THE BABY OATH: Anarchy’s Reign MC

by Sophia Gray

  But in those fantasies, she was married to the baby's father, and her life was stable and sunny. In real life, she was involved in a conspiracy to defraud her own father, and she was about to run off into a perilous and uncertain future with a wandering con man.

  The circumstances were hardly ideal.

  And when she told Brock, what then? Given the choices he'd made in life, she had a hard time believing he'd be delighted by the news. It was unlikely that someone who made a living roaming the country and scamming people would be eager to settle down and start a family. What if he decided to leave her behind once the con was over?

  She thought of the look in his eyes when he'd told her that he came from a background that was similar to hers. She wished she had pressed him for more information. It would make it easier for her to believe that he really would take her away from all this, even if he knew she were...

  God, could she even bear to think the word, let alone say it?

  ...pregnant. Even if he knew she were pregnant.

  Stop being silly, she chided herself. Even you don't know you're pregnant. Not really. The signs seem to point to “yes,” but plenty of other women have probably been wrong before.

  For her part of the plot against her father, Maggie would have to sneak out of the house anyway. Not easy, but not wholly impossible, either—she'd managed it a time or two, when it was important. Before she went to the address Brock had written down for her, she could duck into a drugstore and buy a pregnancy test.

  Then she'd be sure. Then she could tell him, if she needed to.

  Maggie washed her mouth out, splashed some cold water on her face, and returned to her bedroom. As she passed her parents' room, her mother glared out at her for a moment before slamming the door.

  She got back into bed, picked up the book, and stared at the words on the pages without reading them.

  Chapter 27

  Brock

  Brock stood on the waterfront at the end of St. Peter Street, watching the steamboats paddle back and forth in the Mississippi River.

  He wondered if he'd ever be able to visit New Orleans again once this con was over. He supposed he might not, and the thought made him sad as he remembered all of the trips his family had taken to The Big Easy when he was a kid. Since then, he'd seen just about every city America had to offer. Some were beautiful, some were thrilling, some were dangerous—but none of them had ever seduced him the way New Orleans had, with its jazz and voodoo and tall tales. To him, it would always be the most magical place in the world.

  But as long as he had Maggie with him wherever he went, he figured he could still be happy.

  Crack was positioned at Brock's right side, and when Brock saw him shift his considerable weight, he turned and saw Turo and Adamo walking toward them. Turo was still disheveled, but he didn't look confused and unfocused anymore.

  If anything, he looked pissed as hell.

  I don't like that, Brock thought. Whatever gave him that look, it definitely wasn't part of the plan. And this is too late a stage to start dealing with surprises.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” Brock said. “I have news.”

  “Oh? And what might that be? Some new complication that will require me to blindly hand over even more of my money?”

  Well, that didn't sound good, for starters.

  Brock frowned, trying to look confused. “I'm not sure why you would say something like that, but no. I heard from the Burmese militia members last night. They've released my father. He's finally coming home.”

  “I'm so happy for you,” Turo replied in a steely voice.

  Brock slowly allowed his expression to shift from confusion to irritation. “There's a tone in your voice that I'm having some trouble deciphering, Turo. Have I done something to upset you?”

  “Several nights ago, my wife saw you sneaking out of Maggie's bedroom.”

  Shit.

  Brock hoped Turo's cell phone would ring soon. He felt like it already should have happened, but he couldn't risk checking the time to be sure.

  “Don't try to deny it,” Turo continued. “I should have been suspicious when you insisted on spending a few hours alone with her after your first date, but after the shoot-out with the bikers, I was too turned-around to think anything of it. You seemed like such a gentleman, a man of honor. And now my wife tells me she's heard Maggie getting sick in the mornings. You've betrayed me and defiled my daughter, you lousy, filthy Judas.”

  Brock's mind raced. It was bad enough that Turo had found out about them. But could Maggie really be pregnant?

  Of course she could, shithead, his mind answered. You didn't wear a condom, remember? You took Sex Ed in high school. You knew what could happen, and you went charging in anyway.

  Please, God, let Turo's cell phone ring. Now. Right now. Please, please, please.

  “Don Ricci...you're right,” Brock said, trying to sound humble and contrite. “I won't deny it. I've had an inappropriate relationship with Margherita behind your back, and your anger is entirely justified. But you must believe me when I tell you this hasn't been some meaningless fling for me. I'm in love with your daughter, sir, and that's the truth. Now that this business with my father is over, I want to marry her. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. And if she is, indeed, with child, I will dedicate my life to making sure your grandchild is the happiest and most beloved kid in the entire world.”

  Brock couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Turo's eyes soften, just a little. Before he could say anything else, Turo's phone chirped. He checked the caller ID, but Brock already knew what it would show him: “UNKNOWN CALLER.”

  Turo answered, putting the phone to his ear. “Whoever you are, you're not supposed to have this number.”

