by Cat Mason
On our way into the doctor’s office, we pass several women in various stages of pregnancy, even some with babies in carriers. It may be rude as hell, but I can’t help staring at them. I wonder if they feel as overwhelmed as I do right now. If they are equally as afraid as I am of the future. Surely they are all to a point, especially at first. Although, I don’t imagine any one of them would eagerly take on the insanity my life has been lately and not want to pull their hair out at some point.
“Good afternoon,” a woman with long blonde hair says when I step up to the counter. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Cheyenne West,” I blurt, then shake my head. “Uh, I mean Jinks. Cheyenne Jinks. Sorry.”
“I’ve got ya right here,” she says, tapping her screen. Grabbing a clipboard with several papers attached, she hands it through the window to me, along with a small plastic cup. “Need you to fill out the forms for the doctor and pee in this. Bathroom’s over there,” she adds, pointing to a door over in the far corner.
After going to the bathroom, I fill out the paperwork and sign all the Privacy Act forms. When I return them to the front desk, I am given a medical questionnaire to fill out for when I see the doctor. It isn’t easy attempting to piece together the scarce amount of medical history I have on Troy’s family and my parents. Which isn’t much. If anything, this has only made me more uneasy than I already was to start with. I don’t know much of anything about anyone other than Pop, my brother, and myself. “Who the hell keeps up with this shit?” I ask, staring blankly at the form. “I couldn’t tell you what color my mother’s eyes were, let alone if her father had alcoholism or depression.”
Grabbing the packet from my fingers, Schrader scans it quickly, then tosses it onto the table next to him. “Then leave it. There’s women in Africa who squat in a field when they need to pop out a kid, you think they answered some family health history questionnaire?”
Looking over at him, I slap his leg. “I am not squatting in a field to have this baby.”
“Never say never, Shy baby,” he chuckles.
The door beside the front desk buzzes. When it swings open, a woman steps out who looks like her resting bitch face has been permanently cemented onto her face. “Cheyenne Jinks?” she calls, quickly looking down at the folder in her hands.
Pushing to my feet, I grab my unfinished questionnaire and head her way, Schrader hot on my heels. After she weighs me, sticks my finger, and asks me a million overly personal questions that have me second guessing wanting Schrader to come back here with me at all, she takes the papers and leads me to an exam room. “You didn’t finish this,” she says, showing me one of the empty pages.
“I answered what I knew,” I reply shrugging my shoulders.
Nodding, she seems unimpressed with my answer but doesn’t press the issue further. Yanking open the cabinet, she tosses me a gown. “Strip down and put this on. Dr. Kahn will be in shortly to speak with you and do a full exam.”
“Thanks,” I say, putting my bag down beside the exam table as she heads for the door. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Saying nothing, she leaves, closing the door behind her. “She seems nice.” Dropping down into the chair, Schrader winks at me. “Think she handles labor and delivery too?”
Ignoring him completely, I change into the gown and climb onto the table. While the minutes tick by on the clock hanging on the wall, Schrader starts to get antsy and begins to analyze what each item is on the tray beside me. Along with what they are used for. He makes a simple pelvic exam sound like something out of a horror movie. His jokes do nothing to hide his own nervousness. He is just as wound up as I am, but is trying his damnedest not to show it.
Just as I am about to go stir crazy from waiting, the door opens again and a man steps into the room, carrying my packet and the file the nurse was holding. “Hello, Cheyenne. I’m Dr. Kahn. How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” I reply, shifting on the table as he scans the pages of my chart.
“Says here no morning sickness. You’re one of the lucky ones.” Placing the paperwork on the counter, he quickly washes his hands before grabbing a pair of gloves from the dispenser. “Let’s have a look at you, shall we?”
Easing me back onto the table, Dr. Kahn lifts the side of my gown, exposing my stomach and begins his prodding and pushing. Dr. Kahn is young and very tall, with tanned skin and dark hair. His sincere smile and warm brown eyes are comforting and help to set me at ease. His hands, however, are freezing cold, even with the gloves. I suck in a breath, my body tensing. “Does that hurt?” he asks, softening his touch.
