TAKE ME, OUTLAW: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance

by Zoey Parker

  I closed my eyes as he walked in and pretended I'd been asleep the whole time. I didn't want him to know that I'd been listening to his phone call about club business that had nothing to do with me.

  But when he told me that he had to go to the Nest to “straighten some stuff out with the Reapers” and that he wanted me to stay here for my own safety, my heart sank. He clearly didn't want me to worry, but that was impossible after what I'd heard. I wanted to beg him to stay so we could be safe together and ignore whatever chaos his club was involved in.

  Instead I told him I'd be there when he got back. After he left I drew the sheets and blankets around me in a tight cocoon, wishing I was being held by Nic's arms instead.

  As frightened and upset as I'd felt the previous night during the assault and the shooting that followed, I almost felt even worse when left alone with my own memories of them. Living through it once was awful, but reliving it over and over in my own mind felt like a torture I couldn't escape from. I was also having grim thoughts about the future. All of these thoughts were sending anxious pains through my stomach.

  I knew I loved Nic, and I knew he felt something for even though we hadn't said the words to each other last night. The connection between us was primal and undeniable, and I wasn't sure I could ever make myself leave him. I felt a fierce need to see him again and spend many nights with him. Maybe even all of my nights for the rest of my life.

  But I was terrified by the dangers that came with being near him. When I let myself seriously consider what could happen to me or to our child if I stayed with Nic, I was filled with dread. I considered what I'd told him about my willingness to accept his outlaw lifestyle as long as he was there to protect me. It was a wonderful idea and I wanted so badly to throw myself into it without hesitation.

  Then I thought of Growler again. Whatever had happened to him, it sounded bad. Nic hadn't been able to protect him. Could I really expect him to keep me safe twenty-four hours a day? And the baby? What about when he or she gets old enough to go to school? Will Nic stand outside the building all day, leaning against his bike and waiting for classes to end?

  Will our child be kidnapped if he doesn't? Jesus, I don't even know the rules of the world Nic lives in. How can I really believe I'll be able to keep up without becoming a casualty? How can I try to raise a kid that way?

  You can't, the prim voice in my head answered. It had been a while since she'd spoken up and I wasn't happy to hear from her. You want to keep the baby? Fine. Then come to your damn senses and disappear from this man's life immediately before one of the bullets meant for him comes crashing into you or your child. That's the only logical ending to this and you know it.

  Besides, he still doesn't even know you're pregnant. As soon as you tell him, he'll probably be gone anyway.

  I hated the voice but it was hard to argue with it. Still, the thought of never seeing Nic again made me ache with loneliness. I was certain that I'd never find someone I wanted as much as I wanted him.

  I felt another pang in my stomach and realized how long it had been since I'd eaten. My nerve endings had been shredded by stress and my blood sugar was probably lower than it had ever been. No wonder I was tearing myself apart over this.

  I got up from the bed and moved into the next room, exploring the mini-fridge in the kitchenette. I found a half-carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, and a stick of butter. I decided to make some scrambled eggs on toast. It would be light on my stomach, and I hoped it would help me balance out so I could try to make the most important decision of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nic

  The first few rays of daylight were starting to shine through the city skyline as I rolled up to the Nest and parked Lola next to the other bikes out front.

  There were two Reapers guarding the front door, and I knew each other entrance had at least one guard posted too. Since things had gotten so crazy between us and the Bonaccorsos, we couldn't afford to take any chances with security. The guys recognized me and stepped aside, letting me in.

  All of the other Reapers were standing around a table in the center of the room. Once I got close enough, I saw what looked like a twitching mass of pale and pulpy flesh, like some kind of huge white octopus with several of its legs ripped off.

  It took me a moment to realize that I was seeing Growler's naked body sprawled on the table.

  He was much thinner and whiter than he'd been before, and he'd been mangled almost beyond recognition. His right arm was missing at the shoulder, and the socket was a mess of burned tissue. His ears were gone and his left eye was a ragged hole. Blood and saliva were frozen in his beard and his mouth opened and closed silently, revealing the empty maw where his tongue had been. One side of his torso was covered with bruises. He was so skinny that his ribs were sticking out and I could see that at least one of them had been broken. There were long scrapes and deep, infected-looking puncture wounds on his shins.

  With the arrival of each new package, I had tried to picture what Growler must have looked like. What I'd imagined had been like something out of a horror movie. But fuck, the reality was much worse.

  A Reaper named Giggles stood at Growler's feet, examining them. Bard stood a short distance behind him, watching him work. Giggles had gotten a nursing degree before he'd gotten hooked on prescription meds. He got busted for stealing them from the clinic he worked in and dropped out of society completely, joining the Reapers. He was no doctor, but he could still patch up most of the wounds our guys got from fights and crashes. His nickname was ironic since he never seemed to smile or express any emotion at all.

  I almost shouted, Hey, you assholes, what the fuck are you looking at his feet for? Can't you see what kind of shape he's in? Then I saw that Growler's feet had mostly turned black.

