THE DEVIL’S BABY_The Smoking Vipers MC

by Naomi West

  He didn’t even ask to come in. Instead, he stepped right past me and into the home.

  “Nice place,” he said, his big black boots thumping onto the carpet, dirt tracks following him as he walked.

  I was gripped with fear; I didn’t know who this man was or what he was doing in my home. For all I knew, this was some kind of home invasion.

  “Who … who are you?” I finally sputtered out.

  I must’ve sounded about as fearsome as a baby hamster because the two men still out in the front yard burst into mocking laughter as soon as I finished speaking.

  The man turned around, looming over me. I couldn’t make out his age; he seemed to be older than thirty, but it was hard to tell with the bikers that I’d see riding around town. Their faces were always covered in beards, scars, and messy hair, making them look old and weathered, like Viking warriors who’d been to battle after battle and wore it on their faces and bodies.

  “You, my pretty little thing, can call me Dakin.”

  Something about his voice just shook me to my very core. You know how some people just have a way about them that’s friendly, warm, and open? A manner of looking and acting that just makes you want to be friends with them right out the gate? Well, this Dakin was the exact opposite of that. Every little thing about him, from the lanky swagger of his walk to his wild, dark eyes, to that smell of grease and motor oil that trailed behind him, just made me want to get as far away from him as possible.

  “What do you want?” I asked, the two other bikers who’d come along with Dakin stepping into the living room and scoping out the place.

  “A little old fashioned,” said Dakin, picking up and looking at the little knickknacks that my grandmother’d packed onto every surface of the home, “but I think it just might have some potential.”

  Then he turned his gaze to me, looking me up and down like I was a cut of meat he was thinking about cooking up for dinner.

  “Can’t argue with the in-home amenities either,” he said.

  “What are you doing in my home?” I demanded, finally getting a little bit of a spine.

  “Your home?” asked Dakin. “That’s where you’re wrong, little lady. As of tomorrow morning at nine a.m., this place is all mine.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, and slapped it against my chest as he walked past me.

  “Thing about a mortgage is, if you don’t pay it someone can just buy the house right out from under you. I’ve had my eye on this place for a while, see. Nice location out in the boonies, perfect for my club’s little get-togethers. And when I heard the little girl who’d been stuck with the bill after her grandmammy died wasn’t doing a very good job making ends meet, I knew it was time to swoop in.”

  “What?”

  It was all I could say.

  Dakin strode over to me, leaned in, and tapped on my head with his index finger.

  “Anyone in there?” he asked, his whiskey breath hot on my face. “Figures a girl with a body like this wouldn’t have anything going on up top.”

  “Only one kind of ‘up top’ I’m thinkin’ about,” said one of the bikers, staring hard at my breasts.

  I wanted to cry; I’d never felt so violated in my life.

  “You have to leave,” I said. “Even if you’re right, then this place isn’t yours until tomorrow at nine.”

  Dakin looked at me hard for a second, then shrugged his shoulders.

  “Guess she’s right, boys,” he said, turning to the other bikers. “Rules are rules, right?”

  He slapped one of the bikers hard on the shoulder, the sound of his hand on the leather sounding out through the living room.

  “Rules are rules,” he repeated, taking another look around the room. “I just wanted to come by and see if there was any décor I might want to hang onto. I mean, unless you’ve got some movers coming, that is.”

  I stood still, now glaring at Dakin, my hands in tight little fists. I was equal parts scared and furious at this point.

  “So, nine tomorrow. See you then, blondie.”

  With that, he had his friends strode out of the house, the smell of cheap whiskey, cigarettes, and motor oil lingering in the air.

  I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had no idea for sure, but everything looked in order—that asshole Dakin now owned my home. Or he would tomorrow, at least. I spent that evening thinking about the day ahead, wondering what I was going to do with myself. I was so scared and angry; I wished my Grandma Dove had taught me a single damn thing about how the world worked. And why hadn’t she? She’d known that she wouldn’t be around forever. Part of me wanted to curse her name, but I talked myself out of it, trying to keep in mind that she had just been protecting me in the only way she knew how.

  I’d spent my whole life in this town, and now, with nothing more than whatever I could cram into a suitcase and whatever money was left under the bed, I was going to have to make my way in the world. I went into Grandma’s bedroom and looked under the bed, pulling out her suitcase. There were a few stacks of money left, maybe a few thousand dollars’ worth. I slipped a couple hundreds out of one of the stacks and stuck them in my pocket; just having some money on me made me feel a little less helpless.

  I slept restlessly that night, dreaming horrible dreams about walking through a dark hallway, fumbling my way down, unable to see anything ahead, a horrible fire raging behind me that gained on me no matter I fast I moved. Right as the fire reached me I woke up, the sound of engines roaring to life jolting me out of my sleep.

