Sarge: Book 8 in the Vengeance MC series

by Thomas, Natasha

  A cold shiver races up my spine at the thought of Scott’s cold, cruel parents getting their hands on my child. Even though I would never let that happen, it still chills me to the core they would think they had a claim to a child that isn’t in anyway theirs.

  “Sweetheart,” Grayson prompts, patting the top of my hand that is clenching the edge of the table tightly. “No one in this house is gonna let those people within a hundred feet of you if we can help it, but I think it’s time you and I had a real conversation about what you’re gonna do come a week or two from now.”

  My due date is in two weeks, but after my last doctor’s appointment where I was told that I was already dilated to two centimeters, I knew my time was running out. It was only a matter of time before I went into labor, and I was no closer to making a decision about what I’m going to do than I was the day I arrived here.

  Grayson removes his hand from mine to grip the arm of my chair, pulling me to his side, erasing the foot between us.

  “You got any idea which way you’re leaning?” He asks, locking his deep green eyes with my blue ones.

  “No,” I murmur dismally.

  “Look, sweetheart. This kind of stress isn’t good for you or the baby. Me and Catherine have been watching you waste away for months. Not eating nearly enough, and when

  you do, not keeping it down. You don’t sleep. You hardly smile anymore. This shit isn’t healthy, and you know it.”

  I do. I do know that. I just don’t know what to do about it.

  In theory, I have two options. One, keep the baby, go home to dad’s and try to explain to my son why all of a sudden he has a little brother or sister, and get on with my life as best I can. But with that choice comes the real fear that Jim and June will be waiting in the wings ready to pounce when I’m least expecting it. Not to mention, that option means I can never, ever go home to Furnace again.

  Then there’s the second option. The one that fills me with despair and makes me physically ill every time I think about it. Adoption. Giving my baby away as if it were a toy I no longer wanted to play with. Relinquishing him or her into the care of strangers, desperately hoping they will love my baby as much as I do and keep it safe.

  Thinking about handing my baby over to others to love, cherish, and protect is not only soul destroying, but it's also shattering the last fragments of my already damaged heart. How will I know my baby is okay, that it is being taken care of properly? How can I be sure the couple I pick, or an agency picks are the right people to raise my child? Is there any way to know whoever those people may be are any better equipped to be parents than I am? And lastly, how will I ever live with myself, knowing that I gave my child up because I was too weak and too cowardly to face the demons trying to tear him or her from my arms?

  A gentle hand on my back jars me from my latest foray into despair.

  “Darlin’, you with me? You feelin’ okay?” Grayson asks, his voice filled with concern.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever really be okay again?” I answer truthfully.

  His lips turn down into a frown, but his eyes spark with resolve.

  “Can’t say I blame you for feeling that way right now, sweetheart but I’m thinking there will come a time this gets easier. Maybe not tomorrow or any time this year, but one day, you’ll find a way to learn to live with it, darlin’.”

  Yeah, I’m not sure about that. But then again, I’m not sure about anything, so I’ll just have to take his word for it.

  “Jim and June don’t have any claim on that baby, sweetheart. And I’m figuring, after your dad and his brothers go and deliver that message this will all die down. If it doesn’t, we’ve got you. Nothing will happen to you while you’re here, sweetheart. I promise you that.”

  If only Grayson had the gift of foresight because then he would have realized how wrong it was to make promises he couldn’t keep.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ~ Emily ~

  The Aftermath

  Two days after Grayson and Emily’s conversation…

  I was pulling weeds from the vegetable garden Catherine had planted in the backyard over beside the barn. It was a warm day, and I was enjoying the feeling of the sun heating my skin, and the fresh air clearing my otherwise cluttered mind.

  After talking to Grayson for over an hour the other day, I agreed to devote some real thought to my situation and coming up with a real solution to it. Grayson was grateful I listened to him, but I could still see the shadows behind his eyes as I gave him my word to think about it. He didn’t entirely believe me, and I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t all that convincing, even to my own ears.

  The very next morning, Chase walked into my room, dropped a stack of pamphlets on my bed and grunted at me to read them. He told me not to come out until I had, and I didn’t. I sat there for hours devouring it all. I cried. I threw a pity party the likes a three-year-old, tantrum throwing

  toddler would be jealous of. And then I got my shit together.

  Sitting in the bath, the water having long since cooled, my knees tucked as tightly to my chest as my huge pregnant belly would allow, I realized what I had to do. It hurt. The realization tore through me with a vengeance. My heart bled for the decision that had all of a sudden become crystal clear. But in the midst of all of those emotions threatening to overwhelm me, I felt stronger than I’d ever been. I knew that feeling wouldn’t last long. The strength I felt now would be fleeting. But I reveled in it while it lasted.

  By dinner time, I was ready to face Chase, Catherine, and Grayson. Around a table filled with delicious food, love, and compassion, I voiced my decision and was met with looks of both sympathy and pride. Catherine hugged me tightly and cried with me. Chase, simply patted my shoulder and told me if there was anything I needed, he’d be there. And Grayson, well, he held me the longest and promised me I was doing the right thing.