“No,” I assure him. “Sorry, your hands are freezing.”
“Oh. Sorry about that,” he replies, pulling the gown back down into place. “Is this the proud Papa?” he asks, looking over at Schrader, who is watching us attentively.
“That’s my girl.” Schrader’s eyes stay on me.
Grabbing a stool, Dr. Kahn gets set up and begins my pelvic exam. My eyes stay locked to the ceiling, watching the edge of the halogen bulb flicker inside the fixture above my head. “Being that this is your first pregnancy,” Dr. Kahn speaks as he works. “Do you have any questions or concerns at this point?”
“My mind is pretty focused on the fact that all my business is spread out like a Thanksgiving turkey at the moment,” I murmur, glancing over at Schrader, who seems captivated by everything going on. Closing my eyes tightly, I can feel my face turning blood red. “For the love of God, Schrader, can you look anywhere else right now? I feel like a science experiment.”
“Kinda hard to focus anywhere else, Babe.”
“Try,” I ground out, shooting him a glare that silently tells him if he doesn’t remove his eyes from between my legs, he will never get in there again.
Dr. Kahn chuckles. Sitting back, he drops instruments to the tray and pushes it away. “Everything looks good. From what I can tell you’re right at about nine weeks gestation.” Standing to his feet, he rips off his gloves and tosses them into the trashcan. “I’ll write you out some prenatal vitamins and give you some reading material on folic acid and other nutrients that are recommended during pregnancy, as well as some foods to avoid. Also, before you go, I’d like to do a transvaginal ultrasound and get a look at how baby’s doing, given this is your first pregnancy and a lot of your family medical history is unknown.”
“An ultrasound?” I ask, dropping my feet from the stirrups and sitting up. “You said everything’s fine though, right?”
“Yes.” Patting me on the shoulder, he gives me a reassuring smile. “There is absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Dr. Kahn leaves the room, returning a few moments later with the same nurse from before, who is wheeling a large piece of equipment into the room. My nerves begin to build as they get everything set up. No doubt sensing my unease, Schrader stands to his feet and makes his way around the table to stand up beside my head as they finish prepping me and the machine.
My mind begins to race. The fact that I am nearly finished with my first trimester and hadn’t even thought I could have been pregnant, is one of them. Another is how much the wand for the ultrasound resembles a penis. That thought is top of the list the moment I see Nurse Delightful covering it with a condom, coating it with a gel that looks a hell of a lot like lube and gives it a couple good strokes with her glove covered hand to spread it evenly.
I am willing to bet money that the man who invented this damn thing was abducted by an all-female group of aliens. After they worked him over with their anal probe, he came back to Earth and went to Medical School.
“Here we go, Cheyenne,” Dr. Kahn says, taking the wand from the nurse, and interrupting my wandering mind. The second she switches off the lights, I close my eyes tightly, bracing myself as the invasion of my snatch continues.
This time with a penis shaped camera attached to a computer screen with what looks like a heavy duty extension cord.
“Holy shit,” Schrader murmurs, his hand sli
ding down to take mine. “You think it’s only one in there?”
My eyes fly open, staring up at him in rush of panic. “What?”
“I couldn’t resist,” he chuckles, pecking me on the lips.
“Ass,” I mutter, shooting him a glare.
“Only one,” Dr. Kahn confirms, clicking some buttons and adjusting the angles with a huge rolling ball that looks like a giant computer mouse.
Looking at the screen, I have to stop myself from asking if he is sure there is even a baby in there. It sure as hell doesn’t look like one. The image is grainy, like an old black and white television with wicked bad reception. “What are we looking at?”
Dr. Kahn keeps clicking as he shifts the wand. The image changes, then gets bigger. He taps the screen. “That’s the head. Here,” he announces, circling it with the tip of his finger. Clicking another button, he brings up a separate window in the bottom corner. “And here’s the heartbeat, which looks strong.”
