Accidental Baby

by Banks, R. R.

  “Listen,” I say. “I know it's been a long night for you guys and I don't know when you ate last. You've got to be hungry. Let me grab you a little something before the kitchen closes. We don't have gourmet food, but it'll fill the void, at least.”

  They both give me grateful smiles. “We appreciate that,” Frederick says. “But, we –”

  “Don't give me the on-duty shit,” I say. “Food's non-alcoholic. It's not gonna dull your reflexes or whatever. If anything, it'll help you protect me better since you're more likely to see the bad guys coming if you're not preoccupied with your stomach growling.”

  “She's got a point,” Antonio says.

  Frederick smiles. “That would be great,” he says. “Thank you, Ms. Weathers.”

  “Katie,” I say. “If you're putting your lives on the line for me, I insist you call me by my first name. It's kind of a rule of mine.”

  They both laugh and nod. Though scary and intimidating, both men, when you get down under all of the bravado and bluster, actually seem very nice.

  “Burgers and fries okay?” I ask. “Onion rings maybe? Or how about I just bring out a basket of each?”

  “We'll take whatever's easiest,” Frederick says.

  “Okay, coming right up,” I reply.

  I turn and am walking toward the kitchen when Joe, an older man with a mop of white hair and wrinkles etched deep into his face, stops me.

  “Hey, Katie,” he says. “I need another beer and I ain't seen Jake in a while. Can you tell that boy to get out of the shitter already, and get us some drinks?”

  His laughter breaks down into a cackle and then a wheeze – too many years of smoking taking its toll on him.

  “I'm on it, Joe,” I say.

  I turn and look at the bar, and don't see Jake back there. It's odd. He's always back there. Truthfully, with everything going on with Leon, I didn't even notice that he wasn't behind the bar. Normally, when tensions flare up like that, or on the rare occasion, an actual fight, Jake tries to smooth everybody's feathers by offering up a round on the house. It's a practice Marv discourages, for obvious reasons, but Jake continues to do it anyway.

  “Huh,” I mutter to myself. “Weird.”

  He might already be in the kitchen. Though the nighttime crowd doesn't order food all that often – people will usually come in for a burger and a beer during the lunch hour – it's not unprecedented. I don't smell anything cooking though, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Or, maybe he really is in the bathroom. Who knows?

  Humming a song to myself, I push my way through the swinging door and step into the kitchen. I stop just inside the door, my eyes wide, my body starting to tremble violently. My stomach churns and rolls and I feel like I'm about to throw up.

  The back door is standing wide open and laying on the ground in front of it is Jake – unconscious, or worse, with a pool of blood spreading out beneath his head.

  For some reason, as I try to comprehend what I'm seeing, two thoughts, totally unrelated, fire straight through my brain, and I have no idea why. The first thought is that Leon did this. It had to be. The second is that I really don't want to die in this place. I really don't want The Hail Mary to be the last thing I see before shuffling off this mortal coil.

  “I didn't want to do it,” comes the cold voice from behind me. “But he was trying to keep me from you. And I can't have that.”

  I turn slowly and find myself facing Victor. There's a small, cruel smile on his lips, and a hard, angry look in his eyes that shakes me to my very core. He has a gun pointed straight at my chest and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's here to kill me.

  Facing my death, I'm shocked to find that I'm not afraid. I'm pissed off, more than anything. After enduring years of abuse at his hands, and finally finding the strength to break free – after finding something I want – or rather, somebody I want – he shows up and takes it all away from me? How is that fair? How is that right?

  “Fuck you, Victor,” I hiss.

  A greasy smirk touches his lips. “I told you, we'll get to that.”

  “You should pull that fucking trigger then,” I say. “Kill me right now, because I'd rather die than let you touch me ever again.”

  “Look, I know things are over between us. I get it,” he says. “I know now there's no going back to what we had before. I understand.”

  “Halle-fucking-lujah, you finally get it,” I say.

