by V Vee
“Can we go to the hospital now, please? You’re having my baby,” Andrew said, his voice filled with amusement, love, and annoyance.
I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
I placed the hand saw and turned to walk away, but not before throwing a final goodbye to corpse in the chair. The one who’d just found out what happened when someone tried to fuck with me and mine.
“Rot in hell, Daddy.”
Then I walked out, head high, back straight, and labor pains surging through me. But it didn’t matter. I was the Bitch of Baltimore. The Boss.
The Irishman’s wife.
Whoever said that the second time you went into labor it was easier was a bold-faced liar and I would love to meet them outside to have a “conversation” with them. Just as soon as I pushed Andrew’s big-headed baby out of my cooter. I grit my teeth as another wave of pain crashed over me. I clutched the railings of the bed and tried not to think about the effects this labor was having on my body. Tried not to think of the way my vagina was stretching so that this little girl could be born. I especially didn’t want to think about the blood.
Fuck. And now that was all I could think about.
“Okay Mrs. McCarthy, only a few more pushes to go!” The doctor encouraged and I bared my teeth at him.
“So how about you come and do them then, asshole?” I snapped. Andrew chuckled from where he sat behind me, his legs bracketing me on either side as he “helped” me push.
Fuck kind of nonsense was that anyway? No one was helping me push that baby out of my mother fucking but me. Andrew just chose to sit behind me so that I couldn’t punch him in his goddamn face when the pain got to be too bad.
“And what the fuck are you laughing about?” I asked him angrily, not having the energy to look at him over my shoulder, so I pointed at him instead. “This is all your fucking fault. ‘Come on baby. Gimme that juicy pussy. Gimme another baby. You look so hot when you got my seed growing inside of you’,” I mocked him. “Next time you’re doing this, you hear me?”
I hissed and bore down when the next contraction wrapped itself around the middle of my stomach and around my lower back.
“You always say that,” Andrew teased me.
“Always say that, my. Ass,” I groaned. “I have never said that.”
I was thankful when neither the doctor, nor Andrew responded to me. I was pretty sure I might have said something to that same effect when I’d given birth to the twins, but I was in way too much pain to remember what the hell I’d said almost a year earlier. Fucking hell, AJ and Andrea were only eleven months old, not even a full twelve months and I was having another kid? What the hell had I been thinking?
“You can do it baby. You’re so strong. So amazing,” Andrew said in my ear. “I have seen you do some awesome things baby, but bringing new life into the world? Having my baby? That’s truly incredible.”
I elbowed him in the gut, wincing at the firmness behind me but delighting when he released a grunt of pain.
“This is not the time for you to be trying to sweet talk me, An. Drew,” I huffed in pain. “I meant what I said. This is the last one. The. Last. One.”
“And this is the last one, Kyra. Come on, one last final, big push!” The doctor said in a friendly, but firm tone.
I nodded and leaned forward, grabbing onto my knees and calling up on the strength of my ancestors, my mother who’d been murdered by the man she loved, my grandmother who had been killed by my sister, Harper who had given birth as a teenager, Michele who had given birth on the side of the road with only Manus to help her, Nia who had almost died in childbirth, and every other woman past, present, and future, I screamed bloody murder as my body did something miraculous and delivered my newborn daughter into the doctor’s waiting hands.
“Here she is mom and dad,” the doctor informed us with a smile, as they wrapped my daughter, Vivianna, in a blanket, and placed her in my arms. Andrew wrapped his own around the both of us and buried his face in the side of my neck.
“What’s her name?” He asked in a gentle tone.
I inhaled and smiled brilliantly.
“Vivianna McCarthy,” I said.
“Welcome to the world, little girl,” Andrew breathed.
I inhaled deeply and sat back, resting in the embrace of the man I loved, holding our newborn daughter, and watching her carefully as a love that was unmatched by anything else flooded my entire being. As I stroked her tiny fingers, tears burned my eyes and stopped my heart when she held my index finger in a strong grip.
I had killed my father, a man who deserved to meet death in the harshest, most violent way possible, just hours earlier. Then I’d given birth to the most beautiful girl—next to her sister, Andrea—in all of creation.
To take a life before turning around and bringing a new one into the world. That was something only I could do.
Kyra Barham-McCarthy.
The Boss of Baltimore.
Woman.
The End… sorta…
Okay you guys… you know me… there’s an epilogue, but it ends on a cliffhanger. You could stop here and be satisfied, or you can read on. Your choice. But you have been warned!
-Vee
Epilogue
Kyra- K-Love
Two Months Later
I stared down at the stick in my hands and growled.
The bastard had done it again.
I was going to kick his mother fucking ass.
“Andrew! You big, fertile, Irish bastard!” I screamed from the bathroom in the hallway, just off his office.
I heard his pleased, smirky, laughter and wanted to go and punch it off his face. But I knew it would only be to save face. I wasn’t upset about being pregnant again. I loved all three of my children, and knowing I was having another one only made me happier than I already was.
Even with my sister Charlene still out there wreaking havoc and trying to destroy my life, especially in light of the fact that I’d killed our father, and taken away a major source of information and funds from her…
I was looking forward to giving the world the gift of another Kyra-Andrew mix.
And I also knew it was only a matter of time before we found Charlene and put her in the ground.
Maybe I could kill her and give birth on the same day. It certainly seemed to work out well the last time.
When a smile that some would call malicious, or diabolical, menacing, or evil, I turned off the light in the bathroom and headed to my husband’s office where our children were spending time with their daddy.
Life was good.
Andrew- The Irishman
I stared at Carrick in surprise.
“You’re an O’Sullivan?”
He nodded sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck.
“I’m not really proud of that,” he said with a shrug.