“Wow.” Squeezing Schrader’s hand, I stare at the screen through my tear-filled eyes, watching the little line on the monitor bounce up and down rapidly. I lie there in awe, as the doctor checks several things and prints images while the nurse makes notes on my chart. Covering my abdomen with my hand, tears begin slipping down my cheeks. “This just got really fucking real,” I breathe, looking up at Schrader.
His eyes meet mine, the brown soft, but warm. “Yeah.” Leaning down, he presses another kiss to my lips. “It did.”
If I ever thought for a second that I would be able to decide not to have this baby, this moment puts everything into crystal clear focus. There is a little person growing inside of me; its little heart beating away right before my eyes. It is unbelievable; yet, at the same time, undeniable. The words Pop said to me before McKelvy’s funeral come back to me, about how a child can make you rethink everything that really matters. Yes, I have been through hell and back the last couple months, and I know it isn’t over, but I refuse to go another second allowing myself to believe that ever having this baby would be a bad idea.
Once Dr. Kahn is finished, he shakes my hand, saying he will see me again in a few weeks. Handing me my prescription for prenatal vitamins, and an iron supplement he feels I need after looking at my lab work, he says his final goodbyes before he and the nurse leave the room. Grabbing my clothes, I yank the gown around myself tightly and slip across the hall to the bathroom to clean myself up and change back into my clothes in private. The bottom half of me has been on display enough for today.
Schrader is waiting for me outside the door when I step out, holding a plastic bag with Westgate Medical written across it in big blue letters above a ridiculous cartoon image of a stork. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the bag.
“Some Welcome to Motherhood set up. Along with a set of those stirrups,” he snickers, waggling his brows. “Gonna add some restraint buckles and bolt those fuckers to the kitchen table.”
“You’re an idiot,” I deadpan, elbowing him as I move to the desk to check out and make my next appointment. “Please tell me you didn’t steal medical equipment for kinky sexual aerobatics?”
“Do I look like the kind of man who’d do that shit?”
“I don’t think you want my honest answer,” I snort, rolling my eyes.
Looking up at me, the receptionist’s face turns blood red, clearly having heard everything. “Uh,” she mutters, completely flustered. “You need to stirrup your next appointment.” She gasps, clapping a hand over her mouth, “Set up. I meant set up. I’m so sorry. Let me see what Dr. Kahn has available.”
“Thank you.” Glancing at Schrader, I roll my eyes. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
His smirk spreads into a full-on wicked smile, sexiness oozing off every inch of him. “We’ll see about that.”
Making our way out to the car, Schrader curses under his breath, his arm falling from my waist. I stop immediately, my eyes shooting to his. “What is it?” I ask, then notice him checking his phone.
“Yeah,” he says, putting it to his ear.
I know almost instantly the conversation isn’t a good one. Schrader’s face drains of color, his entire body going rigid. “We’re on our way now,” his voice is clipped. Handing me the bag, he grabs my arm and begins steering me toward the car while he listens to whoever is on the other end of the call. Our hurried pace has me struggling to keep up with him as he scans the parking lot. His responses may give nothing away, but his body language tells me enough to know whatever is going on is bad.
Fear and dread settle in my chest, making it hard to breathe and impossible to focus on anything but the possibilities of what has just happened. “Tell me,” I blurt, unable to stop myself. “Please,” I ask, spinning around to search his eyes.
Yanking open the passenger side door, Schrader exhales roughly. His mouth opens and closes, as if he is struggling with the words.
With the phone still to his ear, he swallows hard. “Guys were ambushed. It’s Doc.”
“Oh my God.” Dropping the bag, I clutch onto the door when my knees buckle.
“Gotta go, Colt,” Schrader says, tossing the phone and grabbing onto me.
