Broken: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel

by Natasha Thomas

  So, in keeping with my usual personality traits here it is; I’m pregnant. Yes, it’s Glock’s baby. Yes, I’m stupid enough not to be on any form of birth control. No, he didn’t use a condom and it broke. Yes, it looks like history is repeating itself, me getting pregnant at nineteen and my dad having not been far off it when I was born. And no, I haven’t told anyone. Hopefully that clears everything up for you because if it doesn’t, too bad. I don’t want to go round and round explain my epic stupidity to everyone, and I don’t want to think about it anymore than I already have. It’s bad enough that in a few short weeks it’s going to be obvious I’m pregnant, let alone thinking about the repercussions of having to out myself, I don’t need to give it any extra air time in my head now.

  In saying that, I might not have a choice but to face Glock tomorrow. After all he is one of the guys that will be showcasing his work, and I am indeed the one that’s put this whole thing together. It’s a miracle I haven’t come face-to-face with him already. I mean yeah, we’ve been in the same room as each other since, but being separated by twenty bikers in a clubhouse, or an endless sea of bikes in the showroom is totally different than being forced to endure each other’s company in close proximity.

  I’m not an idiot, I considered all my options before making the easy decision that I’m keeping my baby. The other alternatives might have flitted in and out of my brain in mere seconds, but they were there then gone so I’m going to take it as that counts as considering them. It was an easy choice really. I’ve wanted a family since the time I was a little girl, and frankly, this is a piece of me and Glock, a little person we made together. And even though he has ignored me, avoided me, and gone out of his way to make sure he keeps an overly healthy distance from me at all times, that doesn’t mean what we had that day was any more real. Any more beautiful. And I refuse to belittle that by making a decision that would in any way desecrate that memory.

  On the up side, I’ve managed to smash my publisher’s deadline, and just last night I sent off my finished first draft for proof reading and editing. Yay me! Angst, heartbreak, betrayal, and anger make great bedfellows when you’re an author, and due to lack of sleep all of the above are causing, it makes for extra writing hours too.

  Back to the teeny, tiny, itty, bitty predicament I find myself in however. I started feeling the tell-tale signs of my little bean at around five weeks. First, like all the other dumb asses out there, I thought I had a stomach bug. And to degree I did, it just so happens this stomach bug won’t pass for oh, about six and a half months. After biting the bullet and waking my stupid self-up, I purchased every pregnancy test on the market, bought three bottles of apple juice, and sat on the toilet until I had peed on every last stick. As expected, because my luck is just that great, all of them showed me I wasn’t going to be able to ignore my problem any longer. The proof was right there in front of me staring me in the face. Plus signs, two lines, and smiley faces. Although, to interject for a second, I’m still wondering why in the fuck people would use a smiley face as a positive, what if you’re not fucking happy about it? What if you’re still deciding whether this is considered impending doom or not?

  All that aside, positive tests in hand, my bladder in need of respite care, and a box of tissues later, I did the only thing a woman in my position can do in her time of need. I grabbed a six pack of soda, my secret stash of mini Milky Way chocolates, a liter tub of Ben and Jerry’s rocky road ice cream, sat in my sweats and called the only person I thought could help me…Tilly.

  We weren’t fused at the hip two weeks ago, but I’d say things have changed since then. Arriving less than ten minutes after I pushed disconnect, (and that’s saying something because she lives fifteen minutes away), with her hair in a messy bun, sweats that had us looking like twins, and an arm full of chocolate bars Tilly became my savior, and my best friend that day.

  She and I cried together, I retold the whole story from start to finish about our day at the lake, I left not one thing out, and we talked for hours about what I was going to do next. Mind you, half of the time we were discussing my next steps I was also convincing her not to pay Glock a visit, and by no means was she allowed to remove his balls with a plastic spoon. Not that I would’ve minded her putting a little hurt on him, but at the end of the day I figure when this secret comes out there’s going to be enough people willing to make that happen, so Tilly can keep her hands clean for now.

  Finally sinking on to my much neglected couch, seriously it hasn’t seen my ass in days, I kick my Keds off and stretch them out on the coffee table in front of me. But alas, before I can reach for the remote control my phone does that annoying thing called ringing.

  Picking it up without looking at the display I say,

  “Someone better be dying, about to die, thinking about dying, or in the process of acquiring food for me or I’m hanging up. Which one is it?”

  The feminine giggle on the other end of the phone has my own lips stretching into a grin.

  “None of the above you moody, pregnant bitch. I just wanted to call and see if you want to come over for dinner seeing as I know you wouldn’t have got a chance to eat with all the running around you’re doing.”

  Ah, Tilly. I freaking love this chick.

  “I just fell a little bit in lust with you I think. You have no idea how hungry I am right now. I was considering eating the TV guide I’m that hungry.”

  “Well, I know how that feels. When I was pregnant I ate as much as four bikers falling on a hog roast after not eating for a week, and that was only if I skipped lunch. Can you imagine how bad I would’ve been if I’d skipped breakfast too?” Pausing briefly she goes on to say, “How are you feeling anyway? The morning sickness easing off yet?”