  Bard saw me watching. “Frostbite. Growler walked the entire way back here in the snow. He knew he couldn't stop, or someone might see him and report him.” I'd never seen Bard's eyes so bloodshot. His voice was so exhausted that it sounded like it was coming from a mile away.

  “What about the rest of him?” I asked.

  “It's bad, of course, but it's not as life-threatening as it looks,” Bard replied. “They did a solid job of patching those wounds as they made them, even if they managed it brutally. But his feet are the most immediate problem. The dead tissue could get gangrene, and his body's in no shape to fight off an infection right now.”

  Giggles turned to Bard. “They're too far gone. They'll have to come off.”

  Growler let out a series of wheezing moans and slapped his remaining hand on the top of the table. After a moment, I realized that he was actually laughing, or at least trying to.

  Jesus, you poor fucking bastard. After everything you've been through, no wonder you went over the edge. Maybe it's better for you that way. Maybe being crazy helps you forget.

  “Can you do it?” Bard asked Giggles.

  Giggles shrugged. “The cold's done half of it for me. I can take off the damaged parts in one of the back rooms. It won't be pretty, but...”

  Growler wheezed again, convulsing with insane laughter. His ribs heaved and I could see the broken one rubbing against the rib next to it. The sight made me nauseous.

  “Hold him down, please,” Giggles said with a trace of annoyance. “This will be a lot easier if he's not allowed to damage himself further by moving around.”

  Bard nodded to three Reapers, who stepped forward and held Growler down. Bard leaned close and stroked Growler's matted hair, trying to comfort him. Growler stopped wheezing, but his chest was still heaving.

  “We'll take care of you, man,” Bard assured him. “You're with us now. We'll get you fixed up as well as we can, and after that, you can decide how you want things to be, okay? Whatever you decide, I'll back you. You have my word on that.”

  Growler nodded. I realized that Bard was talking about helping Growler end his life if that's what he chose, and a chill went through me. I didn't know what I'd choose
if what happened to Growler had been done to me instead. It was hard to think about suicide, but goddamn, if the only other choice was to go through life like that...

  “Before Giggles starts working on you, I need to ask you a couple of things,” Bard continued. “You can just nod or shake your head, okay? Can you do that for me?”

  Growler nodded his head again.

  “Okay, good. Thank you. Did Giovanni set you free?”

  Growler shook his head.

  “Did you escape?”

  Growler nodded.

  There were a few murmurs of awe from the other Reapers. I couldn't blame them. Over a month of torture with a third of his body parts hacked off, and he still managed to overpower the people who were holding him? And he made it all the way back here on his own? If there had ever been a tougher member of the Reapers, I hadn't met him.

  “Good,” Bard said, baring his teeth in a fierce smile. “Did you take any of those fuckers down on your way out?”

  Bard swore again. He was barely keeping his cool. He probably never expected to see Growler alive again any more than the rest of us did.

  Growler nodded and held up one finger. The Reapers broke into thunderous applause, slamming their fists on the tables. Some of them started chanting Growler's name and his remaining eye rolled toward them. His chapped and bleeding lips broke into a grin and parted, proudly displaying the severed stump of his tongue again. Goddamn, that guy is hardcore. I never knew how much until now. I joined in, clapping.

  Bard motioned for the rest of us to settle down, then grabbed a small blackboard and a piece of chalk from the bar. He erased the drink specials that had been scribbled on the board and brought it to Growler, pressing the chalk into his left hand.

  “Do you know which one you killed? Can you write down his name?”

  Growler nodded and reached out, the chalk trembling in his fingers. I searched my memory, and with a sinking feeling, I remembered that Growler had always poured drinks with his right hand. Fuck, he lost his best hand. Writing with the left one will be a bitch.

  His handwriting was awkward and slanted, but the word he wrote was clear: Vole.

  Another cheer roared through the bar and I felt a cold satisfaction in my gut, knowing that the rotten rodent who started this whole stupid war was out of the picture for good.

  The chalk fell from Growler's fingers. Bard picked up it and it looked like he was about to put it in Growler's hand again, but Giggles tapped Bard on the shoulder and took the chalk from him. “That's enough,” Giggles said. “I need to start working on him now. If you've got more questions, you can ask them after I've stabilized him, assuming that I can.”

  Bard nodded and Giggles directed the three Reapers to help him carry Growler to one of the back rooms. The Reapers broke off into groups, sitting at tables and drinking toasts to Growler as they traded favorite memories of him.

  “I wish I'd had the chance to ask him about where he was being held,” Bard said quietly. “If it's the same place Giovanni's holed up, we could go there in force and try to end this now.”

  “Yeah, but what are the odds that it is?” I asked. “Giovanni's got plenty of places all over. Houses, buildings, businesses. Maybe he came in to watch the torture now and then. Big G is a sick asshole, so it wouldn't surprise me. But staying there full-time when he knows we're looking for him? It doesn't seem likely.”

  “You're probably right,” Bard conceded. “Still, even knowing where they were holding Growler could give us clues about where Giovanni's been hiding out.”