I sat back in my chair, steepling my fingers in front of my lips.
“So why didn’t you tell me before? And why tell me now?”
Carrick shrugged.
“It’s not easy to be a member of Clan McCarthy, especially when you’re related to the prominent Irish family who has been trying to take down the Irish mobs in all the known world… but only so they could take over.”
I nodded. Everyone knew the O’Sullivan Clan was involved in a number of underhanded, shady dealings, while at the same time touting about honesty, legality, and cracking down on criminal organizations in the country. I’d long suspected that the fuckers were only say such things so they could take over, but to find out that I was right?
It made me want to wipe the family out even more.
But the O’Sullivans had better connections in government than I did. Which was saying something.
“So why tell me now?” I asked him again.
“I um… found out something the last time my father summoned me home to participate in family dinner,” Carrick said, passing over a photo.
I took it from him with a frown, and what I saw made m
e curse.
There she was, in the middle of the rest of the O’Sullivan family.
My wife’s sister.
Charlene.
“Mother fucker.”
Nia- The Untouchable, Formerly The Baby
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my towel around myself. I listened out for Carrick Junior who was asleep in the bedroom. Ever since I’d found out that Andrew had seen our “uncle” Cormac, I’d been on edge. I’d found out exactly how Andrew and Kyra had felt when her father and sister had been threatening my nieces and nephew. A fierce, overprotectiveness had come over me. I was ready to decapitate anyone who even looked at my child the wrong way. What would I do to someone who tried to take him from me?
The smell of burning flesh was an aphrodisiac to Carrick and me. And I’d been meaning to have another baby.
I stepped out into the bedroom and froze with a gasp at the sight before me.
There was Cormac, sitting on the bed I shared with my husband, holding the baby I’d created with said husband.
Stroking his head.
“You have been a naughty girl, Niamh,” he said softly, sliding his finger down CJ’s face. I took a step forward but came to an abrupt halt when he quickly flicked out a knife and waved it back and forth in front of me.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he tsked. “You wouldn’t want me to slit your baby’s throat before I took you back with me, would you?”
I swallowed back the scream of terror that threatened to explode from my body, my heart being torn in two.
“Mac, please,” I pleaded, using his nickname. The one he’d always demanded I called him when he brutally violated me.
“Do you know how long I have been looking for you, Niamh?” Cormac asked, as he placed CJ back in the haven of pillows I’d placed him in, and sliding a short sword out from beneath them… Where the fuck had that come from? “Do you know what it looks like when I, the head of the Taboo Love International Organization, cannot keep my bride in line? Do you know how much time and money you have cost me? How many men have died looking for your black ass?” His accent had thickened as he spoke, the Irish brogue reminding me so much of my brothers… of my father… that I wanted to cry. But I’d always wanted to cry when I was around Cormac. But I stopped letting any tears fall after that first time.
He liked it when I cried. He would lick the tears off my cheeks.
Sick bastard.
“You have to pay for what you cost me, Niamh. For what I’ve lost.”
I hated it when he said my name. The name so lovingly given to me by my parents when they’d adopted me, had become tainted. Corrupted. Filthy. Whispered by the sick, evil lips of a man who’d promised my father he would look out for me. I now hated my given name and insisted that everyone call me “Nia.”
Because of him.
Because of this man.
“I have money, Mac. I swear. Let me just ask Andrew, or my husband. I can ask him for the money. He’s an O’Sullivan, he has a ton of disposable money,” I begged, backing away as Cormac approached me menacingly, his sword still in his hand.
Cormac laughed before he bum rushed me and slammed me against the wall, his hand around my throat.
“Who the fuck do you think told me where you lived? The O’Sullivans sent me. And Mrs. O’Sullivan? She told me to tell you, hello,” Cormac growled, before ramming the sword in the left side of my chest, right between the top bones of my ribcage.
I gasped as pain exploded in my body, blood filling my lungs, the tip of the blade imbedded in the wall behind me. I could feel my life draining away, but not fast enough for me to not feel the press of Cormac’s mouth against my own.
“Your debt has been repaid, Niamh. Enjoy hell with your parents. I know I enjoyed sending them there.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I heard Cormac’s retreating footsteps. CJ began to cry, and I did all I could, fought as hard as I could to comfort my little boy. To not be dead, trapped against the wall, when Carrick got home.
To not be another casualty in a war that was started long before any of us had been born, and one I wasn’t sure Clan McCarthy would survive.
But the darkness overtook me, and I knew nothing.
The End
About The Author
You Can’t Spell Love Without V
V. Vee is just another one of the pennames of International Bestselling and Award-Winning author V. A. Bailey who also writes under the names: Vicktor Alexander, Veronica Victorian, V. Alex, Leyah, ShaKira, Alexandra Bailey, and Vee Bailey. One of 9 different pennames used by the author, V. Vee is the one dedicated to bringing to life the love between men and women in interracial, multicultural, and non-traditional relationships. From princes falling in love with women of different classes and races, to women in power falling in love with the men committed to serving them, V. Vee is sure to live up to the creed: Mixing sexiness, romance, and equality to create true love.
A single parent, disabled veteran, and a child of veterans, V. Vee has lived all over the US nation, and even Cuba, but dreams of one day returning to either New York or California…if Boston doesn’t work out. Any place is fine as long as it’s not Florida. V. Vee loves to hear from readers and is completely open to hearing about the single brother you have who may be bisexual, or gay, or the family member who is trans, or a veteran, or how you want to be an author someday. Just be sure to label the email appropriately, it’s embarrassing to offer writing advice to potential husbands.
Really. It is.
Website: http://vveetheauthor.wordpress.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/VVeeB
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/VVeeVAlex
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Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/vveeauthor
Email: [email protected]
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