  I wish, but no such luck. I’m doomed to be the woman that is still puking her guts up as she’s delivering her baby I swear.

  “Nope, no cigar chicky. I dream about not having to be within ten feet of a bathroom at all times. How sad is it I actually do dream about that? Does that mean I’m officially crazy, fantasizing about bathroom-less buildings?”

  “Fuck no. I was sick until I was four months, and I think I had those same dreams honey. Keep your head up Lexi, hopefully it will only last up until you’re starting your second trimester,” she says through a snort. Yean, funny. Not.

  Then, because come on, my life isn’t bad enough as it is, I hear a booming voice echo on the other end of the phone. Tilly is obviously trying to muffle the mouthpiece, but I can hear him loud and clear. Oh Goddamnit. The proverbial shit is about to hit the fan.

  “Who the fuck are you talking to?

  “Just a friend. I think he’s out in the garage if you want to go and find him. I’ll finish my call then bring you guys some beers.”

  The voice gets louder.

  “Which friend?”

  “None of your business. Now go away and leave me to it would you,” Tilly huffs with a prissy tone edging into her voice.

  “No fucking way. If what I heard is right I’ll be finishing that fucking phone call not you. Now I’ll ask you again, who the fuck are you talking to?”

  A third voice joins the mix now. Yippee. Good times to be had by all. Thankfully I am safely ensconced on the end of the phone and not having to face those two overgrown bullies.

  “Why the fuck are you talking to my wife like that?”

  “Mind your own business, brother. This is between me and her.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen when you’re standing here about to flip your shit. Calm the fuck down and tell me what the problem is.”

  I hear a harsh laugh with absolutely no humor in it before he says,

  “The problem brother, is your wife won’t tell me who her pregnant friend on the other end of the phone is. If what I heard is right, it’s someone I’m gonna want to talk to. So this can go one of two ways, and I’m edging to option number two myself. One, Tilly here tells me who’s on the phone and hands it over so I can talk to
her, or door number two, I get out of here now, and drive my ass around to her place, knock on the door making a general menace out of myself till she opens it, and ask her why the fuck she hasn’t told me herself face-to-face. Which one’s it going to be Tilly? Door number one, or door number two?”

  Scratching rasps against the mouthpieces and I hear Tilly’s barely whispered,

  “I’m sorry, so, so sorry.”

  After a clunk, bang, and a sound I can’t describe, I find myself listening to the sinful cadence of Glock’s voice.

  “You’ve got one chance to tell me the truth before I lose my shit and start tearing up this joint that isn’t even mine. Tell me you understand me.”

  “Y-yes,” I reply with a slight stutter.

  “Are you carrying my baby, Lex?” His voice is raw, like he’s been yelling. The hoarse sound has goose bumps breaking out on my skin, and the little hairs on the back of my neck standing up. How he can he sound so angry, but have me so turned on is beyond me, but I’m putting that down to hormones. Sue me. It’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

  Thinking about how I want to answer him, I decide to bite the bullet and face the inevitable. I mean, it’s not like he’s not going to find out sooner or later, and I’m not keeping it from him per se, more like I haven’t found an opportunity to make him lose his ever-loving-mind yet.

  “Um, yes.”

  “That sounded like a fucking question Lex, not an answer. Are you seriously telling me you’re what, nearly ten weeks pregnant with my baby, and I’m only just finding out about this now? When I’m standing in the fucking kitchen of my best friends’ house thinking I’m here to chill. But instead I’m finding out the woman who gave me her virginity is having my fucking baby, and she didn’t think it was important enough to call me herself.”

  Oh. My. Fucking. God. Could he be a bigger dick? Scratch that…Yes, yes he can.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes to come up with some excuses why you fucked up, I’m leaving here now. And don’t think about not answering the door, Lex. I’ll kick the fucker in if I have to.” And after that lovely warning I hear nothing but the sound of a truck reversing. Great, he hung up.

  Looking around at the state of my lounge room post junk food binge, I start gathering all the evidence to dispose of it post haste. What’s worse is when I look down at myself. I’ve got classy orange smears from the Cheetos I was just shoveling in my mouth before answering the phone down the side of my light grey sweats. My hair looks like birds not only nested in it, but bred there too. And the piece de resistance is my braless state in an almost translucent, it’s been worn so many time, white T-shirt. What’s the icing on that little cake is the shirt happens to belong to Glock. Crap. Now I have to change and I’ve barely got two minutes to do it in before caveman gets here.

  With nothing else for it, I hustle my homeless looking self into my bedroom and locate a tank top with one of those built-in shelf bra thingies, and a pair of yoga pants. With enough time to assess myself in the mirror deciding I’ll have to do, I quickly re-do the messy bun at the top of my head without even bothering trying to brush it just as the knock at the door signals Glock’s arrival.

  Taking a few deep breaths, steeling myself at what’s going to be a super fun night, filled with all things uncomfortable, I repeat quietly,

  “You can do this, it’s just Thomas.” Yeah, if only I could convince myself that’s true, I’d be golden.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Thomas

  “Best joke ever: Your love life.”