  I bolted up, sweat covering my body. Sure enough, motorcycles were pulling up to the house—I could hear them loud and clear. I grabbed my phone and saw the time. It was only seven—if that was Dakin, he was early.

  I jumped out of bed and ran to the living room window. Peering out through the curtains, I saw Dakin and even more of his buddies than had been here yesterday pulling right up onto the lawn, the grass turning to mud underneath the wheels of their bikes.

  “Where’s blondie at?” he yelled out, stepping off his bike.

  Part of me wanted to protest what Dakin was doing, to tell him that I had until nine. But I was stupid for thinking a man like him would play by the rules. He was here to take the house over and to do God-knows-what with me, and I knew I needed to leave right now.

  I ran to my bedroom, tears in my eyes as I shoved in whatever I could fit into my backpack. I didn’t even have time to pack a proper suitcase; I stupidly figured that I’d have time this morning. Once my backpack was full of clothes and other essentials, I closed it, the zipper straining against its contents. The front door opened with a slam, and I could hear the raucous sounds of the bikers filling the living room.

  “Oh blondie?” called out Dakin. “Wakey wakey!”

  I slammed my hand over my mouth, forcing down a scream. My hands shaking, I pulled open my bedroom window and prepared to step through. But before I jumped out, I remembered the one thing I couldn’t forget—my grandma’s pendant. Rushing back into my room, I snatched it from my nightstand and put it on. Now I was ready. Stepping out of the window, I escaped into the long stretch of backyard. I turned my attention to the woods off in the distance and, without thinking, just started running. Minutes later, when I reached the tree line, I turned back to the house and figures moving around through my bedroom window. I wanted to stop, to sit down against one of the nearby trees and start crying, but that was a luxury that I just didn’t have time for.

  Instead, I ran and ran.

  It wasn’t until I reached the road leading into town that I realized with horror just what I’d forgotten: all the money I had left, the money that I had been counting on to live, was still under Grandma’s bed.

  Hot, acidic anxiety pooled in my stomach as I realized it was as good as gone; there was just no way I could go back to get it, as it was clear as day to me that Dakin and his buddies had no intention of playing by the rules. God knew
what they’d even have done to me if they’d found me in bed.

  So I spent the next two days bumming around Gainesville, trying to think of what I could do. I had two hundred dollars to my name and the clothes on my back. Grandma had been the only family I had, and even the friends I’d in high school were the fair-weather type who’d dropped out of contact as soon as they went away to college. I was all alone.

  And there I was then, sitting at that booth in that shitty little diner, keeping that coffee topped up for as long as possible, knowing that if my little dine-and-dash plan didn’t pan out I just might go from sleeping in my bed to sleeping in a jail cell over the course of a couple of days.

  Okay, I thought. Just gotta go to the bathroom, then go out the door right nearby. Easy peasy.

  But thinking it was easy didn’t convince my nerves it was so. I figured that it was only going to get more nerve-racking the more coffee I drank, so I told myself it was now or never and got myself ready to get up. But right as I raised myself up, a commotion in the corner of the diner grabbed my attention. It was the bikers. Someone had just walked into the diner and approached them, and as he got closer the bikers all broke out into rowdy noises, the yells so loud that they managed to drown out the din of the rest of the diner.

  And when my eyes locked onto the man who was now the center of attention, my heart skipped a beat.

  This guy, whoever he was, was tall—very tall. Tall and built as all hell. His head was dyed peroxide blond and shaved down to the scalp, a long cutting scar visible across the side of his head through his hair. His face was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, with blue eyes that were as bright and clear as ice catching the glint of sun. His face looked like it was cut out of granite, all angles and hardness. A light dusting of stubble coated the lower half of his face, his sensual lips visible through it. He was wearing a white T-shirt that clung to his body, his ropy, tattoo-covered arms and thick biceps looking like they might burst through the fabric. Over his shirt was a leather vest covered in patches, and his jeans were tight on his burly legs. A pair of coal-black combat boots completed the look.

  And as he walked in, his eyes turned to me. He stared at me hard with those almost supernaturally blue eyes. My mouth opened slightly as he looked at me, his gaze like a force of nature. I was frozen in place; there was nothing I could do.

  “What’s up, motherfuckers!” he shouted, giving his friends half hugs and back slaps, his bawdy language attracting fearful attention from the rest of the diner.

  “Excuse me,” said one of the waitresses, bumping past me, her arms loaded down with plates of pancakes, eggs, and other breakfast meals.

  I snapped back to reality, realizing that I’d been staring so hard at this guy that I’d forgotten where I was.

  The truckers nearby, however, weren’t amused one bit by these bikers. They talked among themselves, shooting side-glances at the bikers as they did. The bikers didn’t pay them one bit of notice, and I bet even if they had, they wouldn’t have given a good goddamn. I felt a situation brewing and wanted to get out of here before it exploded.

