THE HITMAN'S CHILD: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance

by Nicole Fox

  Kelsey found herself biting back an unexpected onslaught of tears. Desperate for a distraction, she searched around the sofa for the TV remote. There were three, and after some trial and error, she got Chopper’s television to blink to life. The moment the sound came on, Kelsey hurriedly turned it down, looking toward the front of the house, as if someone might have heard. She left it on the lowest possible setting and contented herself with watching the images flicker across the screen. Around her, the suburban silence continued unabated. Every so often, a car drove by, and every time, Kelsey tiptoed to the front window to peer out onto the street outside. She knew it was exactly what Chopper didn’t want her to do, but she couldn’t help it. Her nerves just refused to settle.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and set it on the coffee table in front of her, hoping that having it just out of her reach would lessen the crazy urge to call him. It helped, but only if she closed her eyes, and closing her eyes added a whole new level of paranoia. Kelsey lay back on the couch. She fidgeted. She tossed and turned.

  Wild thoughts thundered through her mind. What was happening back at the Outlaws’ compound? Was Spike there yet? Were they fighting?

  Was anybody dead?

  It was a stray thought, but it made her insides turn to ice. She had always known that death was an intrinsic aspect of the MC life; after all, Hannah had been a victim. But now, Kelsey was forced to admit that there was a cushion between her and all the danger. Chopper made sure of it. He made sure he kept her safe. She loved and hated him for it at the same time. She hadn’t joined up to become someone’s princess, to be sheltered and spoiled amid a notoriously volatile scene — that was the last thing she’d expected. But she hadn’t bargained on becoming a mother, either.

  Her hand made its way to the crest of her belly. Just below her skin, she felt the baby turn a little bit, the smooth surface of her stomach bubbling for just a moment. Normally, she might have smiled, but she tightened her mouth and looked away. The possibility of a future without her baby’s father seemed to be looming on the horizon, casting her in a deep, dark shadow.

  Kelsey couldn’t make herself comfortable on the sofa. Eventually, she got up and paced the house again, cradling her stomach in both hands. Each time she passed a window, she glanced at the covered pane for a split second, and a prickle of fear went up her spine. If she could just take a peek, she knew she’d feel better, but she also knew it wasn’t worth the risk. No matter how confident Chopper was, there could be someone out there. And if she was seen … She didn’t want to think about it.

  Kelsey walked until she was tired, her feet aching with the strain of her extra weight. This time, the sofa felt good when she sat down, which she took as a positive sign. No word from Chopper, but that wasn’t necessarily bad either. He had warned her that she might not hear from him for a day or more. He had told her not to panic. This, Kelsey thought wryly, was easier said than done.

  She propped herself up on the sofa pillows and turned the TV back on, flipping to the most mindless channel she could find. Finally, lulled by the drone of the television, her mind began to drift toward a comfortable doze. She put her feet up and closed her eyes. On the very edge of consciousness, she was just about to drop into sleep when a high, jangling sound tore her back into reality. Kelsey jumped up, heart pounding. She barely stifled a scream. The sound came again, and her brain recognized it as a telephone--but it wasn’t her cellular ringtone.

  The land line, anchored on Chopper’s kitchen counter, rang a third time.

  Kelsey felt sick. She pushed herself to her feet and padded into the kitchen just in time to hear the phone wail yet again. The screen on the base was lit. Kelsey bent awkwardly to read the number, hoping that it might be one she recognized. She knew, however, that it was a slim chance: no one even knew she was there, and if they did, they certainly would have been instructed not to call. Unless, of course, it was an emergency. Her stomach squeezed. She swallowed hard. But even then, why not still her cell phone? As she gazed down at the display, she saw that none of her worries mattered; the number was restricted. Kelsey wanted to feel better, but she didn’t. Her heart was still pounding. One hand reached reflexively for the receiver, and she saw that her fingers were shaking.

  The phone rang one more time, then transferred the call to voicemail. Kelsey drew back her hand, twining it in her hair to give herself something to do. She jumped when Chopper’s voice filled the air.

  “You’ve reached Jesse Slater. I’m not here right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you soon as I can.” He sounded almost like a different person, someone who didn’t steal drug money and deal out the back of his bike shop. Someone who wasn’t currently waiting to kill — or die. The sound of his real name gave Kelsey a feeling that was a little like homesickness for something she realized she’d never even known.

  Beep. She jumped a second time. God, her nerves were fried. The tape ran for a few seconds in silence. Then, a woman’s voice began to speak.

  “I know you’re in there, bitch,” is what she said. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you, creeping around behind the curtains. Jesse’s never been too much good at keeping secrets.” The woman let out a sharp, crackling laugh. “Even if he thinks he is.” She paused. “You can stay in there as long as you like, at least until we come and smoke you out. Won’t be too much longer now.” Kelsey could hear the cruel smile coloring the last words. “See you soon.”