  Part of me knew that, was secure in the knowledge that giving my baby to a couple who could love, provide, and offer the security I couldn’t was what I had to do. The other part struggled to reconcile that I had a son at home – a son that was kind, respectful, and intelligent – a child that I had kept. Regardless of the difficulties we had faced, Diesel grew up to be a young man I was proud of, which only made my choice to give my child up for adoption so much harder.

  However, those were different times, a different situation. This was now, and I had more to consider than

  finances or support while raising my baby. That’s why this morning when I woke up and offered to do the weeding Catherine hadn’t found time to do, I felt secure in my decision. My baby’s safety was paramount, so knowing that he or she would be safe gave me no small measure of relief.

  I had to have been outside for at least three hours after lunch, judging by the position of the sun in the sky. I was thirsty, my back and knees ached from kneeling on the unforgiving ground. I was due a break. Pushing myself up, my legs wobbled slightly as they fought to regain circulation, but almost as soon as I was upright, my body was falling.

  Grayson had edged Catherine’s vegetable garden with old railway sleepers, raising it half a foot off the ground on all four sides. As I fell, my head hit the corner one of the corners, and the world turned hazy. Lights danced across my eyes as my vision fought to focus. The pain in my temple and the throbbing headache starting at the base of my skull was distracting, but I knew I had to try and get up. I had protected my belly in the fall, turning to my side at the last moment, but I wanted a doctor to check my baby to make sure everything was okay.

  Before I could move, though, a large foot connected with my back and I screamed out a shrill cry of pain.

  “Shut the fuck up, you little whore. What, did you think you’d get away with what you did? Did you really believe that we'd let you kill out son and have that bastards’ child without making you pay?”

  My mind scrambled, clawing at the darkness to stay conscious. I knew that voice. It had berated me for years, telling me I wasn’t go
od enough for his son. He had said I was white trash, a biker princess bitch that was only good for spreading her legs. Granted, he didn’t share his open disgust for me in front of his only child; he saved that for when we were alone, but his message was received. Loud and clear.

  Grabbing a fistful of my hair, Jim yanks me up to face him as he spits,

  “After I’m finished with you, I’m going to pay a visit to that dirty fucking biker you were spreading your legs for.”

  Oh, God, no. Not Atlas.

  “Please…please don’t,” I stutter.

  “I told you to shut the fuck up. The only thing I want to hear out of your mouth is what you had done to my son – why you had him killed. He was a good boy, and you murdered him, you slut,” Jim sneers, spittle hitting my face as he practically froths at the mouth.

  Jim lets go of my hair suddenly, causing my head to hit the ground with a sick thud. The world spins around me, my stomach clenching violently as nausea overcomes me, and I throw up all over myself.

  “Fucking disgusting,” he snarls.

  With more speed than a man his age should have, Jim

  lifts his foot and kicks me in the back again. Repeatedly. His Italian leather clad foot slashes through the air connecting with my ribs, my upper thighs, and the side of my face until I feel the blackness tinting the edge of my vision spread.

  “Speak!” He demands as if I’m a dog that will do tricks on command. Jesus, I can barely open my mouth, let alone form a sentence.

  Blood trickles from the corner of my mouth as I open it in an agony filled gasp. I’ve been on the receiving end of enough of Scott’s abuse over the years to know the searing pain in my ribs means they are more than likely broken. The grinding of the bones in my jaw and cheek signals the same. But it’s the rhythmic tightenings in my abdomen that terrifies me.

  “I-I don’t…know wh-what you want…me to say,” I finally manage to grate out through labored breaths.

  “Tell me why you killed my son,” he demands.

  “I di-didn’t,” I whisper, curling in on myself to protect my unborn child.

  Jim’s heel connects with my forearm, shattering the bone, wrenching a terror filled scream from me. Shock and pain begins to invade, dragging me into a blissful state of unconsciousness, but not before I hear the rumble of Harley pipes and the shouts of several angry men. I try desperately to keep my eyes open so that I can tell whoever’s coming that I need a hospital, that my baby may be coming, but it’s

  too late. I sink into the abyss of darkness and let the pain bleed away.

  *****

  I wasn’t surprised when I woke up in the hospital. From my self-assessment of my injuries, I would need my ribs wrapped, my arm casted, and several sets of stitches to repair the majority of the damage Jim inflicted.

  As I test my vision, the harsh fluorescent light burns my eyes, sending a stabbing pain through my head, causing me to slam them shut quickly. The incessant beeps of the machines I’m attached to escalate in time with my rising heart rate and blood pressure. The pain is crippling in its intensity.

  “Calm down, baby girl,” I hear my dad’s muted voice rasp.

  My hands instantly go to my belly, and my eyes fly open in panic. When my head tips to the side, taking in my dad’s distraught appearance and the haggard look on his face, I know something is very wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.

