Broken: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel

by Natasha Thomas

  Following her down a short hallway, she pauses at the partially closed door before pushing it open. Lying on a narrow bed, covered in a standard clinic issue blanket, Lexi looks so small and fragile. Her face is pale and at the sight of me stand there she bursts into tears.

  Rushing forward I hug her as best I can asking,

  “Are you okay? Is everything okay with the baby?” I can’t keep the panic from my voice, and I know if something is wrong this isn’t the way to approach it, but it’s not a conscious choice I’m making. My fear for her, coupled with the fact I know Lexi is alone in dealing with whatever has made her this upset is almost paralyzing, and I’m not even the one having the baby.

  Sniffling and shaking her head, she replies in the most timid voice I’ve heard from her. Lexi is usually so strong and vibrant, hearing her quiet and subdued it so unlike her.

  “No, everything is fine with me and the baby. I’m sorry I worried you, but I got some news I didn’t take so well. I fell and hit my head when I found out, so June called you to come pick me up. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay, Lexi. You know you don’t have to ask shit like that. We’re friends and that’s what friends are for, coming to get their unstable friends when they fall down and can’t get back up again,” I answer with a grin on my face. I’ve been teasing her relentlessly about becoming a baby whale in training for the past couple of weeks. To say it pisses her off would be putting it mildly, but I know Lexi well enough to know, if you want to pick up her spirits, ignite her anger. It’s a sure fire way to have her back to her usual fighting bitchy-ass self in no time.

  Snorting, Lexi sits up and throws the blanket off her legs.

  “Thanks, hooker. I particularly appreciate the way you managed to fit the word unstable in there, and make it work in this scenario. Gold star for you. And I’ll conveniently forget the part where you called my pregnant ass fat, okay? ” See, what did I tell you? Bitchy.

  “Sure thing. I don’t like to disappoint. Now are you going to tell me why you’re falling down trying to get extra attention, because I’ve got to say, there are better ways to do it if you are.”

  “There might be, but you know I have a flare for the dramatics,” she huffs good-naturedly.

  Poking her bicep I repeat,

  “But seriously, are you going to tell me what happened, or did I come all the way down here for a chat in a fantastic new café that’s posing as an exam room?”

  Shoving me back with her shoulder she sighs and leans back on the pillow.

  “Just to point out, it only takes twenty minutes to get here, so it’s not like you drove cross-country to collect me after a night of binge drinking, prostitution, and illegal gambling.” I giggle at her colorful distraction from the topic at hand, but it doesn’t stop me from poking her again. “Quit it already,” she snaps. Pointing at me accusingly she says, “You know this is all your fault don’t you? You were the one that said I’ve had all the bad luck I’m due, and unless I kill a million unsuspecting three-toed sloths that I’m not due any more, and I can assure you I didn’t kill anything, so in turn this makes you responsible for all this.”

  Feigning outrage I gasp.

  “Okay, sure, but do you mind informing of what exactly it is that’s my fault. Because you know it’d be nice to know what I’m being blamed for.”

  “I was spotting, they did an ultrasound, and instead of finding a reasonable cause for it, they found a scary medical condition,” she rushes to say, running her sentence together until it almost sounds like one word.

  With one last, harder this time, jab to her bicep I cry,

  “Jesus Christ on a crutch, just spit it out already bi-atch.”

  June chuckles at our banter, and Lexi throws a scowl over her shoulder at the older lady watching curiously from the doorway. I’d be curious too if I were her. We sound like two bitchy high school girls the way we’re carrying on.

  “It’s twins.”

  Oh fuck a duck.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Thomas

  “The only human interaction I want for the rest of the day

  is the exchange of money between me and the liquor store cashier.”

  - Rotten eCard

  Lex’s Pregnancy Week Twenty

  Note to self; drinking does not make you forget, it makes you remember how fucking stupid you are. Well, in my case that’s what it does, I don’t know about everyone else, but I definitely suffer from the post drinking binge side effect of you fucked your life you stupid asshole.

  It’s been at least three weeks since I can recall how I made it to my room after a hard night of consuming excessive amounts of alcohol, and even longer since I’ve woken up without a raging hang over. Rob’s been up my ass about cutting back on the booze, I effectively tune him out by closing my eyes and pretending he’s not there for the most part, but he doesn’t give up easily. It’s not like it’s a new occurrence, me ignoring him and him yelling shit at me I don’t want to hear, I don’t know why he still bothers to be honest.

  Shit might have gotten better between me and my brothers, it doesn’t erase the all-consuming emptiness I feel at not having Lex around though. Nothing dulls that. Not the alcohol, my attempts at being social instead of holing up in my house, nothing’s worked so far. That doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying to drown my grief though. If nothing else, it give me a momentary reprieve, and if that’s all I can get, I’ll take it.

  “You fucking alive in there, or have you finally choked on your own vomit?” Rob yells from the hallway separating out rooms. I wish I muse.

  “No such luck, fucker.” I retort smartly.

