tense.”

  “I just meant that I loved you all that time. I never stopped,” he says.

  It occurs to me that it’s been a long time since I have told Phillip I love him. He said it the day I caught him cheating. The blonde, naked in our bed, scrambled to grab her clothes and leave with any shred of dignity she could. I stood defiantly at the door of our bedroom, blocking the way, telling her to get out of my bed. She tried to grab for anything to cover herself while she found her clothes but I yelled, “Don’t touch my things!” and she was forced to be naked in front of me.

  I envied her body, graceful, lithe, a dancer’s body. Her skin was creamy and white and her hair was silky, long, and straight. She really was a beautiful woman, and in that moment, amidst my sheer rage, I also felt my self-confidence dwindle. I felt myself feel ashamed of my curvier body, of my brown skin, of my big head of curly hair. In that moment, my lips were too big. My rear end was too round. Everything was wrong about me, because how could it not be, if someone I had loved for so many years would choose to cheat on me with someone so very different from me? I must never have been enough.

  The woman—Rachel, I suppose—ran out of the house as I screamed at Phillip. “How could you do this to me?” I asked through tears so heavy I couldn’t see. He fell to his knees. He begged. He said he was sorry. He said he never wanted to hurt me. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated. A mantra.

  I would not say it back. I felt sick, nauseated. I felt angry and betrayed. I felt alone in the world. But one thing I did not feel? Love. I made him pack his things and go and he did. I told him it was over and, for a while, it was. And I didn’t miss him. It was Elizabeth who asked me if I did, and I hadn’t really thought about it. I hadn’t given any thought to anything other than being angry. So when I did, the anger lifted, because I realized I hadn’t loved him for a very long time.

  But here’s the thing. Just because I didn’t love him didn’t mean I just became suddenly happy. I liked my job okay. I had a few friends. But I would be lying if I said I was doing anything other than going through the motions.

  Until Axel. Until I hit that big man on his custom motorcycle.

  I never asked him why he didn’t go when the light turned green. Suddenly, I really want to.

  ***

  Axel

  I called a club meeting. In Hard Rod’s absence, I’ve had to assume full leadership of the club. A few guys said they felt like I was already in the role for years, and it takes every bit of control I have to stop myself from punching them in the mouths. Rod is my best friend and I can be pissed at him, give him shit, but he’s their boss and they need to be more respectful.

  I assign a guy named Mickey as temporary VP. He’s hard-working and low drama. Skinny as a rail with an acne-scarred face, he ain’t much to look at, but he’s someone I can trust, and I know he won’t fly off the handle.

  Jackson’s wife showed up a two nights ago, demanding reparations for his injuries. He couldn’t work, didn’t have income coming in, what was he supposed to do now, blah, blah, blah. I told her she knew what kind of business he was in, didn’t she? She said she did and that Hard Rod was a piece of shit who didn’t pay his guys enough. Jackson had to do what he did, make extra money because he’s got kids to feed.

  I asked if Jackson knew she was at the club. She confessed he did not, that he had explicitly told her not to come, not to make a big deal of it. She said he knew what he did was risky, that he knew he’d get caught eventually. He felt like he deserved the punishment. She broke down then, but she looked me in the eye and said that it was my hand, my blade, and I would have to live with putting a family on the street.

  It was Mickey who calmed her down, walked her out of the room. When he came back, I instructed him to wire money anonymously to Jackson’s bank account. He called me a sucker, but then said it was the ability to be human that made me a good leader.

  So now I’m standing in front of a hundred men, all in their colors, and they listen as I lay out the plan. The police will be watching us. No direct handling of product. No going near weapons storage. No fighting. No causing a scene. For the foreseeable future, we are just a bunch of guys who like riding motorcycles. I’ve signed us up for a Veterans Day ride. Border patrols need to loo
k like joyrides.

  The guys grumble, but they get it. They get that Rod’s actions have shined a spotlight on us. They ask how we’ll move product without notice. I tell them not to worry about their paychecks; I’ve got a plan.

  And I do. But it involves working with the very club that I hate. The Hounds want access to our routes. They came to me directly about it. I told them that human trafficking is not our bag, that we do not condone it. The way they saw it, we were in a bind. We might not like what they do, but we’ve got people to pay. We’ve got product to shift and no way to do it without raising suspicion. All they want is the shortest route through to Canada, a route that goes directly through our territory. Give them access to the route, they’ll move our shit for us. Easy peasy. No other payment necessary.

  Was it the right thing to do? To agree to allow something so abhorrent to pass through our territory? We aren’t saints, but Hard Rod has made it clear that we don’t rape, we don’t hold hostages, we don’t traffic in humans. We don’t make claims on people. He’s always been clear about it. Partnering like this is a violation of our club’s ethics. It doesn’t feel right, not really, but I’ve got to keep things running. I agreed to a year. One year only, then we’d have to reassess. Enough time to have the feds looking at other things. Enough time to figure some shit out.

  I owe a lot to this club, so I’ve got to do what’s necessary to protect it, and our guys. I owe it to the guys to hang on in Rod’s absence, but as I make this deal, as I make this promise, I don’t feel that human at all. And I sure as hell don’t feel like a leader.

  ***

  Millie

  “Hello?” I answer the phone.

  “I just wanted to check on you,” the deep voice on the other end of the line says.

  “No need,” I say. “I’m fine.”

  I have thought about calling him for weeks. Have thought about texting him to let him know I think of him, that he is always on my mind. That I am carrying his child. My pride stops me every time. It stops me now, even though I know that calling isn’t his style, that he is probably swallowing his own mammoth sense of pride to dial the number, to wait for me to answer.