  “But,” he says, wiggling the gun at me. “That doesn't mean I’m going to kill you.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I told you. I'm going to fuck you,” he says. “Then, I'm going to let the rest of the Cobras have you. And after that, you're going to be sold and earn money for the club. A sweet piece of ass like you is guaranteed to bring in a lot of money. And if there's one thing the Cobras need right now, it's money.”

  Knowing he means what he's saying, I have to keep myself from throwing up on his shoes. I have really limited options – I can fight and force him to shoot me. Or, I can give in and let him take me. As I stand there though, and remember that the back door is open, a third option floats through my mind. I have to be quick, and the timing has to be precise, but it's viable. At worst, it will force him to kill me, and I won't have to endure the degradation or violation he has planned for me.

  Victor steps forward, reaching out for me. In one swift motion, I pull a pen out of my apron and with a savage cry, drive it into his arm. He howls in pain as I turn and make a break for the door.

  I'm two steps from it when I feel a sharp stinging pain in the back of my head. My vision wavers, and my entire world goes black.

  * * *

  The first thing I become aware of is the throbbing in my head. It feels like something is inside my skull, battering it without mercy. The second is the pain radiating throughout my body – like I just went ten rounds with Mike Tyson. And the third is the fact that I can't move. Not that I'm paralyzed or terribly injured; I realize quickly that I'm seated in an uncomfortable wooden chair, my hands and legs bound to it with thick rope.

  “Where are we?” I ask, my voice sounding as thick as my head feels.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Victor snarls.

  He rips off the hood he has over my head and shoves his bloody arm under my face. I see the hole my pen made and watch the blood oozing out of it.

  “Gee, I sure hope you don't get ink poisoning and die,” I say. “That would be a real shame.”

  That earns me a slap across the face. My head is rocked to the side, and my mouth is filled with the coppery taste of blood.

  “Bitch,” he growls. “I can't get this fucking thing to stop bleeding.”

  “You're lucky,” I say. “I was aiming for your neck.”

  My head rolls the other way as he backhands me again. I feel a thin line of blood rolling out of my mouth and down my chin. Although the slaps are painful, they are doing one positive thing for me – making me more awake and aware. The hazy fog is rapidly lifting.

  My next thought is that I need to tread carefully. I'm not in this alone anymore. If I do something stupid, he's going to kill me, leaving Aidan and Dalton all alone. And I know for Aidan, it would mean reliving his own personal hell. This would destroy him.

  As I stare at Victor as he tries to wash out his wound, I start to wonder how long I've been out. I wonder what Frederick and Antonio are doing. More than anything though, I wonder what Aidan is doing. I guess it depends on how long I've been unconscious.

  I look at my surroundings and fail to recognize them. It looks like we’re in an abandoned house. One that's falling down around us. The beams are exposed, there are holes in all the walls, and all the windows have been busted out and boarded over. Kids have sprayed graffiti all over the place, and the floor is littered with old food wrappers, soda cans, beer bottles, and condoms.

  It's obviously the hangout/drug den/sex parlor for the youth of Ashton Mill. Assuming we're still in Ashton Mill, of course. And judging b
y the bedroll and small personal touches, it's also been Victor's personal hidey-hole while he's stalked me.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “After midnight,” he replies. “What's it to you?”

  “Just wondering how much longer you have to live,” I hiss. “Aidan and his crew will be looking for me, you piece of shit.”

  “Yeah well, they aren’t gonna find us.”

  “Don't bet on that.”

  Victor flashes me a vicious, unsettling smile. “Nobody saw us leaving. Not even your big, bad bodyguards inside that shithole bar.” he sneers. “It was a clean fuckin' getaway. So, you may as well not even worry about them finding us, because it isn’t gonna happen.”

  I feel a quiver in my belly and a tightness around my heart. He knew about the bodyguards. Knew how to get in and out of the bar without being seen. Could he be right about Aidan and his men not being able to find us?

