Devil's Claim: Apaches MC

by Claire St. Rose

  ***

  “Damnit,” I muttered as I sat on my bed and read the instructions from the kit. Why can’t anything be easy? Not only did I have to pee on the strip, it was strongly suggested that I wait until morning. Something to do with my Hcg levels, whatever the hell that was. I read the instructions again, then a third time. I was new to this and I wanted to do it right the first time.

  After the third reading I flopped backwards onto my bed, arms spread out at my sides as if I was on a crucifix. I couldn’t be pregnant! Cain and I had burned through three condoms. Twice I had put them on him myself and once I had watched him do it. I… could… not… be… pregnant! There was no way! But then I had a rush of fear. Yes, I had seen him sheath his snake, but I hadn’t seen him remove them. Could there have been an… equipment failure?

  I thought it over. We had gotten pretty wild there for a while. Despite my concerns, I couldn’t help but smile. He had fucked me in every position imaginable, save swinging from the chandeliers. It had pissed me off that he left me alone in the bed without so much as a ‘by your leave’ after I went to sleep, but at least he had the decency to not stick me with the hotel bill. But I was over being mad. I’m a big girl, and it didn’t hurt that all the girls at The Cat’s Claw were jealous. Not only had I scored the smoking hot, bad boy, biker, but he had positively fucked me silly, as well.

  My smile faded. The sex had been good. No—not good—it had been fantastic, but no amount of getting my toes curled was worth this. That was three weeks ago, and it had been fun for a while, doling out little tidbits of information about our night together to the rapt attention of my coworkers. But not now, and not for the past week.

  ***

  I stared at the little blue plus on the test strip. I turned it over and looked at the backside, hoping beyond hope that I was reading it wrong. I compared it to the instruction sheet, the paper going blurry as I did. I gasped as shock set in. “How?” I cried to the empty bathroom.

  I carefully placed the test strip on the counter and walked into my bedroom where I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at my feet. “This is impossible,” I whispered. I got up and went back to the test strip. I needed to see the results again, just to be sure. The blue plus mocked me. “Oh no…” I fought the tears with everything I had, but it wasn’t enough. I returned to my bed, sick with fear and dread. I lay down and pulled the covers around me, staring at nothing as my life unrolled behind my eyes.

  I’m only twenty-six, and unmarried. I had a good job, tending bar at The Claw, and a degree in biology that I got when I thought I was going to be a vet. But this changed everything. The Claw couldn’t have pregnant women working there; it was bad for business. My bottom lip quivered as tears streamed down my cheeks while I thought about what had happened. I’m going to lose my job. How would I keep my house? What would my friends say? This wasn’t the 1950s anymore, but I’m still going to be an unwed mother – an unwed mother in the South. An unwed, unemployed, mother in the South. The very thing my Grandfather railed about.

  I cried for a while. I couldn’t help it. I had always been careful. Cain wasn’t my first lover, and I had always taken care to eliminate the risk of this happening. No pulling out, no timing my ovulation, no nothing. If you wanted your cock inside of me, you had to wear a condom. Period. I gasped and wiped at my eyes. It wasn’t fair!

  I worried what my grandparents would say when I finally had to tell them. They had raised me from a young child after my parents were killed. They were the only family I had, but they were old-time southern and they wouldn’t understand. They had, eventually, adjusted to the fact that their granddaughter was a bartender in a club known for… personal… service. But this? This would be too much. The more I thought about it, the more I thought I was going to throw up.

  ***

  I woke with a start and stared at the bedside clock. I must have dropped back to sleep. As I watched the clock changed to 1:00 PM, I dragged myself out of the bed. I felt slightly better. The two-hour nap seemed to have taken the edge off my shock. I was still sick with dread, but I didn’t feel like my world was ending anymore.

  I padded into the bath to relieve myself, stopping to stare at the test results again. I picked it up and tossed it into the trash. No matter how many times I looked at it, the plus sign refused to go away.

  I started the shower and stepped inside, trying to decide what I was going to do. I decided what I wasn’t going to do: I wasn’t going to tell a soul until I had a doctor confirm the results. Maybe it was a false positive, though if I were honest with myself, I knew it wasn’t. Then, starting tomorrow, I would start trying to find another job. It would be a while before I began to show and I could use that time to do some job hunting while I still worked at The Claw. I had a Bachelor’s degree in biology, after all. Surely someone, somewhere, would hire me.

  Maybe I could get a loan and go back to school to become a vet. Then I could work in a vet’s office for a while, then open my own practice. I had always wanted to be a vet, and the only reason I quit school was because the bartending gig was so lucrative. I had always thought I would do the bartending thing for a few years and then go back to school. Life was just forcing me to speed up my plans.