  He listened for a moment.

  Then his eyes bulged in terror, and his jaw went slack.

  “Yes,” Turo whispered hoarsely. “Yes, he's with me.” After another moment, he lowered the phone, staring at Brock. “They know you're here. They want me to put them on speakerphone. They...Jesus, they say they've got Maggie.”

  Brock allowed all the breath to leave his body, adopting the expression of someone who'd been punched in the chest. Inwardly, he celebrated. The call had come at just the right moment.

  Turo hit the button on the phone, holding it out in front of him.

  “Who is this?” Brock asked.

  A high, reedy voice with a clipped Asian accent emanated from the phone. “This is Commander Bogyoke of the Kokang Independence Army, Mr. De Luca. Surely, you remember me from our discussions regarding your father.”

  “What is this?” Brock demanded. “I paid your ransom, and you've released him. Our business is concluded.”

  “Perhaps,” the voice admitted, sounding amused. “Perhaps it has. But once we became aware that Mr. Ricci was the one holding the abundant purse strings which secured your father's freedom, we decided that our business with him had just begun. So I have traveled to New Orleans with several of my officers, and now we have Ricci's daughter in our possession.”

  “Bullshit,” Brock snapped. “I know how your organization operates, bluffing big and shaking people down with your terrorist tactics. I'm really supposed to believe you dirty jungle bastards traveled over a thousand miles across the world just to grab some girl for ransom?”

  Bogyoke laughed. “We have managed to fight back against the full force of the Burmese government and their military for over a decade without being captured or killed, Mr. De Luca, despite being dramatically outmanned and outgunned. Do you truly believe it is beyond our capabilities to purchase a couple of airplane tickets to Louisiana?”

  “Fine, then prove it. Put her on the phone.”

  “Very well.”

  There was a pause, and then Maggie's voice came through the phone. She was sniffling and sobbing, and her voice was ragged with panic. “Dad? Gabe? Can you hear me?”

  Brock tried to look shocked and horrified, noting Turo's expression as
he did. Turo's eyes were full of tears, and the muscles in his face sagged. His face was as white as his hair.

  “No,” he whined. “Not my baby, please. Not my only child.”

  “We're here, Maggie.” Brock tried to put a heroic, take-charge edge in his voice. “Can you tell us where you are?”

  “They...they have a blindfold on me, and...God, they've hurt me so bad...they keep hitting me, and they broke two of my fingers...they...they say if you don't pay them, they're gonna...do things to me...I'm so scared, I've never been so scared, please, get me out of here...”

  Bravura performance, Brock thought. This girl's a natural. Maybe once this is all over, she'll make a good con artist. He felt a sudden burst of newfound pride and affection. She was beautiful, she was smitten with him, she was dynamite in the sack...but best of all, she was smart.

  “We'll get you out of there, sweetheart,” Turo insisted. “I promise, whatever it takes, we won't let them hurt you anymore.”

  Bogyoke spoke again. “The price is fifteen million American dollars. You will meet us in Metairie Cemetery tonight at ten o'clock, in the mausoleum marked with the name 'Fournier.' Only you and Mr. De Luca are invited, and you are both to come unarmed. If any of these instructions are not followed, the girl will be made to suffer a series of unspeakable violations before she dies. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes,” Brock said. “We understand. We'll be there.”

  “I'd like to hear it from Mr. Ricci, too, if you don't mind.”

  “Of course.” Turo was weeping openly now. “Anything. Just please don't hurt my little girl.”

  There was a click, and the line went dead.

  “You're not going in there without me,” Adamo said immediately.

  “Look, I know you're a tough guy,” Brock assured him. “No one's disputing that. But you heard what they said. If they see someone else with us, the deal is off. Bogyoke wasn't fooling around when he said his rebels have been fighting the army in Myanmar for years. These aren't a bunch of goombahs in silk shirts we're dealing with. They're hardened soldiers. They don't value life, not even their own.” He turned to Turo. “Can you get the cash together in time?”

  “I suppose I can,” Turo replied in a small voice. “But after the fifteen million I've already paid...I'll have to use everything I've got. All my savings, all my businesses, all the money the crews who work for me have brought in, everything I own. My entire operation will be ruined. I'll have nothing left. Nothing.”

  “We can't worry about that right now. The only thing that's important is making sure Maggie is safe. After that, my family can keep yours afloat until the heroin shipments start coming in. With everything you've done for us, it's the least we can do.”

  “I can set up a sniper rifle nearby,” Adamo said. “Fire at them from cover.”

  “You're not listening,” said Brock. “These are jungle commandos we're up against, trained in guerrilla tactics from the time they can crawl. Whatever you can think of, believe me, they've already thought of it.” He addressed Turo again. “As long as we do what they say, everything should turn out fine. Just meet me outside the gates of the Metairie Cemetery a few minutes before ten. Make sure you bring the full amount, because that's the first thing they'll check. I promise you, Turo...we'll get your daughter back.”