  The nausea comes back even stronger, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

  “Please, Victor,” I plead. “Don't do this. I have a son –”

  “Had a son,” he sneers. “You had a son. Little bastard shit will never see you again.”

  “Please, Victor. Just let me go,” I beg. “You don't need to do this.”

  “You're right, I don't have to,” he says, his voice colder than ice. “I want to.”

  As my eyes flit around the place, cold tendrils of panic wrap themselves around me and squeeze tight. Victor stares at me, that evil smile on his face, looking for all the world as if he's intuiting my thoughts.

  “That's right, bitch,” he says. “You're mine. All fuckin' mine.”

  Aidan

  “What the fuck is going on, Davis?!” I roar.

  He sighs and runs a hand over his face. “It's going to be okay, man.”

  “The fuck it is!” I scream. “They were supposed to prevent this. They were supposed to watch her at all times. You told me I could rely on them.”

  Though I'm enraged, a small piece of me feels bad for lashing out at Davis. It's not his fault. He wasn't here. Even if he had been here, there's no way to know if it would have unfolded any other way. Nobody would have ever thought Victor would almost kill a man to get to her. Maybe we should have. But, there was nothing in his criminal jacket saying he was capable of murder.

  Jake is in emergency surgery – it’s unclear if he is going to make it or not. We won’t know for a long time.

  That's how desperately Victor wanted Katie. Fucking psychopath.

  “Under their noses,” I seethe. “He took her right under their fucking noses.”

  Davis sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He'd just gotten off a flight from France and rolled into town that afternoon – shortly after Katie and his men had left for the bar. He came straight to my house from the airport, got a few hours of sleep, and woke up to a world of shit crashing down on his head.

  “Try to relax, Aidan,” he says.

  “Don't tell me to fucking relax, Davis,” I snap. “Katie is missing. That piece of shit took her. And for all we know, she's already fucking dead.”

  “She's not dead, man,” he says patiently. “We know what his purpose for her is. He can't sell her into prostitution if she's dead. You know that.”

  I sigh and slam my fist down on my desk, trying to keep my temper in check. He's right. I know he's right. I'm just sick with fucking worry. I told her I'd protect her. I told her I'd keep her safe. And now she's gone. Taken by that piece of shit.

  I'm failing Katie every bit as much as I did Maddy. The feeling of sheer powerlessness is overwhelming. And that is only made worse by the fact that we have our son to think of now. My failings may cost our son his mother's life. My anxiety and panic are so thick that it's choking me, and I'm having trouble catching my breath. Davis steps up beside me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “Settle down, brother,” he says. “It's going to be okay. I promise you that.”

  My eyes sting with tears, and I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood to prevent them from falling. I pound my fist into the top of my desk again, biting back the howl of rage that's dying to burst from my throat.

  “You don't know that,” I say, my voice low and hoarse. “You can't make that promise.”

  “I can,” he says. “We have contingency plans in place for scenarios just like this.”

  I look up at him, a small flicker of hope igniting in my chest. I don't want to let myself feel too optimistic. Not yet. I don't know what contingencies they plan for, or how effective they are. I do my best to temper my expectations, and keep that small flicker of hope from bursting into something it shouldn't be.

  “What kind of contingencies?” I ask.

  “I need my guys back here,” he says. “I don't want to say anything yet. Not until I talk to them.”

  Frederick and Antonio – the men Davis assigned to Katie – are down in town still, giving their statements and coordinating with Sheriff Keller's office. I have no doubts I'll be getting a visit from Keller in the not too distant future, and know I need to get my head on straight for that.

  As I stand at my desk, looking out the windows at the darkness of the forest beyond, I feel my heart sinking. A fresh wave of grief and despair threatens to pull me down into its depths, and smother me in its dark embrace. The guilt is so much deeper and cloying this time. I promised Katie that she was safe. That I'd keep her safe. And I failed her.