  I heard loud shouting outside, followed by gunshots. The Reapers sprang into action, brandishing their weapons and heading for the door.

  Both of the Reapers out front were dead. Their bodies were sprawled on the pavement and riddled with bullets.

  Three cars were idling in front of the Nest, all of them filled with Bonaccorso soldiers. Four of them were shaking out large jugs of clear liquid over our bikes. The smell immediately confirmed that it was gasoline.

  We opened fire on the four men as they ducked back to their cars. One of them was hit in the shoulder as he reached the back door of the first car, and his friends pulled him inside as the car started forward.

  Another of them caught a bullet in the back of the head and tumbled forward, his face bouncing off the trunk of the second car. It left a bloody smear as he slumped to the ground lifelessly. The car accelerated, following the first one as it pulled away from the Nest.

  The third and fourth men made it to the safety of the last car in time, slamming the rear doors behind them. A man leaned out of the back window as the car lurched forward after the other two. I recognized him as Tommy Bone-Saw, the Bonaccorsos' favorite enforcer. With bullets from our guns flying around his head, he produced a Molotov cocktail, lit it, and hurled it at the row of bikes. A shot from my .38 grazed his ear and he yowled with pain, pulling his head back into the car as it sped away.

  The bottle shattered and the flames instantly consumed the bikes as we all watched in horror. Rubber tires burst and melted. Leather seats crackled. Coats of paint were reduced to charcoal. Smoke billowed into the sky.

  My beautiful Lola was burning. Just watching her in flames made my guts feel like they were being squeezed in a fist. After everything we'd been through together, all the repairs I'd made to her after the chases and crashes, I had always believed we'd be together forever.

  Bard grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me hard, snapping me out of it. “Get the cleaning buckets inside! Get water!”

  I ran back into the Nest as three Reapers came out holding fire extinguishers. They blasted the bikes with white foam, trying to control the blaze. I could see that it wouldn't be enough. Boomer had already filled the big yellow bucket that came with the mop in the supply closet. He was carrying it back, cradling it against his chest as the water slopped over into the floor.

  I ran to the supply closet and found two more buckets. I handed one to a dazed-looking prospect. He looked like he'd never seen a fire in person before. “Here, fill this up at the bar and go toss it on the fire.”

  He took the bucket, looking at it uncertainly. “Okay, umm...then what should I do?”

  “Come back and do it again! Jesus!” I yelled, running my own bucket into the bathroom. I filled it in the sink, cursing the water for flowing so slowly. When the bucket was finally full, I carried it out to the sidewalk and splashed it on the remaining flames. Other Reapers had taken the trash cans from all of the rooms in the Nest, and they were pouring more water over the fire.

  A crowd of people had gathered in front of the Nest to watch the excitement. Some were homeless, while others looked like they were students at the nearby university. Many of the younger ones were using their phones to either call 9-1-1 or shoot video of the fire. I saw a middle-aged black man wearing an old brown suit and a bow tie. He held a folded newspaper under his arm, and his eyes were wide as he surveyed the damage the flames had done.

  We finally managed to get the fire under control just as the police cars and fire trucks pulled up.

  “It seems that Giovanni is unhappy about Growler's early release,” Bard said. His tone was mild, but he was staring forlornly at the blackened heap that used to be his Black Shadow.

  “Fuck,” I hissed. “Now we've got a shoot-out, three dead guys, and a fire to explain to the cops, plus the chopped up Growler in the back. We're not getting out of this one. They've done it. The goddamn Bonaccorsos have finally screwed us.”

  “Maybe not,” Bard answered. “Give me a moment.” He slipped back into the Nest, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and dialing it.

  Unless you've got God's direct number saved on that thing, we're officially fucked, I thought. The cops were already lining Reapers up and asking what happened as the firemen made sure the bikes were really done burning.

  When they ask what this is all about, what the hell am I supposed to tell them? “Gee, officer, a bunch of kids just came by and torched our bikes. Proba
bly some kind of prank, right? What? What bodies? Oh, you mean those bodies with all the bullets in them? That's funny, I don't remember seeing them there before. What's that? I have the right to remain silent?”

  A few minutes later, an unmarked police car pulled up. The driver's-side door opened and a cadaverous-looking man with close-cropped gray hair stepped out. He wore an expensive suit, and he had a long scar over his right eye. It took me a moment to recognize him since I'd only seen his picture in the newspapers before, and he'd been wearing his uniform in every photo.

  It was Hollis Grady, the Deputy Superintendent of Police.

  He strode over to the lieutenant in charge and spoke with him for several minutes. The lieutenant was clearly confused and angry about what he was being told, but Grady seemed to hold his ground. Finally, the lieutenant threw his hands in the air in a gesture of helpless fury and stomped away, ordering the other cops to return to their cars. Slowly, the uniformed cops broke up the crowd of bystanders and withdrew from the crime scene, their patrol cars pulling away one by one. The firemen did one last check to make sure the fire wouldn't start up again, and then they drove away too.