DON’T HURT MY BABY: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance

by Zoey Parker

  Was that what would happen with our baby, too? Would he favor one parent completely over the other? And the sex! What were we going to have, a boy or a girl? Suddenly, a wave of giddiness swept over me. I knew it was the middle of the night, but I felt awake and full of energy. Like I could run a marathon, or even something more challenging.

  “There is one matter left to discuss,” Dr. Jennings said in a smooth tone. “Are you planning to terminate the pregnancy?”

  The visions of cute, chubby Italian babies vanished from my mind, along with the sudden burst of energy. I blinked, feeling disoriented. “I’m not sure,” I said softly. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I just found out a few days ago myself, when I took a urine test at home.”

  Dr. Jennings looked at me thoughtfully. “I understand you’ll need some time to make a decision. The reading material you have will help you. But if you do decide to proceed down that path, we’ll need to schedule the appointment sooner than later. Time is definitely not on your side here, Isabella.”

  I blinked. “How soon do I need to make up my mind?”

  “Fairly soon,” Dr. Jennings replied. “The time is almost up for a medical abortion; you’d only have about another week where that would be a good idea. Then you’ll have a few more weeks to decide about whether or not to have a traditional procedure.” He looked at me over the tops of his rimless glasses.

  My mouth felt like it was full of cotton. All I could do was nod. I felt dazed, bleary, exhausted. Like I wanted to go back to sleep.

  Dr. Jennings sensed a change in my demeanor. “I’ll be leaving now,” he said softly.

  I watched as he gathered his supplies and slipped them back into his bag. When he was in the bathroom washing his hands, I sat down on Zane’s bed. My limbs flopped gracelessly on the silk sheets and I let out a long sigh.

  “Thank you,” I said shyly when Dr. Jennings had returned. He’d straightened up and he looked very much the respectable doctor once again. “I appreciate you coming out here tonight. I know it probably wasn’t much fun for you.”

  “It’s my job,” he said drily. “Will you be all right? I can prescribe you a light sedative if you need it to sleep, but I’d recommend staying away from anything heavier.”

  “Please,” I said softly. “My head is swimming right now.”

  Dr. Jennings dug in his bag and handed me a blister pack of pills. “Take half of one with a full glass of water, about ten minutes before you want to go to sleep,” he said in his calm, sedate voice. “And, Isabella, I want to be very clear with you: if you decide to continue with the pregnancy, there are a few things you’ll have to avoid.”

  I blushed, feeling like a schoolgirl. “I know I can’t drink or smoke. Or eat sushi.”

  “Caffeine is also not recommended,” Dr. Jennings said. “And your appetite will increase dramatically, but I want to encourage you to eat smarter, not just more. Gestational diabetes is rising in this country, and I wouldn’t want you to have to deal with that on top of everything else. Try snacking on avocado toast or a whole grain carb with almond butter. It’s the kind of healthy fat your body needs.”

  I nodded. “I promise I’ll take good care of the baby,” I said softly. Emotion overcame me and I found myself sniffling as Dr. Jennings got up to leave.

  “Good night, Isabella,” he said from the doorway. “Sleep well.”

  I expected Zane to barge into the room immediately but he didn’t. I got up and started pacing. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he coming to talk to me? I felt a shiver of fear run down my spine. He wasn’t going to hurt me; if he wanted to hurt me, he probably wouldn’t have called the doctor. But what was taking him so long?

  Just then, Zane burst into the room. I jumped at the shock as the door banged against the wall. Zane’s dark eyes looked menacing as he stalked towards me.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the baby?” Zane gestured towards my still-concave belly. “Why not, Isabella?” He glared at me and I cowered, pulling the sheet over my frame. “Isabella, this isn’t the kind of shit you keep to yourself!”

  “You were ignoring me!” I cried out. “You kicked me out after we spent the night together and then you never called me! What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

  Zane shook his head in disgust. “You really think that’s an acceptable excuse? It’s my fucking kid in your belly, Isabella! Most women would think, oh, gee, I should get started on contacting the father! But not you! God!” He put his hands in his dark hair and tugged it away from his scalp, causing tension lines on his tan forehead.

  “Zane, I’m sorry,” I whimpered. “I didn’t know what to do! You can’t hold that against me! You made it very clear you weren’t interested in a relationship with me.” I looked down as tears filled my eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in being a father! And besides,” I added, sniffling, “I didn’t know what I was going to do yet. I had to make a decision.”

  “What the fuck do you mean what were you going to do?” Zane roared the question at me like a fierce lion. “It’s my fucking baby, that’s what you’re going to do! This isn’t a decision to make by yourself, Isabella!”

  Tears streamed down my cheeks and my vision blurred. I knew that he was right, but I hated the fact that he was yelling at me. It was just making me feel even worse about everything.

