I pull Amara into my arms and hold her, rubbing my hand against her back in a soothing manner. I can tell she tenses up, not sure of what to do, how to react. But after a few minutes she relaxes. I only hope the woman can see a friend in me. Not always, but for now. I’m not the type of bastard who wants to be friend zoned.
“I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t want to feel like this.” She cries out. It’s agonizing. Amara is reminding me of someone who’s losing a loved one. I’ve never been able to be someone who understands pain but seeing it in my embrace . . . it wrecks me.
Pain is loss.
Pain is losing something you thought you’d never love.
Pain is losing a part of yourself, whether it be a lover, or a child.
Pain is when your soul is ripped in two, never to be the same again.
But most of all, pain is the one thing I never want to see come from this woman ever again. She’s made her decision, and I’ll support her in it . . . but I’ll do my best to ensure she never feels this type of hurt ever again.
For the first time in my life, I see more than a simple sexual conquest with a woman. I don’t know what the difference is right now, or why she’s the unique one. But Eduardo was right when he called me a manwhore. It’s what I was. I was a fool, a man who’d go around to the clubs and swing his dick around for the hell of it.
I’m just not that man anymore. I’m at the point in my life where life has to mean something.
Chapter Twelve
As the legend goes, when the Phoenix resurrects from the flames, she is more beautiful than before
~ Danielle LaPorte
Amara
What am I even doing? Leaning against a man I barely know, crying my heart out against his shirt. I barely recognize myself. Time is turning me into a woman I don’t know anymore. I was strong before, a relentless vixen who should never be fucked with. If anyone dared to try, I’d put a bullet between their eyes without even giving it a second thought.
Now . . . I can hardly hold my emotions inside. I’ve never been the type to spill my thoughts and feelings out to whomever would listen. I knew those type of girls, but I certainly wasn’t one of them. I know the last year has affected me, but I never thought it would in this way. If I’m being honest, the thought of being rescued became a dream. Something I never thought would happen. It was a mere figment of my imagination. I had accepted the fact it wouldn’t happen. I’d prepared myself for dying in that fucking cage. What I didn’t prepare myself for was getting out.
There was so much time spent thinking about when I died, I never once thought what if I lived. Now here I am, on the other side of those iron bars . . . breathing fresh air, feeling the sun on my skin for the last few hours until it had set. The painful reality of my freedom is at times too much to bear. I struggle with it, maybe even more than I should be. I break down into bouts of tears, allowing every emotion to exit my system, only for it to keep coming in the most random of moments.
I’ve spent the past couple days keeping to myself, adjusting to this new normal so to speak . . . but here I am, breaking down in the arms of this man. One of the few people to show me kindness since my capture. He’s spoken to me like a woman, acting as though I’m not a victim which I appreciate more than he could possibly know. When he looks at me, he doesn’t soften his features like the others do. At times he’s rolled his eyes, appeared to be displeased and it’s refreshing. I want to be treated as an equal, not someone who’s less. Not someone who’s being pitied. This man has even gone as far as to help me find a perfect family for this little one. I will never be able to truly express the amount of gratitude I hold in my heart.
“You love her. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel everything you’re feeling.” Dante continues to soothe me, holding me close. He rubs his hand on my back in a circular motion while his other cradles my head against his chest, running his fingers against my temple.
“This may sound awful, but I thought I’d hate her. I thought . . . after everything he did, I’d project it onto her . . . but one day I just wanted to protect her from his clutches. Now that he’s gone and I’m out of that wretched place . . . the only person I want to protect her from is myself.” I cry, breathing heavily as the words become even more difficult to say.
“Amara, I don’t know you very well, but I think that’s an awful thing to say. Even though you’re giving her up for adoption, you will always be her mother. You’re gonna be the first person to ever stand up for this child, to put her needs above your own. Fuck, you’ve already done it. I don’t see why she’d need protection from the one who’s been fighting for her. If you ask me, you’re her guardian angel.”
I glance up to Dante’s icy blue eyes and see this man isn’t bullshitting me. My mother always taught us that eyes are windows to our souls, and unless Dante is a master at deception, his words are as genuine as they come.
I begin to feel a strong pressure, almost like a hand is being pushed against my back. It slowly ventures around to the front of my stomach. I’ve been having this pressure for the last few hours, but it’s been a while since I had a back spasm. They hurt so badly, and it completely knocks the wind out of me. Thankfully, I haven’t been standing up when they strike me. I played soccer in high school and sustained an injury to my L5 in my lower back. The option was surgery or going the holistic route like visiting the chiropractor, so I opted for that.
Actually, the pain started last night when I was trying to sleep. I was so tired and finally caught a little cat nap out on this lounge chair. Out of nowhere the pain grows exponentially worse and I can’t hold back my grimace. “Amara, are you alright?”
I bite my bottom lip, shut my eyes and nod my head. “Yeah, it’s just a back spasm. I used to get them all the time. It’s a long story, but I hurt my back when I was a teenager.”
“Okay . . . will it pass, or?”