  “What the fuck ever. You coming out of your cave today, or you gonna stay in there and sulk like a bitch?” Ah, nothing like having a supportive friend when you need one. They’re like women’s bras really; annoying, restrictive, and a pain in the ass.

  He’s got a point though. My clothes could do with changing, my sheets need a wash, I do too frankly, but I’ve been too busy with the extra runs I’ve taken on that when I get home, I can’t find the motivation for even the simplest of things. Sitting up too fast, I wince as the room spins around me. Not smart, dickhead.

  Padding to my bathroom naked, I figure it’s high time I sort my personal hygiene out at least. The rest can wait, but a shower waits for no man. Soaping my body, washing my hair, and running a razor blade over my week old beard makes me feel somewhat closer to human, but only coffee is going to cure this raging headache I’ve got brewing behind my eyeballs. The bastards feel like they’re on fire, a side effect from lack of sleep and alcohol I’m sure.

  I walk into my kitchen and stop dead. Sitting at my dining table is Cage, Priest, and Pipe. Not exactly the first people I want to see when I wake up in the morning. Wait, is it still morning I query looking at the clock. Ignoring their narrowed glares, I find myself a clean mug, pouring myself an extra-large black coffee. Rob makes this shit strong enough to put hairs on your chest if you didn’t already have them, and in my condition this is precisely what the doctor ordered.

  “Sit down, Glock. We need a word.” Priest commands.

  Shrugging and dropping into an empty seat I search the room for Rob. I spot him casually leaning against the counter off to the side and ask,

  “He good to be in here while we do this?”

  Taking a sip of my coffee it burns as it slides down my throat. The good kind of burn. The kind that cleared the cobwebs that had built up over the hours I was a sleep. With each swallow my head begins to clear leaving me to wonder what I owe the pleasure of this visit to.

  Grimacing Pipe nods at me.

  “Yeah. What we’ve got to say isn’t club business, so your boy doesn’t need to clear out.”

  Shrugging I continue to sip away while I wait to find out why they’re here. I don’t have to wait long.

  “Have you seen Lexi around lately?” Pipe asks.

  The question has me immediately defensive. I don’t know w
hy they’re here asking me this, they know the answer already. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I consider what the best way to tell them to fuck off with disrespecting their patches is. Not coming up with an answer I go with the truth.

  “Nope, you all saw to that.”

  “Watch yourself, brother. I’m still your president.” Priest growls at me from directly opposite my position at the table.

  “Yeah, and you’re in my fucking house asking me questions about a woman I haven’t seen for two months because of the shit you pulled, so excuse the fuck out of me if I don’t come across all friendly like.” I snarl back at him.

  “We’re not asking to piss you off, so cool your jets.”

  “Then why are you asking? It seems to me, her being your granddaughter and all, you’d know where the fuck she is, and what she’s up to, Pipe.”

  “That’s the thing, brother,” Cage says spitting the word brother out like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. I’m not sure at this point that it doesn’t either.

  I haven’t talked to Cage since the day at Chasers when he found out about Lex and I, and he stormed off. He hasn’t approached me, and I keep my distance as best I can. I don’t see the point in rehashing shit that’s over and done with, but the man can hold a serious grudge. It doesn’t matter to him that I’m no longer involved with his daughter, he makes sure I know he is barely tolerating my presence every time we’re in the same room as each other.

  “Tone it down, son. You want his help then you explain this shit like we talked about.” Pipe looks as angry with Cage as Cage looks with me. It appears the pissed off gene does in fact run in the family with their matching scowls.

  The only hint Cage’s acknowledge his old man’s warning is the slight tilt of his chin before he turns back to me.

  “As I said, that’s the thing, we don’t. Ever since Tank was sent to tell her to keep her distance from the club that one night she doesn’t come around anymore. She’s not showing up to pick up parts, do errand runs to Boulder, no one see hide nor hair of her unless she picks up a fucking phone. And that’s only happening when she feels like it.”

  Rob snorts from his spot against the counter and all eyes bore in on him.

  “Do you really blame her? The girl got made to feel unwelcome somewhere she’s been hanging out since birth, and you guys are sitting around scratching your asses wondering why?”

  “Bit more complicated than that, Rob.” Priest adds, albeit unhelpfully offering no further reason as to why they’re asking me to start with.

  “Enlighten me then. You tell me how you expect her to react when the men she trusts, the men she loves, all shit on her.” Rolling his shoulders he says, “Because from where I’m standing, she’s the best thing that happened to all of you, and every last one of you turned her out when it got too hard. You should be proud of yourselves though, when you fuck up, you fuck up in a big way, what with leaving a pregnant woman to fend for herself and all.” He shrugs anything but nonchalantly.

  Again, he’s not wrong, and I can’t help the pang of guilt that pierces my heart at his statement.

  We did leave her to fend for herself, it’s true, and I’m the worst offender in that. I haven’t reached out to see how she’s feeling. Granted she hasn’t tried to contact me either, but why would she after hearing the shit I blurted out to Rob that day. I haven’t text her to touch base. To ask how her doctors’ appointments have gone, or to ask if she’s had an ultrasound yet. I don’t even know if she knows the sex of the baby yet. What kind of father does that make me? A fucking sperm donor like she said, that’s what.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath I shake my head sadly.