  “Zane, I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “I just didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me! Hell, I thought you might even think I was lying! Lots of women lie about being pregnant, you know?” I glared at him through my blurry vision. “Damnit, Zane! Listen to me!”

  He sighed loudly. He sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands. “That kid is mine, Isabella. I’m not letting you get away with this shit so easily. Do you understand?”

  He looked up at me and I felt a shiver run down my spine. Whenever Zane’s dark eyes locked on my body, I felt like the two of us were alone in the world. I felt naked, raw. Open for him to see.

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said through my sobs. “I’m too upset. This has been a rough fucking night, Zane!”

  Zane shook his head. “You women are fucking unbelievable,” he snarled. “You’re all fucking alike. You just want to sneak and cheat and connive your way through life.”

  My sobs came harder. I could barely breathe from the tears and snot mixing in my sinuses. “Stop it,” I said finally. “Stop it, Zane. I’m not talking about this with you anymore. If you keep upsetting me, it’s going to harm the baby. Don’t you understand that?”

  “Jesus Christ,” Zane muttered under his breath. He got to his feet and stalked towards the door. “Fine, Isabella. You don’t wanna talk about it? Fine!” Throwing open the door, he walked into the hallway and slammed it hard behind him.

  When I was alone, I shuddered. I felt so sick, so unbelievably worthless and alone. And what was the matter with Zane? I had no idea why he was being so protective of an unborn child he wanted nothing to do with. It was a mess. And it was enough to make me sick.

  Finally, I cried myself into a thin, dreamless sleep. It was the second time I’d spent the entire night in Zane’s bed, but unlike the first night I didn’t spend hours dreaming of him. Instead, my dreams were nightmares. I dreamed I was pregnant with a demon, pregnant with something that could do an incredible amount of damage to me.

  When I woke up, cold sunlight was streaming through the window. I winced when I saw what time it was; I was supposed to be at work in a little over fifteen minutes. But I couldn’t handle that, not right now. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my mobile and dialed Maison Bridges.

  “Hello?” Tammy’s familiar whine came through the phone.

  I was so glad Ricardo hadn’t answered the phone — if I wasn’t completely out of tears, I probably would have started crying. “Hi, Tammy. It’s me, Isabella,” I said in a shaky voice. “Listen, I’m feeling really sick. I was up all night with food poisoning. I can’t make it in today.”

  Tammy sno
rted. “Right, food poisoning,” she said in a deadpan voice. “Got it. Thanks for calling. Bye, Isa.”

  “Bye,” I muttered as I hung up and sat with the phone in my lap.

  What the hell was I going to do now?

  Chapter 14

  Zane

  After Jennings left and I confronted Isabella, I was too angry to even think straight. He’d confirmed her pregnancy, and then she tried to give me some bullshit about how she didn’t know what was she was going to do! The fuck she didn’t know. It was my baby; that call wasn’t hers alone to make. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this pissed off. I wanted to talk to someone about it, anyone, even Lionel, but it was practically the middle of the night.

  Talking to Isabella after the doctor left had made my anger return tenfold. She was acting like a pathetic little kid, like she had no idea why I was so angry with her. It didn’t fucking matter that she’d been a one-night fuck; this changed everything. I hated to admit it, but it got me worrying about all kinds of other things. I fucked a lot of women. How many of them had gotten pregnant and had an abortion without telling me? Or worse, how many of them had just had the kid and not told me? Were there dozens of little Zanes running around the world?

  I shook my head and blew out of a gust of air. Fuck this. I was going for a drive.

  I got in my car and pointed it towards Morris. This whole situation had me feeling more on edge than ever. Between Isabella, the baby, and the drug deal with the Russians, I was feeling incredibly out of my depth. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that I wasn’t even sure what I was going to do. And what about those thugs who attacked Isabella? I still had no idea who they were, and I needed to find out. As long as I was going to protect her, I had to have an idea of who the enemy was.

  Even though Morris looked every bit the sleepy New Jersey town, most people had no idea how much criminal activity actually took place around here. There were quite a few “family businesses” like mine, only they were smaller. We were the kingpins, but that didn’t mean we didn’t get fucked with occasionally. Anyone could have attacked Isabella — a rival family trying to undermine the drug deal with the Russians. Or it could have just been a couple of petty criminals who wanted some easy money. I had a feeling I wasn’t the only person in town who knew about Isabella’s true history, though. With a father like Gianni, she probably had to be famous among those in the business. I felt stupid for not picking up on it more quickly, especially after that little chat about her last name. But as stupid as I felt, I knew Isabella had no idea who her father had really been. And for now, it was going to stay that way. If someone managed to kidnap her for real, she’d be better off not knowing. At least that way she wouldn’t accidentally give anyone up.