  As I rinsed my hair, I knew I was also going to have to get my financial affairs in order. My car was almost paid for, so, except for my house, I didn’t owe anyone any money. But I was probably going to have to take a pretty steep cut in pay when I left The Claw. Bartending might not be the noblest profession in the world, but I could rake in a couple of grand on a good week.

  I tried to remember how much money I had in savings, but couldn’t. It hadn’t been important before now. Also, starting today, no more eating out all the time. I could cook, and did, but I still ate out with friends at least three nights a week. One night a week, tops. And no more drinking. I wasn’t a lush by any stretch, but I had been known to allow a customer to buy me a drink now and then. No more of that; I had another life to think about now.

  I stepped out of my bath. I had a plan, and I felt a little more in control. My life was about to change in the most radical way possible, but I would cope. I always had. If I were lucky, I might still even be able to make the regionals in the flair-tending competition. It would suck to have drop out now after getting within one step of competing in the nationals. And if I won… that twenty-grand would buy a lot of baby shoes.

  ***

  I fixed myself some lunch then wandered around the house. I tried to surf the net, read a book, and watch television, but I couldn’t focus on anything. I may have a plan, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still in shock. I couldn’t focus on anything as my mind whirled in ever-tighter circles. I desperately wanted to talk to someone, but I didn’t know anyone that I could trust with my secret. Throwing shade was an art form in New Orleans, and I didn’t want to be the throwee.

  Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I dressed in my best outfit, tight in all the right places but loose enough to allow me to move freely, and gathered my things. I was going to get to The Claw early so I could spend a few minutes with my practice bottle, warming up and getting into the groove. The key to flair-tending was focus and concentration, and I wasn’t having much luck with either of those things right now. I was hoping that when I got to The Claw, and the juices got flowing, I would be okay. I hoped. Otherwise it was going to be an expensive night and I wondered how many bottles I could break before they started coming out of my pay.

  I threw the top back on my car and plopped into the seat. I was about to be a mommy, but for a while yet, I could still be the hot babe in the sports car. I planned to enjoy it while I could. As I drove across town, I flashed my best come-hither smile at all the admiring glances, the same smile I used at work to keep the tips coming.

  Later, as I bounced around the break room, grooving to the music blasting away up front, I worked my bottle, practicing my flips, twirls, and stalls. I worked on my new signature move, the toe kick, where I dropped t
he bottle, caught it on my toe, and kicked it back up into my hand. It was a devastating move when I was behind the bar and the mark couldn’t see me catch it on my foot.

  I found if I really focused I could force away the results of the test this morning—for a while anyway—and that would have to do. I couldn’t spend the next nine months fretting over something I couldn’t change, and getting back into my routine would take my mind off my troubles… for a while.

  Chapter 2

  I yanked up the handbrake on my car and killed the engine. Over the past several days I had, mostly, come to grips with what had happened. I still dreaded going in, but I had to. Granny and Grandpa were expecting me and if I failed to show, that would lead to a whole lot of questions that I didn’t want to answer. The sky was dark and gloomy, like my mood, so I spent a moment flipping the top up in case it started to rain… and to delay going in for as long as possible.

  When I was finally out of excuses, I clambered from the car and walked to the front door. I paused a moment as I gripped the doorknob, took a deep breath and plastered on a smile before I twisted the knob and walked in.

  “Alexandria! I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Granny exclaimed as soon as I stepped inside.

  “I was putting the top up. It looks like rain.” I stepped to the stooped woman and gave her a kiss and a hug. Q’Bell Labranche hugged me fiercely and gave me a quick smooch on the cheek. I had to lean down a little to help her reach so we could complete a ritual as old as I was.

  “It smells good! Jambalaya?” I asked. I breathed deep and took in the smells of home as I stepped over to Grandpa so I could hug him and give him a kiss on his cheek. He hugged me back, but I could tell he was more interested in the Saints pregame show.

  “That’s right. It should be ready in about thirty or forty minutes. So, what has been up with you this week?” Granny asked as she turned her back to me and walked to the kitchen, confident in the knowledge that I was following behind her.

  “Same old, same old.” It was the same every week. I would show up for dinner on Sunday evening and Granny and I would talk in the kitchen while Grandpa watched whatever sport was on the television. Granny would ask what I was up to and I would tell her what was new. I knew she wondered when I was going to find me a nice boy, settle down, get married, and start popping out some great-grandkids for her. If she only knew.

  I tried to get into the rhythm and flow of the visit, but my heart just wasn’t in it tonight. It had been almost a week since I found out I was pregnant, but it still weighed heavily on my mind. Worse, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.

  “You okay, honey?” Granny asked, dragging me out of my musing.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You just seem a little quiet this evening, that’s all.”

  I never could hide anything from her. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long week.”

  “I keep telling you, working all hours of the night isn’t good for you.”