  Losing Maddy was bad enough. Now, losing Katie on top of it – if Victor ends up killing her – I don't know what it will do to me. I know it will break me – probably beyond repair. I honestly fear what I'll do if I lose Katie the same way I lost Maddy. Especially knowing it's my fault. This time, there is no question about it – it's my fucking fault.

  “I never should have let her go to work,” I say softly. “I should have insisted she stay here.”

  “It's not your fault, brother,” Davis says softly. “None of this is your fault.”

  “Yeah, I keep hearing that,” I say. “And yet, people I care about keep dying.”

  “Katie isn't dead,” he says. “Don't give up on her like that.”

  Oliver is sitting on his oversized pillow in the corner of my office, looking at me with those soulful brown eyes. He whimpers low, under his breath, as if he's worried about me. Or maybe, he's worried about Katie. I know that my emotions – especially the raging anger coursing through me – are upsetting him. He's a sensitive dog who doesn't like big displays of emotion. They tend to scare him. I totally relate. My emotions are so powerful at the moment, that they're scaring me too.

  The buzzer on the front gate sounds, and I pull up the cameras on my computer. It's Davis' men, so I hit the button to let them in. I pour a couple of drinks, handing one to Davis as we wait for them in my office. A couple of minutes later, Frederick steps through the door looking downright ashamed. Embarrassed. Enraged.

  “Mr. Anderson,” Frederick starts. “I just –”

  “Save it,” I say. “Let's put all of our focus on finding her.”

  His jaw tightens, but he nods. He's pissed, but I know he's pissed at himself for letting this happen. He obviously takes his failure personally – something I also relate to.

  “Do you have the football?” Davis asks, his tone sharp and curt, clearly not pleased with his employee.

  “Antonio's coming in with it, sir,” Frederick says.

  A moment later, Antonio steps into my office with a silver briefcase. He sets it down on my desk and keys in the combination. There's a solid thump as the case unlocks, and he steps away, walking back around the desk to stand beside Frederick.

  Davis opens the case, and I see that it's a computer. He powers it on and enters his password.

  “What am I looking at?” I ask.

  “All of the chips were in place, correct, gentlemen?” he asks, ignoring my question.

  “Yes, sir,” Frederick replies. “She left her purse at the bar, but there are still three active beacon
s on her. Shoe. Apron. Shorts.”

  “Excellent,” Davis says.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  Davis directs my gaze to the computer screen in the briefcase. It shows a map with a bright red dot in the middle of it.

  “You tagged her with trackers,” I say, finally understanding what he meant by contingencies.

  “Standard protocol to prepare for the worst-case scenario. Which, this obviously is,” Davis says. “We covertly slip tracking beacons into anything we find that the subject is using or will use, without telling them. We fear that if we tell them, they'll inadvertently give it away to their abductor. So, we're discreet about it. We put multiple beacons on a subject for the redundancy, just in case say, they're taken, and don’t have their purse with them – as with Katie's situation.”

  Davis leans forward and looks at the screen. He nods and then glances at me.

  “This location is just outside the Ashton Mill town limits,” he says. “They've been holed up here for the last few hours.”

  “Ever since he took her,” Frederick growls. “Sir, Antonio and I request permission –”

  “Denied,” Davis says.

  “But, sir –”

  “I appreciate where you're coming from,” Davis says. “If I fucked up that bad, I'd want the chance to make it right too.”

  Both men look down at the ground, grinding their teeth in unison as Davis dresses them down. I don't doubt these are good men who are proficient at their jobs. Who could have anticipated Victor doing something so savage?

  At the same time though, I don't want anyone else getting involved with this. This is intensely personal to me, and I want to be the one to handle it.

  “Your job right now,” Davis says, “is to brief the other teams, be here when the Sheriff rolls in – because he will – and be ready to go if I call for backup. Aidan and I are going to scout the area and get a lay of the land.”