  “He might be an asshole, but he’s right. We turned her away, and now we’re sitting around talking about this because?” I leave the question hanging wide open, hoping someone, any of them have an answer for me.

  “Wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t important, brother.” Raising my eyebrow in curiosity I wait for Pipe to fill me in on what’s going on. “Heard something from Saint a week or so ago, and it’s got me worried. Apparently Lexi isn’t sleeping, she’s not eating much, and she’s making extra doctors’ appointments. Saint only came to me because he’s worried about her. Tilly isn’t talking, and that’s where you come in.”

  And the other shoe drops. They want to utilize my friendship with Tilly to do some digging on Lex. It makes sense, but I don’t see it doing them much good. Tilly and I aren’t as close as we were only a few short months ago. We don’t hang out, we barely see each other.

  “I doubt that’ll work, brother. Tilly and Lex are closer than Tilly and I these days. I don’t see her talking to me about this, or giving up any personal info on Lex freely. Not only that, but she’ll see straight through me coming to her after weeks asking questions.”

  Murmurs of agreement go up around the room, only Rob has another idea. A better one. Rolling his eyes he throws his hands up.

  “Do I have to come up with fucking everything around here? I swear I need to know, what’d you guys do before I came around?”

  Groaning, I slap my hand against my forehead. What I want to know is how the hell I’ve put up with him for so long.

  “Out with it dipshit. We’ve got a run in an hour and we need to sort this out before then.” I’d call off the run if it meant the difference between knowing if Lex was okay or not. Shit, I’d beg off every run if that ensured she had someone watching her.

  Slapping me on the back of the head, Rob proceeds to inform us all of his self-proclaimed genius idea.

  “I’ll go talk to her.”

  Groaning again, I add just the right amount of sarcasm for it not to be missed when I ask,

  “Just like that, yeah? Out of the blue you show up on her doorstep, and what, ask yourself in for tea and scones?”

  Grunted laughter echoes around the small space of my kitchen while Rob stand by defiantly glaring at me.

  “Well none of you asshole have a better idea. And for your fucking information, no, I wouldn’t just show up at her doorstep, I’d come baring gifts.” Smiling proudly at his revelation he adds, “Anyone who’s anyone knows women love sad ass movies, ice cream, and wine. Baring gifts, see.”

  This time the laughter wasn’t grunted, it came in the fashion of great roaring belly laughs. The first to get himself under control, Priest, looks at Rob like he’s a recently escaped mental patient.

  “You know fuck all about pregnant women do you son, and even less about my daughter?”

  “Why’s that,” he asks genuinely curious if his furrowed brow is anything to go by. “All women love that shit.”

  Snorting in disgust Pipe steps in to answer this one. God bless the man, because I’d rather punch him than explain the intricacies of pregnancy to an obviously brain damaged man like him.

  “Lexi loves three things more than life itself, and they are; Cheetos by the millions, peanut M&M’s, and soda. Any kind, she isn’t fussy when it comes to carbonated beverages. What she doesn’t like is wine in any form, and she can’t have that shit anyway, she’s pregnant dumbass. Ice cream because it gives her brain freeze every time she eats it. And she fucking hates sappy movies with a passion. Our girl is more a horror or action kind of a girl. She’d rip your balls off with her bare hands before she sat and watched that crap.”

  Rob’s eyes widen comically, and I can’t help but chuckle at the poor bastard. By the looks of it he had no idea Lex was so perfect. Huffing out a breath he revises his previous statement.

  “Fine. Peanut M&M’s, a case of soda, and the goriest horror flick I can find. Got it. Anything else I need to know?” He asks glancing around.

  “Yeah, stay clear of her feet when she sleeps. The woman can kick like a damn mule,” I add helpfully. Not that I want him close enough to Lex’s feet that would be an issue, but for doing us a solid I don’t want to see the man’s junk permanently retired before he’s forty.

  Making a ticking motion with his finger in the air, R
ob nods at me gratefully.

  “Check. Stat the fuck away from her feet. Anyone else with any helpful bits of info for me? By the sounds of it I need all the help I can get.” And there he goes keeping his hot streak running. Again, he’s not wrong. He does need all the help he can get, and then some.

  “Nah that should do it. Thanks for doing this man, I appreciate it.” Those are the first words Cage has said in a while, so I take the time to look over him discreetly. No man wants another staring at him openly. That shit’s just weird, and Cage has knocked men out for less.

  Getting my first real look at him in months, I notice that they guy has aged. He looks a good five to ten years older than he did a few months back. The bags under his eyes, not dissimilar to my own, tell their own tale about how this rift with Lex has been affecting him. And if he’s anything like me, he’s getting little to fuck no sleep worrying about her. The one thing that hasn’t changed about his is how fucking ripped the guy is. It’s as if stress equals more gym time for Cage. I can see the appeal, but personally I like to express my concern by drinking with my friends Jack, Johnny, Jose, and Jameson. Each to their own though.