  There is an awkward amount of silence between us. I twist my hair around one finger while I look at my reflection in the mirror. I am four months pregnant. My belly has always had a fullness to it, but now the mound is clear. Small, but tight, the womb protecting that little life inside.

  “I wish I could see you,” he says.

  “I don’t really know what you want me to say to that,” I say. “I mean, the last time you came to see me, you fucked me in a public place. Seeing each other probably means something different to you than it means to me.”

  “That’s not fair,” he says.

  “Why isn’t it fair?” I ask. “Axel, you showed up at my house like some big brute. You wrestled me to the floor the first time you came over. The second time, you walked around naked and then fucked me silly. The third time, you fucked me against a tree. There is nothing about that that screams anything other than sex to me. There is no reason for me to think that there is anything but sexual attraction between us. And you know what? That’s okay. It’s okay. Sometimes that’s all there is.”

  He sighs. “I can’t win with you.”

  “There is nothing to win,” I say. “Thanks for calling. I’m fine. Enjoy your life.”

  I hang up before he can say more. I said what I needed to say. I let him off the hook. I let him know it was okay that it was just sex between us. I mean, just because I’m all mopey and wishing it was more doesn’t mean he needs to be on the hook for that. He doesn’t need to know about the baby. He doesn’t need more to worry about.

  Phillip walks in as I’m examining my body in the full-length mirror. I’m in a lace bralette and cotton panties. I feel oddly attractive as I take in my tiny little baby bump. And horny, too. No one tells you how horny you can get when you’re pregnant. I’ve changed the batteries on my vibrator like three times this month already.

  “You know,” he says. “It’s true what they say about women glowing when they’re pregnant.”

  He wanders up to where I stand, wraps his arms around me, puts his hands on my belly.

  I’ve been letting him stay at the house with me. I don’t know. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it’s needing human contact while I’m hormonal. Maybe it’s an effort to get Axel out of my head. He’s been sweet, helpful, caring. I’ve made him sleep on the couch and he hasn’t complained. He says he’s willing to do whatever he needs to get back in my good graces.

  Tonight, I feel so much want, so much need. The sound of Axel’s voice was like an aphrodisiac. I need contact. I need …

  “I need to come,” I say out loud.

  Phillip’s eyes go wide. “You need to … come?”

  I nod. “I’m really, really horny.”

  “Is that … is that an invitation?” he asks.

  “It could be,” I say. I add quickly,” But it doesn’t change anything. You’re still on the couch. This is a maintenance fuck. That’s all. Okay?”

  His jaw hangs open. “I have never heard you use that word in regard to sex. Ever.”

  “Well, it sees like the most appropriate term for what I need right now. Can you deliver or not?”

  “I think I can,” he says, a cocky grin on his face.

  I wander to the bed, sit down, and spread my legs. “Well, then, make it happen. Before I change my mind.”

  Phillip starts unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants. He’s hard already, with only the offer of sex. As he nears me, all I can see is Axel. Axel’s tattoos. Axel’s hair. The cigarette he often has behind his ear. His cheekbones. His blue eyes. His talented lips. His very large cock. I blush just thinking about it, the way it jutted proudly into the world, the way it filled me, the way it felt in my mouth.

  My core aches. The thought of Axel, hearing his voice tonight. I ache. My clit throbs. I’ll just close my eyes and think of him. Phillip is a means to an end. I need to feel a cock inside of me. I need to come.

  Phillip kisses me and I’m suddenly terribly turned off. His lips don’t feel like Axel’s lips. The way he kisses me … it’s not the same. It doesn’t do a thing for me.

  I can’t fake my way through this. I open my eyes and I can see that Phillip sees it before I say anything. He backs away, his shoulders slumped.

  “It’s never going to work between us, is it?” he asks.

  “I don’t … I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  Phillip gets dressed. He’s quiet while he pulls on his pants and heads to the door of the bedroom. When he turns, he says, “I’ll pick you up for your appointment next week. Call me if you need me before that.”

  I wait until I hear the front door, the start of his car, before I fall apart.

  Chapter 12

  Axel

  “Come on, baby,” I say. “Open up.”

  “I can’t,” says the voice from the other side of the door.

  “You can,” I say. “Just open up. Let me in.”

  “This is so hard. I never knew how hard it would be,” the sniffling voice replies.

  “I know it’s hard,” I say. “I get it. But you can do this. It’ll all be fine. We’ve been okay to this point, right? We’re doing okay, right?”

  Lipstick opens the door. She’s a wreck, with mascara streaks down her cheeks, her hair matted to one side of her head, and wearing an oversized sweat-suit.

  She turns and walks toward the couch, pulling a tissue from a box before lowering herself, a grimace on her face. As soon as her butt hits the cushion, she flops to her side, her tears flowing freely once more.

  “Lipstick,” I say.

  “Axel,” she says mockingly.

  “What are you doin’, baby girl?” I ask. “Seriously. You look like you’ve been right here on this couch for days.”

  “Everything hurts,” she says. “My hips hurt, my vagina hurts, my back hurts, my neck hurts.
I feel like I’m wearing a fat suit.”

  “Well, that outfit ain’t helpin’,” I say. “How’s about I take you shoppin’? Get you to the spa or whatever chick shit. You can get your hair done, nails …”

  “I can’t even reach my feet!” she cries, dissolving in a pool of tears once more. “My toenails are disgusting and I can’t even reach them!”

  “We’ll have them do those, too,” I promise. “We’ll get somethin’ to eat, get somethin’ cute for you to wear. You’ll feel more like yourself in no time.”

  She sniffles in response. “I’ve got a doctor appointment later today.”