“It’ll pass. They always do. I just need to give it a couple minutes. I must’ve twisted my back last night or something in my sleep. They’ve been getting worse and more frequent . . . god. Sucks I can’t take anything for them either.”
I open my eyes and see Dante focused on me. He seems worried. “What’s the matter with you?” I ask, not liking his expression.
“Are you sure this is a back spasm? The doctor said you could go into labor at any time. This could be—”
“I seriously doubt I’m in labor.” I immediately shut down his theory. If I was in labor my water would’ve broken. It would’ve been a nasty, disgusting mess like it is in the movies. That hasn’t happened, so I’m fine.
Or at least I don’t think it happened. Suddenly every thought of doubt comes rushing to my mind. How would I even know if it happened? It’s not like I ever read that book like all the other upcoming mothers do. I didn’t go to Lamaze class or have luncheon dates with other pregnant mothers to talk about our experiences. I never had the opportunity to see a physician until a couple days ago, and the mere shock of everything clouded the few things I should’ve asked questions about.
My immediate shut down of his suggestion begins to turn to worry, and most of all, fear. “Dante, I don’t know if you’re right . . . but I think you might be.” I confess, feeling my chest get heavy with anxiousness.
He rubs my back like he’d been doing for so long, “Okay. I’m going to get on the phone and call one of the doctors we have on call. She works for my familia. We’re going to sort this out.”
“Alright.” I mutter in response, staring at the ground.
Dante releases me, rises from the lounger, and starts to walk away as he pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Wait. Dante!” I glance up, keeping my eyes trained on him. The moment he turns back to look at me I’m speaking again. “Don’t leave. Please. I just. Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere, mi reyna. I’ll be right here.”
Chapter Thirteen
The world is full of monsters with friendly faces and angel
s full of scars
~ Unknown
Dante
I stand on the corner of the concrete patio and tell her I’ll be right here, but the fear in her voice is evident. She’s terrified to go through this alone. Normally women go to classes that teach them how to go through labor, or at least that’s what I thought they did. Her lack of knowledge is appearing as fear, and it’s not her fault. Fuck, if that Lucien guy hadn’t offed himself, I would love to make him suffer for the terror she’s feeling.
With my cell in hand I call my father, not sure who the doctor on call for the Cartel is in this area. We have one physician in every state, which can sometimes be a great thing, but other times they’re too far away to make a difference. The ringing sound on the other end fills my ears until it goes to his voicemail.
If he were around, he’d answer.
I call him again, and again until I’ve now called him three times and it’s gone straight to voicemail yet again. Instead of halting my efforts I text him.
To: Father
Amara is going into labor. Who is the doctor here?
If she were going to keep the child, I could take her to the local hospital . . . but I can’t do that. Not since she’s going to give the baby up. I’m able to have the documentation altered to say Yolanda and Manuel are the parents of the child, and that it was delivered by a Cartel physician . . . but if we were to go to the hospital the birth certificate would have Amara’s name. She wouldn’t be able to give the baby up like she’s decided.
I try to figure out some sort of plan, but I come up empty every time. She has to stay here. If she wants this child to grow up with normal parents, she doesn’t have a choice. I want to be able to take her to the hospital, to at least get the medical care she deserves . . . but if I do it’ll alter everything she’s clearly stated she wants.
I stare at my phone and wait to see the three little dots appear, but nothing does. Fuck. I don’t know what’s going on, but this is the worst timing for him to be out of reach. I turn back and face Amara, walking steadily over to her and take a seat on the lounge chair beside her. I take her hands in mine and look her directly in the eyes. “I’m not going to lie to you. Okay?”
“Oh God. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t get in contact with my father. We have a physician assigned to every state for the familia and Cartel. I don’t know who’s assigned to this territory, so I called my father. I texted him as well and have gotten no response so far.”
“What does that mean?” Amara asks, the worry showing through her expression.
“It means he’s out of reach, and most of all it means we have two options here. We can—”
Amara lets out a blood curdling scream, she rips her hand from my grip and holds her stomach. Her brows furrow together in pain and her nostrils flare as she tries to breathe. She moans for a few moments until she relaxes out of nowhere. Jesus. I am not qualified to deal with this.
“What are the options?” She cries while tears stream down.
I suck in a deep breath, knowing this choice will be an impossible one to make. “I can get you in one of the cars and take you to the hospital, or we can stay and you can give birth here.”
“Something must be wrong with going to the hospital. So, tell me what it is.” She instantly replies.
“If we go to the hospital they’ll already process the birth certificate. You’ll be listed as the mother and you could adopt the baby out . . . but everything would get much more difficult with the Mexican government involved.”
Amara shuts her eyes for a moment and grimaces. After a few seconds she looks right at me. “I shouldn’t have to stay here and give birth. I should be able to have this baby in a hospital, with doctors and nurses surrounding her . . . but she needs a good life. You say I have a choice Dante, but the reality is I don’t. I have to stay here, because leaving means she will be hurt. Not in a physical manner, but in her life. I want the best for her . . . so I’ll stay here with you and I’ll give birth to her . . . but please, please tell her parents she’ll be here soon.”