  -Rotten eCards

  Lex is pregnant. With my kid, and she didn’t tell me. That’s all that runs through my mind as I drive like a bat out of hell to her apartment. She didn’t fucking tell me. How could she not fucking tell me? Doesn’t she know that’s the worst thing you can do to a man, shy of running off with his kids? Of course she fucking knows. Everyone attached to the club knows that shit, its public knowledge.

  I get why she didn’t tell me for the first week or so when she was waiting to see if she’d just been late, but she’s got to be ten weeks already, so what about the five weeks after that? What, did she think I wouldn’t find out soon enough anyway? Women start to show at around fourteen-fifteen weeks, don’t they? So she would’ve had a little over a month to come clean before the shit hit the fan in a major way, and the she would’ve had more than just me to explain it to.

  Fuck me! Cage is going to have my balls for this. Not because he’s going to expect me to marry her, far from it, but because he’s going to have conclusive proof I defiled his daughter prior to his warning to stay away from her. More than that, he knows better than anyone there’s no way in hell Lex will be leaving Blackwater now, let alone going off to college. Unless I’m going with her that is, and I don’t see the club agreeing to me gallivanting off into the sunset for four years until Lex graduated. But all that shit’s not even what’s on the forefront of my mind.

  Lex has known since the day she found out I lost my family, I wanted kids of my own. I wanted a family someday. She doesn’t know the specifics about why it’s so important to me, or how I ended up in the foster system. And she definitely doesn’t know everything that transpired after that, nor will she, but she does know the idea of family is top of my list in importance.

  Parking my bike next to her Mustang, and looking up at her second floor apartment, I take a minute to calm my shit down. Because there’s no telling what I’ll say to her in my current state of mind.

  I want to yell at her, tell her she fucked up big time. Hell, I already did tell her as much, but I want to tell her again. I want to make her understand how angry, furious, her not telling me had made me. That there’s isn’t anything worse she could’ve done to me, but then I check myself, because at the end of the day this is partially on me too.

  I’ve ignored her, distanced myself, learned her routine so I didn’t show up at the club or Chasers the same times she was there, and when all that failed I put as many brothers between us as humanly possible when we were in the same vicinity. Does that make me a pussy? Yes, probably more than that, but it was for the best, a necessary evil. But none of that matters anymore. Now Lex is carrying my baby, Cage can shove his warnings up his ass, and if he even considers for a second trying to keep me from her or my kid he’s going to get a fucking big shock because nothing, and I mean nothing will keep me from either of them. Now, or ever.

  Then I’m struck with the paralyzing reality that I’m going to be a father. I’m going to be someone’s dad, and that alone is almost enough to take me to my knees. Not because I thought for one second the baby Lex is carrying could be anyone else’s because let’s face it, no one around these parts would think, let alone follow through with touching her. And that’s not simply due to her being mine either, but as a daughter, a granddaughter of some of the clubs most influential members no one would dream of getting involved with her. Not unless they had a death wish that is. Bear in mind, it wouldn’t be her dad or grandpa doing the executing either, it’d be me.

  The thought of anyone else touching her has me seeing red, and it’s only a thought, it isn’t even reality. If any man considered going after what’s mine I’d fucking put them six feet under. No negotiation. No warning. No mercy. There wouldn’t be an ass kicking, just a bullet to the head and a shallow grave waiting for them. Extreme? I think not. A fact. Fucking hell yes.

  I’ve calmed down as much as I’m going to, regardless of the rage burning through my veins at Lex and another man. It hasn’t happened, so that little gem is going to get shelved for another time. A time where I’ve got the inclination to lay it all out for Lex, and that time is not now. Now I’ve got to find out why my woman kept my baby from me, and what we’re going to do now. I should rephrase that; I know what we’re going to do, it’s getting her to agree to it that’s going to be the problem.

  Lex’s front door swings open before I’ve had a chance to knock. Suddenly, standing in front of me is the woman who o
wns the other half of my heart and all of my soul. Dressed in tight as sin yoga pant, or that’s what she told me they are, one of those workout shirts, and her hair done in some twisty bun thing I take the opportunity to look her over. I want to see if there are any noticeable differences in her body, anything I can see when I actually take the time to look, not steal fleeting glances at her in a room full of men that’d sooner remove my eyeballs.

  You know that glowing shit they say women do when they’re pregnant? Yeah, well that’s a load of shit, at least when it comes to Lex. She looks tired, fucking exhausted really. The dark circles under her eyes are obvious even in the dappled light coming from behind her. But her exhaustion doesn’t detract one bit from the beauty that is my Lex. Not one fucking bit. She’s guarded though, and that’s something I’ve never experienced from her before.

  Even when I’ve been angry as hell, come back from a run that hasn’t gone well, ran into one of Satan’s Sons up Boulder way, or I’m just fucking pissed at the world, Lex hasn’t ever been guarded around me. She’d throw her arms around me, ask me what was wrong, hand me a beer and suggest pizza, she wouldn’t look at me the way she is now. Her eyes are wary with a hint of fear lurking in their depths. One of her arms is bracing the door open, and the other is protectively wrapped around her middle, like I’d do something to our baby. That action only serves to infuriate me all over again.