  “I get eight hours of sleep every night, just like everyone else,” I pointed out, again. I just didn’t get up until one or so in the afternoon.

  Granny sniffed. She was one of those that thought sleeping until six was sleeping in. “So you say. You didn’t go to school just so you could tend bar all night.”

  I snickered. We didn’t have this conversation every week, but we had it often enough. “I know. But I’m making good money. You worry too much.”

  She smiled at me and I could feel the love pouring out of her. “I’m your grandmother. That’s my job. Come taste this and tell me what you think.”

  “Why? You make the best jambalaya of anyone.” I took the spoon and tasted. “It’s different. Not as spicy. What happened?”

  “Esten. He complained that the last couple of times I made it that it hurt him.”

  “Grandpa? I thought he liked it hot.”

  Granny smiled as she gave the pot another stir before whacking the spoon on the side to clean it. “He does. But I don’t think it likes him anymore.”

  “Oh phooey. He’s just getting old,” I scoffed as my lips twisted up in a grin. “What’s he going to do, start eating baby food?” The moment I said that, I felt myself flush.

  Granny laughed. “I don’t think we’re to that point yet. But just you wait. One day, you will be just like us. You’ll see. I can remember my mother saving tin foil. I always thought that was silly… but now I’m doing the same thing.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. You can get the glasses ready in a few minutes, but until then, we are just waiting for it to get done. Why don’t you go watch TV with your grandpa?”

  I grinned. It wouldn’t matter if Granny was preparing a twelve-course meal, she didn’t like anyone meddling in her kitchen while she was cooking.

  “Okay. Are you going come, too?” I teased, though I already knew the answer.

  “Football? I would rather watch the pot boil.”

  ***

  As we ate I could feel Granny’s eyes on me. I swear, I didn’t know how she knew, but she could always tell when something was bothering me. Grandpa? He was oblivious, but it’s like Granny had radar or something.

  We ate and talked. Granny talked about family and neighbors, who was doing what, and so on. Grandpa and I talked a little about the Saints. I didn’t care much for football, or any other sport for that matter, but he helped me stay current so I could talk sports to clients if I needed to. He made it easy for me. I just repeated everything he said, his opinions becoming my own, and it made him happy that he had someone to talk to since Granny couldn’t care less.

  I was just scraping the last of my dinner from my bowl when Grandpa announced he was full and pushed back from the table. He moved back to the living room where he turned on the television, the roar of an excited crowd pouring from it. He was kind of old school and believed that picking up his place after eating was women’s work.

  “It was good,” I said again, though to be honest, I didn’t like the new toned down version as well as her old recipe.

  “I’m glad you liked it,” she said as she rose and began to gather the dishes. I stood and began to help. Her back was too me as she rinsed bowls before placing them in the dishwasher. “Are you sure nothing is bothering you?”

  How did she know? “No. I’m good.”

  “You’re not having money trouble are you?”

  I rolled my eyes as I carried the serving dish from the table back to the stove. “No. Nothing like that,” I said as I dug in the cabinet for plastic storage containers. The jambalaya might not have been as good as what she used to make, but it was still pretty good, and I almost always took leftovers home from with me.

  She was quiet for a moment, swishing a brush around the bowls. “Okay. But I can tell something is bothering you. You’re not mad at us, are you?”

  I would have laughed at the question, except I could tell she was serious. “No! What reason could I possibly have to be mad at you and Grandpa?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I was asking.”

  “Granny, it’s nothing you did, okay? It’s just… life.”

  “What’s the matter, honey?” She turned to face me. “Is there something we can help you with?”

  I finished scooping tomorrow’s dinner into the plastic container and sealed the lid. I concentrated on pouring the remainder of the dish into the larger of the two containers and didn’t answer.

  “Alexandria? Tell me what’s wrong.”

  I could feel the tears threatening, but I fought them off. She scraped the remains out of the serving bowl into the plastic container and then took the dish from my hands and placed it back on the stove.

  “Alex?”

  She hardly ever called me Alex and I could feel the tears threaten again. I pulled her into a hug and held her tight. “I’m in trouble,” I said with a sniff.

  “What kind of trouble?” she murmured as she held me.

  “I’m…” I began
but stalled, unable to say it, afraid of her reaction.

  “Alexandria…” she cooed as she slipped from my embrace. “You can tell me anything. Tell me what’s wrong, honey.”

  “I’m afraid you will hate me.”

  I watched as Granny’s face softened, almost as if she were going to cry. “Alex, honey, I could never hate you,” she said as she touched my face and pushed my hair back. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m… pregnant…” I watched for her reaction. I could tell she was shocked, rocked back on her heels by my admission, but she didn’t look mad.

  “Are you sure?” she asked after a moment.