  The machine clicked off, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Kelsey put her back against the counter and let herself slide to the floor. Her knees felt like Jell-O, her eyes burned with tears. The fear was replaced with humiliation and white-hot rage. She should have known better. She should have told Chopper that there was no way his house could still be a secure location. She should have made him double check, triple check. But most of all, she should have been looking out for herself.

  In the months since she had fallen in with Chopper Slater, Kelsey had allowed herself to become complacent. She’d been lulled into a sense of security that had seemed more real than anything she had experienced since losing her sister. She had started to believe that she lived in a world where things might turn out okay. But all of that was a mistake.

  She only let herself cry for a few seconds before she shoved her emotions into a mental lockbox and got to her feet. Her first instinct was to check the windows, but she knew that would be yet another mistake. She crouched awkwardly and made her way back to her cell phone in the den. As she reached for it, she hesitated. Maybe it was all some kind of cruel prank to keep her on her toes. Maybe the boys were testing her. But even as she thought it, Kelsey knew she was being stupid, trying to wish herself out of the situation. She’d been told not to call unless it was an emergency, and the phone felt heavy in her hand. Around her, the house was dead quiet. The message had been a threat, but at the moment, she couldn’t see anything more. Kelsey eased herself down onto the floor, her back against the base of the sofa, and dropped her phone between her knees.

  Chopper had enough to deal with. She decided she could wait.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chopper

  Spike Lawler was nowhere to be seen. On one of his restless pacings around the perimeter of the war room, Chopper allowed himself a quick glance through the covered windows. The shadows were slowly lengthening outside, the late afternoon light deepening toward evening. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, except the extra guards he’d stationed earlier. They were still standing at attention, but even at a distance, Chopper could tell they were bored. The whole gang had been itching for a fight as soon as the news of a confrontation came, but now, hours later, the rush was gone. He turned away from the window and went back to his chair, throwing himself into the seat a little sullenly. Leave it to Lawler to pull a no-show after all that pomp and circumstance.

  Chopper looked around at his boys. Hoss’ eyes were closed again. Chopper thought he’d drifted off . On the other side of the table, Red
stared idly at a spot on the ceiling. When Chopper cleared his throat, they both roused instantly. He sighed, running a hand though his hair. “What do you think?” he asked. “Stand down?”

  Hoss took a minute to think, tapping the toe of his boot on the floor. “I don’t know,” he drawled thoughtfully. “Sure, he ain’t showed yet, but that don’t mean he’s not comin’.”

  “Agreed,” said Red. “You know Lawler doesn’t play by no rules. And he’s too cocky not to get in your face if he thinks he beat you somehow. Even if it’s just a game you didn’t know you were playing. We oughta wait til we hear from him.”

  Chopper decided they were right, although frankly, he was bored too. Both Red and Hoss had been with him since his early days at the top, and he trusted their judgement at least as well as he trusted his own. Still, he rubbed his face in mild exasperation, thinking that probably, Spike Lawler was sitting across town with a big smile on his face, knowing he’d played his rival for a fool. Likely as not, this was a little bit of petty revenge for the way his drug shipments had been manhandled. At that thought, Chopper let himself crack a small, satisfied grin.

  He should have known that nothing Spike Lawler ever did was petty. It was nearly dark when one of the perimeter guards radioed in, his voice crackling over the receiver that was stationed in the middle of the table.

  “Hey, Chop? We just found a note stuck to the gate. I think you need to see this.”

  Something in the guard’s tone sent a prickle of apprehension down Chopper’s spine, but he made sure his voice was level when he replied.

  “Bring it in.” The three men in the war room exchanged glances. The long-faded adrenaline began to resume its course. By the time the guard appeared at the door, Chopper had been pacing for three minutes. He held out his hand without stopping, and received a folded slip in his palm, its surface marred by the puncture of a knife. He felt the eyes on him as he unfolded the paper. The scrawl inside, loose and jagged, was Spike’s. It made his blood run cold.

  You’re not the only one with eyes.

  Chopper’s hand immediately crushed into a fist, crumpling Spike’s note in his fingers. He looked up and saw Red and Hoss watching him, ready to execute any order. In his head, Chopper saw himself giving a concise-but-thorough list of everything that needed to be monitored, every entrance and exit that had to be secure, the patrol schedules, and the positions of all the guards.

  Instead, he said, “I have to go.” The words were clipped with barely restrained fury, at himself more than anyone else. How could he have been so stupid as to think Spike Lawler wouldn’t engage in espionage? He’d known the guy for years and years, more than long enough to understand that Lawler was nothing if not a snake. If he wanted leverage on Chopper, the first thing he’d do would be to locate his safe house. It was the first thing any of them would do.

  Chopper realized with sickening dread that he had given Spike more-than-enough reason to care very deeply about the inner workings of the Savage Outlaws. Spike’s drugs were disappearing, his money being siphoned off. Not only had Chopper stolen his prized possession, he’d kept her for himself. Spike had vendettas worth a hundred times less than that.

  But Chopper was blinded by complacency. As he snatched his weapons off the table, he cursed himself. Locked and fully loaded, he headed for the door, determined to reach Kelsey before anyone else could get to her. He was more-than-prepared to spill blood.