“Okay,” I reply, taking my phone out I text Yolanda.
To: Yolanda
Come to the house. It’s time.
Amara moans with pure agony again. This time she grabs onto my forearm and holds onto me, digging her nails into my skin. “God, this fucking hurts!” She cries.
I don’t know what the hell is going on, or why these bursts of pain are getting closer together for her. I have no fucking clue what this means.
“Do you know what you’re doing!?” She hollers, even though I’m right beside her.
“No, I don’t.” I admit, watching her eyes widen.
“For fuck’s sake, Google something!”
I dropped the phone right out of my hands from her demeanor changing. I picked my phone back up and started searching for anything I needed to know during natural birth. Within ten seconds I wish I didn’t. I learned way too much about what happens to women’s bodies, including how the delivery doesn’t end after the baby’s born. The placenta is delivered after that.
The most important things tell me I’ll need a lot of towels and a knife or something to cut the cord. But, more importantly, I’ll need something to sever the cord two inches from the baby’s stomach, the middle of it, and a few inches from the mother. Otherwise it could lead to excessive bleeding and I don’t want either of these girls to go through anything horrific.
“Amara, I need to go inside to get some things for you and the baby. I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
“I . . . I don’t want you to leave.” She turns from a raging woman in pain to the anxious woman with fear again.
“I know, but I promise you, I will be right back mi reyna.” I press my lips to the top of her head and walk away, not realizing what just happened until I’m almost through the doorway of the house. It happened so naturally . . . Jesus. I just showed affection to this woman in a way I never kissed any of my past girlfriends. Fuck, I wouldn’t even kiss them unless I had full intentions of fucking them. I was a man of passion when it came to sex, but not one of love if that makes sense.
I go in through the living room and head for the first bathroom I see, open the cupboards, and pull out as many towels as I can carry. I see a small bottle of hand sanitizer while I’m grabbing towels, so I take that with me too. Okay, now I just need something to clamp the umbilical cord. Think. Shit! What the fuck can I use?
I go into the kitchen to grab a knife and open the drawer where we keep some odds and ends. There could be rubber bands or something in here that could work. That’s when I find a pack of zip ties. God, it’s the only thing in this junk drawer that could remotely work. I somehow have a feeling like paperclips won’t do me any good.
With the towels, knife, hand sanitizer, and zip ties in hand I rush back over to her. As I approach, I see she’s no longer sitting down. Instead she’s leaning back with her legs separated and an awful grunting sound is coming from her.
Jesus. I am not ready for this.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m the only fucking thing she has right now. I place the towels at the end of the lounge chair and fumble while trying to open the bottle of sanitizer. Jesus, I need to keep my shit together. The nervousness is evident and I’m sure I’m not helping to ease her worries.
She screams even louder as I’m rubbing my hands together, quick to get rid of any germ this baby could come into contact with. “The baby’s coming!” She grits out, digging her nails into the side of the cushion.
“What?! Already?! Can’t it wait?”
“Does it look like it can fucking wait?!” She roars back, sweat beading over her face. Her hair is sticking to her like it’s glued there at this point.
I kneel down at the bottom of the lounge chair and see a full head of red hair, just like Amara’s. Wow. Holy shit. I’m really about to deliver a baby.
“Okay, you’re doing great. Keep going!” I try to be encouraging as I grab
two of the towels. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Part of me thinks this baby is going to shoot out like a football and land in my arms.
She pushes and half the baby is out at this point. “Fuck you!” She snaps back.
“Keep going, you’re almost done!” I say.
Amara grunts out, turning into loud moans. They sound so agonizing that I can practically hear her exhaustion. The baby is out and I pick it up with the towel, wrapping it up and wiping it off. There’s this nasty looking snotty stuff in its nose, so I use the towel and pinch it out and then realize it’s in its mouth too, so I wipe it away. The baby opens her mouth struggling to cry and I see there’s more, so I don’t even think about it. I don’t have any fucking tool to take whatever this is out, so I press my lips to hers and suck it out, spitting the nastiness away until she screams her little head off.
Fuck, there is a God. This little girl is okay.
I need to keep her warm. My thoughts are so scattered I’m not sure what to do next, so I clean off her body with the one towel and place her in a clean one very carefully. She’s wrapped up and held in my left arm while I fenagle the zip ties about two inches away from the baby’s stomach, in the middle and then a bit out of Amara. I make sure they’re very tight, but I’m not sure how tight they’re supposed to be. I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to cut the cord so I cut right after the two inches and pray it’s right. The baby seems fine and I look up to Amara who has her head tilted back and is staring up at the starry night.
“Amara, do you want to hold her?”
“No. I can’t. Please, just take her away. Please, Dante. I beg you. Take her away before I selfishly change my mind.” She’s crying her eyes out and all I want to do is reassure her how everything will be okay, however she doesn’t want that right now. I get to my feet and walk past her, head back into the house and spot my cousin Yolanda in the living room.
Mayhem: A Reapers MC Boxset Page 35