  Welling up my courage, I dashed to the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty. I stepped in front of the mirror, ran some cool water, and splashed it over my face. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I wondered just what the hell I was gonna do next.

  My grandma had always said I had a face pretty enough for the movies, and I’m not sure if I believed her. Sure, I had nice, almond-shaped green eyes and clear skin as white as porcelain, but I always felt like my lips were too big and my hips too wide. A friend of mine had told me once that she’d kill for my hour-glass figure, but I always found myself wishing that I had the skinny sort of frame that I always seemed to see on magazine covers. Either way, I sure looked the part of a homeless girl who’d been wearing the same clothes for the last two days. I tucked a strand of my blonde hair behind my ear and steeled myself for the task ahead.

  Leaving the bathroom, I got ready to open the door and run out.

  Now or never, I thought. I placed my hands on the cool steel of the door handle and gave it a push.

  It didn’t budge.

  I realized in horror that it must’ve been a service exit that only opened with a key. I turned my attention to the front entrance, and I knew that there was no way I could get past the pair of hostesses who appeared to me at that moment like two tiny, cute-faced little guards.

  I was screwed.

  But before I could burst out in a full-on panic, a yell sounded out from across the restaurant.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me!” called out a voice.

  I ran out from the small hallway leading to the bathroom just in time to see the man with shaved blond hair’s fist connect with one of the trucker’s jaws.

  A fight was on.

  Soon, a full-on melee erupted, the truckers and bikers swinging wildly at one another. Waitresses screamed out, and the families nearby hurried out of the place in tight little flocks. I realized that this was my chance. I attached myself to a family that was headed towards the entrance, hoping that to any observer I would just look like I was one of them. More commotion broke out, and the sound of plates smashing against the floor cut through the air.

  Soon, however, I was in the parking lot of the diner, surrounded by other patrons fleeing from the place. I turned around, half expecting a waitress to be running after me, as though someone might give a damn about a twenty-dollar check as a brawl raged.

  I started off at a run, making my way towards the road, cutting through the cars in the parking lot. A large black van was ahead, and I made my way towards it, knowing that once I was behind the thing no one from inside would be able to see me. I’d be free and clear. But as I moved closer to the van, it pulled out of its spot with an abrupt lurch. The engine roaring, it backed up towards me, coming to a screeching halt when it was right at my side. The panel door of the van opened with a rusty squeak, exposing the black of the interior.

  “That her?” shouted out a voice from within.

  “If it ain’t, it’s her goddamn twin.”

  Then, before I could react, two pairs of hands shot out from the interior, grabbing me hard and pulling me into the darkness.

  Chapter Two

  Star

  The van rumbled along, and I couldn’t see a damn thing. My eyes were covered in a blindfold as soon as I was pulled into the van, and my ankles and wrists were bound together soon after. Then I was restrained against the inside wall. I couldn’t move an inch.

  Minutes passed, and for that first little bit of time in the van, I was certain that I was imagining things, that I hadn’t really been pulled off the street and tossed into the back of the exact sort of ominous black van that you’d see in those Lifetime movies about kidnapped kids. I was so shocked at first that I wasn’t even scared.

  Finally, after a time, I spoke.

  “Is this about me running out on the check?” I asked, realizing how pathetic and small my voice sounded even then. “I don’t have any money! I mean, I have a couple of dollars—you can have it! And I’ll wash dishes or clean up or do anything. Just don’t send me to jail, please!”

  Silence fell over the van as soon as I was done speaking, the growling of the engine and the rumbling of the tires on the road the only sound. Then, after a couple of seconds that seemed like an eternity, the small space filled with uproarious laughter. The laughing went on for a good minute, and I was perplexed by what was happening.

  Finally, it stopped.

  “You hear that, Mikey?” someone spoke, a man with a gruff voice. “She thinks we nabbed her off the fuckin’ street because of some eggs-over-easy!”

  A slap rang out—the sound of a palm on skin.

  “Hey!” said the same voice. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “Don’t call me by my fuckin’ name in front of the merchandise!” said a second voice, this one higher and thinner.

  “What motherfucking difference does it make? Not like they’re e
ver gonna see your face.”

  My heart felt like it stopped beating. Merchandise?

  “Where am I?” I asked. “What are you doing with me?”

  More laughter.

  “Is this the part where they start asking questions?” asked the gruff-voiced man.

  “Sounds like question time to me,” said the second.

  “Listen,” said the thin-voiced man. “All you need to know is that you’re in the back of a van and that your life’s gonna change forever. Other than that, keep your mouth shut.”

  “Yeah,” said the gruff-voiced man. “Someone liked your, ah, ‘look,’ and figured no one would miss you.”