  The crumpled note lay forgotten on the tabletop. Hoss reached over and smoothed it out with his fingers, his eyes tracing over the words. A black expression descended like a thunderhead over his normally placid features.

  “Ah, hell,” he muttered, passing the message to Red. “Shoulda known this would be about the old lady.” He put his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet, cracking his massive neck and shoulders.

  “You go get her,” he said to Chopper. “Red and I can hold down the fort.”

  “If there are moles in here, I want to know,” Chopper growled. “And I want them dead.”

  Red nodded, stone-faced. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

  “Get out of here,” Hoss repeated, a tinge of impatience in his voice. “If I know Spike, you don’t have time to be lollygaggin’ around.” He picked up the radio and thrust it at Chopper. “Take this. We’ll sweep the place. Let you know what we smoke out.”

  Without another word, Chopper put the radio on his belt and went for the door. Hoss was right; he had no time. But just as his foot crossed the threshold, the compound’s alarms began to wail, a high, piercing noise that he hadn’t heard in months. On reflex, he snapped around to look at the bank of monitors, searching the screens for the breach. A panicked voice came from his belt.

  “Chopper, they’re here! They’re coming at the gate. I think they’re gonna ram it down!” Before the transmission cut, the sound of motorcycles revved, distant but growing rapidly closer.

  “Fucking hell!” Chopper bellowed. His head spun, full of the noise of his thoughts. The compound was about to be under siege, and he had to choose between staying to fight beside his men and leaving to make sure Kelsey was all right.

  The decision tore at him. He glanced at his phone. If she had called, then he would go to her. Red and Hoss could handle things here.

  But the screen of his cell phone was blank, and in another instant, Chopper’s choice was made for him. A different guard crashed onto the radio. “All the exits are blocked,” he gasped. “They’re freezing us in.” This time, the background popped with unmistakable gunfire. Chopper thought he heard someone shout.

  “How many are there?” Hoss demanded.

  “Too many,” said the guard. “I don’t know.” Another gunshot cracked over the receiver, very close. Then, nothing.

  Chopper seized the control for his security display and rapidly cycled through the camera feeds, looking for an angle that might show him some numbers. On the film rolling over the points of access to the compound, he could see a dark mass just outside the borders, punctuated by gleaming hints of chrome. He couldn’t tell exactly how many there were, but it was a lot — maybe more than he had stationed. He knew that if he tried to leave, they would shred him to pieces. And he suspected, in fact, that those were their exact instructions.

  Spike was trapping him.

  He turned to Hoss. “Forget the moles for now. We need to smoke these fuckers out first.” He motioned to Red as well. “Get the firebombs and get them out. I need you to clear me a path out the back.”

  Chopper hadn’t always kept a store of unconventional weaponry. His younger self might have thought that he was better than homemade Molotov cocktails, or that he was above using raw gasoline or lighter fluid. But he had since learned that, sometimes, dirty fighting was as valuable as it was necessary, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to get to Kelsey.

  He checked his phone again. Still no call. Briefly, he thought about calling her first, but decided it would be too dangerous to lower her guard by telling her to expect him. He contented himself with watching the video feeds and listening to the chatter that was now constant on the radio as his Outlaws worked to mobilize against the sudden threat. At first, confusion ran rampant, but it was soon replaced by righteous anger and aggression.

  In a few minutes, he saw the first flames bloom bright at the front gate, splashing off the stone and iron. Immediately, Lawler’s gang drew back, as Chopper knew they would. Their gas tanks had become huge liabilities, and there were dozens out there, if not hundreds. Light one, and all the rest of them would go. That was a firework show Chopper Slater would pay to see.

  His attention, however, was mainly focused on the back exit. As soon as threat of explosions had thinned Lawler’s crew there enough, he would make a break for the road. It was dangerous-as-hell to go on his bike: he knew they’d be shooting at anything that moved, but he had no hope of getting a car out unnoticed. He saw the shadowy biker army begin to recede from the back gate and turned away from
the monitors, bolting down to the garage. Chopper hoped the roar of his engine would be drowned in all the others.

  The air outside the back of the compound was still relatively cool, but he could smell the acrid smoke of the Molotovs. A haze lingered, and as he rode, it stung his eyes — he hadn’t thought to protect himself with even a helmet. He was taking a lot of risks, and he hoped it wouldn’t ultimately be too many. How much help would his custom helmet be against a bullet anyway? Chopper didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.

  He left his headlamp dark on the way out.

  Sure enough, the minute he drew out onto the road, he heard the pop of gunfire at his back. His heart raced, but he didn’t even look, except in his mirrors. The muzzle flashes looked like pinpricks in the full night. He was lucky; they’d pulled back pretty far. Then their engines gunned, and he knew that they were onto him. Chopper leaned down over his handlebars. No way in hell was he going to lead them to Kelsey and the baby. If they wanted a chase, that’s exactly what they would get.