  With a sigh, I drove towards Maison Bridges. It was towards the end of the night and I knew their bar would be closing soon, but I thought maybe I could pump one of the bartenders for information. And besides, I really needed a fucking drink. The beer I’d been swilling while Jennings was upstairs with Isabella had barely done anything to calm my nerves. Right now, I would have taken an IV line of whiskey straight to the bloodstream.

  The bartender working was a pretty, petite brunette I’d seen before. She had a lithe, small body and a pert, upturned nose with a wide mouth underneath. Oddly, I didn’t even think about fucking her. I was so distracted with everything that was going on that sex wasn’t even on my mind. That’s a fucking first, I thought with a chuckle. Zane, you’re turning into an old man.

  “Hi there,” she said with a smile. “What can I get for you? You know it’s almost last call, right?”

  “Double scotch on the rocks,” I told her flatly. “And pronto. I need a drink like you wouldn’t believe.”

  The girl giggled; it was cute and coquettish, but I found myself feeling more annoyed with her as each second passed. When she slid a glass brimming with scotch towards me, I wrapped my fingers around the cup and knocked half of it back. The familiar liquid fire of the scotch burned down my throat and I shuddered with happiness. At least drinking still felt good.

  “Something on your mind?” The brunette leaned over the counter, pressing her arms together so it looked like she had cleavage.

  I did her the courtesy of briefly staring before turning back to my drink. “You could say that,” I muttered. “Listen, were you around the other day? There were some guys in the alley. I think they tried to grab one of your coworkers and kidnap her.”

  “Oh, that,” the brunette replied with wide eyes. She shook her head. “I wasn’t here. But I can go in the back and ask if any of the cooks were around. Would that be helpful?”

  Yes, why do you think I fucking asked? I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, sweetheart,” I replied. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  The brunette gave me a simpering smile as she waltzed towards the back of the restaurant and hollered for one of the cooks. When he came out from the kitchen, I did a double-take — the cook was no more than a pimply, bespectacled kid. When he saw me, his face went white.

  “I don’t owe anyone money,” the kid stammered. “Whatever they told you, it ain’t true, mister!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Cool your fuckin’ jets, kid. It ain’t about that. I need to ask you about a couple of fellas who were outside the other night. You see anyone? They were talking in the alley. Two guys, kinda big.” I gestured towards my face. “Tan, like me. Italian, probably.”

  The kid blinked at me. He stepped closed and shook his head. “Mister, I ain’t seen no one!”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know who woulda seen anyone, then?”

  The kid nodded. He darted off before I could stop him.

  The cute brunette rolled her eyes. “Sorry about him,” she said. “He’s a flaky asshole. I think he went to get the busboy. He sees everything around here.”

  I was hit with the sudden urge to ask the brunette about Isabella. I didn’t want to open that can of worms, but I was dying to know what she was like when I wasn’t around. Was she the kind of woman who would be a good mother to my kid?

  “Hey, you work with a girl named Isabella,” I stated. “Tell me about her.”

  The brunette flushed. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said hotly. “Neither do I.” She winked at me and leaned over the counter again.

  I rolled my eyes. “Ain’t interested, sweetheart, sorry. Got more on my plate than I can handle. And just tell me about her. What kind of girl is she?”

  The brunette looked disgusted. “She’s fine, I guess,” she said. “I mean, she’s been working here practically forever, and I think she lies about her age and tells everyone she’s still twenty-one. Well, she’s been twenty-one for about five years now!” The girl threw her head back and laughed at her own bad joke. “She thinks she’s hot shit,” she said with a smirk on her face. “When she started here, she told the owner, Ricardo, her singing career was going to take off soon and she wouldn’t have the time to be around.” The brunette smirked again. “But obviously, her career didn’t take off.”

  “Obviously,” I replied. “So, what else do you know about her?”

  The brunette blinked. “Um, well, she hates working here. And she doesn’t really get along with Ricardo. She drives an older car. I think she lives alone, outside of town. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, but she was dating this one guy for a long time. He used to stop by and bring her flowers and flirt with me,” the brunette added, a superior smile on her broad lips.

  Even though I was angry at Isabella, I was sick of hearing this shit about her. “That’s enough,” I said flatly. “You’ve been really helpful. Thanks.”

  The pimply cook returned with a boy who could have been his twin. “This guy wants to ask you some questions,” he said as he shoved the other teenager in front of me. “About some guys in the alley the other day.”

  “I saw some guys in the alley the other day,” the busboy repeated. “Um, I think they were both wearing black. No!
One of them was wearing a hat, a grey hat. And a scarf with a checker pattern on it. And the other guy had a gold watch,” he finished, obviously proud of himself.

  “That describes, like, half of the men in Morris,” the brunette snapped. “You don’t have anything more useful than that?” She looked at me, as if to say, “I’m with you, here. I’m trying to help you.”

  “Seriously,” I muttered under my breath. “No fucking wonder you don’t get a lot of business, with those observational powers of yours.”