  “Hush, now, sweetheart,” he says, gently pushing the hair off my forehead. “The baby’s fine. A little small, but fine. They had to take her when they operated on your lung. One of your ribs punctured it, and it was filling up with blood faster than they could drain it. They baby was going into distress, so I signed the forms for them to take her,” dad

  shares, not once taking his eyes off my wide, panicked ones.

  “I had a girl,” I sob uncontrollably. “A baby girl?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart. And she’s just as gorgeous as her momma. Lots of dark hair, cute as hell little button nose, and chubby cheeks. I reckon she’s gonna have big blue eyes like you when the time comes,” he tries to smile reassuringly.

  “Can I…can I see her?” I ask tentatively, watching as his face shuts down. Every ounce of emotion skillfully melts from his expression as my dad’s features harden, becoming set in stone.

  “Don’t think that’s the best idea in the circumstances, Emmy. Grayson told me what you were planning on doing, and I promised you I’d support your choice, so trust me when I say it hurts me to tell you that I think that’d be a mistake.”

  “Dad,” I whimper, adjusting myself on the narrow hospital bed so that I’m sitting up further.

  “No, darlin’. You need to trust me on this. You see that little girl, and you’ll change your mind. You won’t want to give her up. No way,” he shakes his head.

  Pulling the plastic chair he had been sitting in up beside my bed, dad sinks into it heavily and takes my small hand in his large tattooed one.

  “Had been watching the fuckwit who hurt you. Had men on him, but somehow he still managed to give them the

  slip. Was too late to save you then, but I’m not now. You can yell, scream, call me whatever you want, but I’m not letting you hurt yourself any more than you already have been. You’re my daughter, my baby, and even though this is gonna slice deep, I’ve got to protect my girl.”

  “I need to see her. I have to. Please,” I beg, my dread over what he is saying strangling me.

  Squeezing my hand, I watch in horror as a tear leaks from dad’s eye and trails down his cheek.

  “Love you, sweetheart. Would do anything for you. Anything but that.”

  “No. Dad, no. Please…please…please let me see her. I promise I won’t change my mind,” I plead urgently, struggling with my IV as I grip his other hand tightly too.

  “Fuckin’ kills me. Guts me, to do this to you, baby girl.”

  “Then don’t,” I shriek. “Just let me see her once. I’ll do whatever you want after that. I promise, dad.”

  Tugging at my IV, I rip it out and throw it to the floor. Blood gushes from the torn skin, soaking into the mattress at the same rate my tears spill onto the pillow behind my head. At my distress, dad bellows,

  “Stop!”

  The door to my room is slammed open, and in less than

  a minute the room is filled with nurses, a doctor, four of my dad’s brothers, and also Grayson and Catherine. Taking in

  the state of me, Catherine rushes to my bedside and takes me in her arms.

  “Shh, sweetie. I need you to calm down and take a deep breath for me,” she coos, stroking my back.

  “What in the fuck?” Demon growls, looking between me and the blood soaked sheets. Turning to face the medical professionals in the room, he snarls, “One of you useless fucks going to clean this shit up and fix our girl, or am I gonna have to do it myself?”

  The younger of the three nurse’s eyes widens at the sight of the massive VP and busies herself collecting everything she needs to clean up the mess I made.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she stutters, as she shoulders her way in between the large imposing bikers.

  Finally, the only doctor in the room clears his throat and says,

  “If my patient can’t remain calm, I’m going to have to ask all of you to leave.”

  “Not going anywhere,” Demon grunts, moving into position behind my dad, the rest of his brothers following suit.

  “Get fucked. Emmy’s our girl, and we aren’t leaving until we know she’s good,” Track joins in saying.

  Spinning on her heel, Catherine states,

  “I’m certainly not going anywhere. This young lady needs TLC, and I intend to be the one to make sure she gets it.”

  “I understand you all wish to see Emily recover quickly, which is why I’m suggesting…” the doctor's voice trails off at my dad’s growl.

  “You’ve got rocks in your head if you think any of us are going anywhere. Do what you need to do to make sure my girl’s alright, but you’ll be doing
it while we’re sitting here watching you.”

  I’m completely numb as the young nurse puts three stitches in my hand and helps me change my gown behind the curtain. My head and body aches and protests the movement, but even the agony of replacing the bandages on my midsection where they took my baby girl from my belly, nothing is more painful than the gaping hole in my heart.

  Once I’m settled back on the bed, my head propped up by several pillows, my blank stare locks on a small divot about half-way up the wall near the foot of my bed. Unseeing, my gaze doesn’t waver as people try to talk to me, offering words of comfort and declarations of love. My gaze doesn’t move when my dad’s brothers slowly filter out of the room, and nurses come in and out poking and prodding me. Not once do I look away from that small imperfection, not even when the sun sets and my room is cast into darkness.

  My dad begs me to listen to him, to see the method in his madness. Grayson makes more promises that everything will be okay, none of which I believe. Catherine chatters away nervously glancing at me every few minutes stopping to ask if I need anything, but not once do I answer her. It isn’t until Chase steps into the room and asks for a minute with me alone that I feel a jolt of something race up my spine. An unpleasant shock.