  The look of pathetic gratitude on Turo's face was almost enough to make Brock feel sorry for him.

  Almost.

  Chapter 28

  Brock

  Brock gave the secret knock, and Maggie let him into the warehouse, smiling. “How'd I do?”

  “You were perfect.” He kissed her, ignoring the dirty looks from the bikers behind her. “Are you sure you never worked a con before? Because seriously, wow. I'm in on it, and you almost convinced me!”

  She laughed. “Come in. Everyone's getting ready for the big finale.”

  Brock followed her inside. Hammer was in his black commando gear again, except the skull mask had been replaced with a balaclava. Brock leaned in to inspect Hammer's face and saw that his skin had been painted an olive hue, and his eyes had been given a vague almond shape.

  “Nice,” Brock commented. “As long as the mask stays on, it should fool Turo.”

  “I wasn't exactly planning on whipping it off in the middle of the deal,” Hammer grunted. Clearly, he was still angry. It didn't surprise Brock, but it still stung.

  A few feet away, Ben worked on Greg's makeup. He'd fitted a convincing bald cap and added a long scar to Greg's face, and he was in the process of applying a short gray Fu Manchu mustache. Greg wore a camo ensemble.

  “Not very subtle, is it?” Brock asked.

  “A guy like Turo's probably only seen rebels from Southeast Asia in movies,” Ben pointed out. “We want to make sure he sees exactly what he expects to see.”

  Brock addressed the room. “So, is everyone clear on the plan?”

  “You and Turo get to the mausoleum at ten,” Hammer said. “I frisk you both to make sure Turo's really unarmed, and then I inspect the money.”

  “Meanwhile, I get to do the damsel-in-distress bit,” Maggie chimed in.

  “Then I pull a double-cross and say I won't release her after all.” Greg looked into a mirror, examining his makeup.

  “At which point, I snatch Hammer's gun away, take you both out, grab Maggie, and tell Turo to make a run for it,” said Brock. “We split up. Splinter and Cobra fire off some blanks to spook him into running faster, and by the time he figures he's safe and tries to rendezvous with us, we'll be long gone.”

  Robby stood against the wall with his arms folded.

  “You seem pretty quiet all of a sudden,” Brock commented. “No yelling about how the plan is fucked, I'm an asshole who can't be trusted, and you can't believe you're still involved?”

  “I guess I ran out of things to say.”

  Brock raised an eyebrow, then walked over to Ben and spoke to him quietly. “Do you have that other thing I asked about?”

  Ben slipped him a pair of cufflinks. “It's the left one. I tested it, and it should work fine.”

  “Good. Thanks.” He turned to Maggie. “There's an office at the back of the warehouse, near the bathroom. Can I talk to you alone for a sec?”

  Maggie nodded, and they walked into the office.

  Chapter 29

  Maggie

  “You wouldn't happen to be pregnant, by any chance, would you?”

  Maggie's eyes widened. She'd taken the pregnancy test right after they'd made the call to her father, and it had been positive. In her head, she'd been rehearsing what to say to Brock for almost an hour, imagining every possible reaction from him and trying to decide how she'd respond to each one. For her, the most farfetched outcome seemed to be the one in which he'd react with joy.

  But she certainly hadn't expected him to bring it up first, and now that he had, all of her planned discussions had run away from her. She felt like a rabbit in headlights.

  “How did you know?”

  “Your mother saw you sneak me out of the house. And Turo said they've heard you getting sick in the mornings. He gave me a pretty rough time about it.”

  “So that's why they've been looking at me like that,” Maggie sighed. “That makes sense. Okay. Is this the part where you tell me you can't deal with having a baby around, and you won't be taking me with you when this is over?”

  Brock cradled her face in his hands tenderly. “This is the part where I tell you I'd never leave you behind to deal with the fallout after what we're about to do to Turo. It's the part where I tell you we belong together, no matter what. And if there's a baby, well, we'll just have to make sure we do a better job raising him than our parents did with us.”

  “Or her,” Maggie whispered.

  Brock grinned. “Or her.”

  “I love you, Brock.” She felt warm tears spill down her cheeks.

  He kissed her again. “I love you, too.”

  Maggie clung to Brock like ivy embracing a w
all, trying to find every nook and crease that would allow her to take root in him so they could become an inseparable whole. He held her tight and she felt strength and comfort in his arms, radiating from him, saturating every cell in her body with the unspoken promise of happiness and safety.

  They both sank to the floor as one, their hands exploring each other's bodies eagerly. The carpeting in the office was cheap, ragged, and dusty, but Maggie didn't care. She lowered herself onto her back and pulled Brock on top of her, spreading her legs so he could lie between them. He reached up to brush some strands of hair out of her face and then he was kissing her again, sucking on her tongue gently but insistently.