The bomb he dropped on me is leveling. Everything around me begins to spin so fast that it takes everything in me to stay upright. Pop. I need to be there with him. With Decoda. Before I can catch my breath, or say any of that out loud, two men round the side of the truck next to us, the larger of the two carrying what looks like a metal pipe. “Schrader,” I gasp, my eyes widening as I reach into my bag for my gun. “Schrader, behind you.”
Schrader turns at the same time the man swings, the pipe colliding with the side of this head, sending him to the ground. “Get the fuck outta here,” I ground out, aiming at the man wielding the pipe.
“Drop it, Mrs. West,” the other man warns, a shiver running down my spine the moment the name West leaves his lips. The gun in his hand is aimed at Schrader’s head. “Or he dies.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Shy
I made a mistake. I did the one thing I have always been told never to do. Hesitate. I let the enemy get inside my head, and use my weakness to their advantage. Now, everything has gone to shit.
After I lowered my gun, I was instructed to toss it, along with my purse, into the back floorboard and am then led by gunpoint to the black SUV with Tennessee plates that I am willing to bet are stolen or bogus. A pile of cigarette butts lie on the ground outside the passenger side door. Noticing they all look to be the same kind, it is clear to me that they have more than likely been following us, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Schrader and I had been so distracted, both before and after the appointment, that we missed them completely.
Everything about this has me kicking myself.
After getting me to their vehicle, I was forced into the backseat and my wrists zip tied to a hook bolted to the back of the seat in front of me. The man with the pipe, whose name turns out to be Smith, took his time driving us out of town, making so many turns that I begin getting nauseous.
When Smith finally pulls up to a set of tall black gates, the clock on the stereo says we have been driving for nearly two hours. Reaching out, he punches a bunch of numbers into a keypad, then the gate begins to open. Though I try, I only make out three of the numbers he punched in. The paved road has large trees on both sides all the way up to an enormous four-story house that makes our clubhouse look like a shack.
The asshole with the gun, who goes by Malcolm, flings open the door. Pulling a knife from the front pocket of his navy blue dress pants, he exposes the blade and looks me up and down carefully. Swallowing hard, I shift as far away from him as I can. Not showing him any fear, but not about to let this fucker come at me with some knife and not pull away before I know what he plans to do with the damn thing. “Don’t give me any shit,” he warns, yanking my arm until I am at the edge of the seat before cutting me free from the hook. Shoving his knife back into his pocket, he grabs my arm again and pulls me fr
om the seat, my feet slamming to the ground so hard my teeth rattle. “Trust me. If I wanted you dead, you damn well would be.”
Ushering me inside the house, I am quickly lead through a brightly decorated foyer, with white marble tile, into a large den. There is a large blue and gold couch that looks like it cost more than my car and several matching chairs, all surrounding a black suede ottoman in the center of the room. Two full bookshelves take up two of the walls, and a large, big screen television is mounted above a white stone fireplace. The whole damn house looks like it came straight out of a high-end design magazine. If I weren’t brought here against my will, I might enjoy seeing how the other half live. Instead, I am scoping out every nook and cranny of the damn place, trying to figure out how I am going to get the hell out of here, the first chance I get.
“Sit,” Malcolm barks, pointing toward the center of the room.
Doing as he says, I take the chair farthest from him. Grabbing a remote control from the ottoman separating us, he drops down into the chair across from me and begins flipping through the channels. Crossing one leg over the other, I shift my body so that I am facing the bookshelves. I scan the shelves and walls, looking for photos or even a plague with a damn name on it in an attempt to piece together what is going on, or why I am here. This is easily the weirdest situation I have ever been thrown into in my entire life. I have been kidnapped by two men in business suits and am being held prisoner in a goddamn mansion.
Coming up empty handed, my mind drifts back to the guys, wishing I knew what was happening back in Legion Falls right now. I have no idea if Schrader is okay or if Pop is even alive after the ambush. My heart is an absolute shattered mess, but I refuse to let Malcom or Smith see weakness again. Pregnancy hormones be damned, I’d rather eat razor blades than let these assholes see me cry.
“You a Predators fan?”
“What?” I blurt, snapping my gaze to him.