THE DEVIL’S BABY

by Naomi West

  “One more round?” he begs, nibbling my ear.

  “You’re a big baby,” I say. “How can such a big tough dude turn into such a big, whiny baby?”

  “I’m no baby,” he says. “I just want you. You’re so sexy. You make me want to fuck you.”

  “Mmm, I wish,” I say with a heavy sigh, pushing him away playfully. “But I’ve got to go, so beat it already.”

  “If I beat it, it will be with you in mind,” he says, slapping me on the ass. “Fine, I’ll go, but just know that you’re mine. Mine, you got it?”

  I bite my bottom lip, trying to stifle a grin.

  He grins back and grabs his keys from the table before sauntering to the door, giving me a great view of his firm ass as he walks out.

  I really do need to get to work, but damn if I don’t need a cold shower first.

  ***

  Axel

  As I make my way out the door, I’m pretty sure I see that vindictive asshat Phillip in a sedan a few doors down. I rev my baby to life and take a slow path past him, giving him the finger as I pass. It’s childish, I know, but it’s better than beating his face in, which is what I really want to do.

  As I make the ride back to the club I’m worried what kind of chaos I’ll find there. I’m concerned about repercussions from the Hounds, now that I’ve stripped and gutted Jackson. I’m nervous that this new obsession Rod has with Lipstick and the baby will be short lived and cause more drama than it’s worth.

  But I’m calmed quickly with thoughts of Millie. Gorgeous Millie Jones with her crazy hair and her cute freckles and her killer mouth. We fucked three times and I shot my swimmers way up inside of her. The way she was milking me … my god. Her body craved it, and she never once asked about protection, never mentioned it. I didn’t see any birth control pills in her bathroom—and boy, I looked. I feel pretty confident that little Axel Junior is inside her right now.

  I can just feel it.

  ***

  Millie

  “I fucked him,” I whisper.

  Elizabeth dances around her office, hands over her head, raising the roof. “Whoot, whoot! That’s what I’m talking about, girlie! Details!”

  I step inside, cheeks burning, and shut the door. “Elizabeth, Jesus, keep your voice down.”

  She giggles and flops into her chair. “So … how was it?”

  I take a deep breath in and let it out. “So. Good.”

  She squeals like a star-struck preteen meeting her favorite boyband. “I knew it! Big cock?”

  “Really big,” I say. “So many orgasms, Elizabeth. So many. I had no idea. And I thought words like fuck and pussy and cunt. I even said a few of those words out loud.”

  “Seriously?” Elizabeth asks, eyes wide. “You said cunt?”

  “Well, no,” I say. “I didn’t say that one out loud.”

  She laughs. “Okay. Well, fuck is a good start. How many times did you do it?”

  “Three,” I say.

  “Whoa! Holy sex-fest, Batman!”

  “Right?” I say. “It was … needed. So good. I’m still feeling endorphins.”

  “So … will you see him again?”

  “I hope so,” I say. “I’m not done paying off my debt for the motorcycle repairs.”

  She giggles again. “Okay. And I assume you used protection?”

  I cringe. I’ve been thinking about this very thing all day.

  “Oh no,” Elizabeth says. “You didn’t.”

  I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

  “Nothing?” she asks. “No condom? Did he pull out?”

  I cringe again. “No. He … came inside me. All three times.”

  “Oh my god, Millie!” she yells. “Did you not take sex ed? Did you forget your brain? Who has sex with some random dude and doesn’t use protection? Holy shit, let’s get you down to the pharmacy and get the morning after pill. For fuck’s sake, Millie, what the fuck were you thinking?”

  What was I thinking? Oh, that’s right, I was thinking about how good it felt to be with him, how good he made me feel. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than pleasure, which is not something I get to think about very often.

  “I was caught up in the moment,” I say.

  “I guess!” she exclaims. “I mean, we all slip sometimes. Just run down to the drugstore and they can give you something.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say.

  “I thought you were on the Pill the whole time you were with Phillip?”

  I sigh. “I was. I went off a few months ago. I tried like three kinds and they all gave me weird side effects. And I figured I wasn’t having sex, so why be on the Pill.”

  “Well, there are other ways,” she says.

  “I know,” I say. “I took sex ed in high school.”

  We talk for a few minutes but then I need to get back to my desk. I work late to make up for coming in late and as I drive home, I think about stopping at the pharmacy. I think about it, I really do. I mean, I barely know this guy, Axel. Sure, we had something totally hot going on, something I can’t imagine ever having with a guy like Phillip. But does that mean I want to have the guy’s baby? And seriously, did he say he wanted to put a baby in me? Does he just, like, go around screwing women and making babies? Am I one of many?

  I’m both relieved and rejected when he doesn’t come to see me. I go to bed still feeling that soreness in my muscles, that same sensitivity and want. I wish he would come. I’m glad he doesn’t.

  Back and forth, up and down. I lie my hand on my stomach, wondering if there is a tiny sperm merging with a tiny egg inside of me right now. It’s September. That means, what, a June baby? Could I be a mother by June? Would he want to be a father? And if he does, am I okay with having a criminal for the father of my child? I know he looks tough, scary, but I don’t perceive him as a violent man.

  My thoughts spin and spin.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 8

  Axel

  I haven’t seen or talked to Millie in twenty-eight days. Four weeks. I feel like a junkie who’s gone cold turkey. I fucking hate it.

  After our three-time fuckfest, I came back to a club in chaos and immediately kicked myself for being away for more than a few hours.

  Word had gotten out about stripping and gutting Jackson. The guys got it; they agreed that he deserved it for what he did. But they were also pissed that no one caught him before that. They felt that Hard Rod was to blame, that he’d been careless with the club, that he should have caught it much earlier since he was the one running border routes and shifts.

  They weren’t wrong. I felt that way, too, but I don’t shit on my boss, so I had to take it like a punch to the nuts. And all the while, fucking Rod was nowhere to be found, off enjoying pregnancy sex with Lipstick, I presume.

  I ran every border route at every site. I ran them morning, mid-day, and evening. I ran alternate routes and adjusted schedules. I got that shit in tip-top shape. All the while, the radio silence out of Rod spooked our new client. I explained that he had personal business to attend to, that I’d spoken to the farmer and that the shipment should be up within the week. He bailed. Which meant I had a shipment coming with no buyer. So, I had to go glad-hand some folks we hadn’t worked with in a while, bring them back to the fold. It took weeks, but I got something lined up, only to find out that the fuckers were also setting up deals with the Hounds, trying to pit us against each other to get the best price.

  Four weeks away from Millie. Four weeks of beating my meat to the thought of her lips as they wrapped around my cock. Four. Fucking. Weeks. I feel like a crazy person. I’m not in love. How could I love a woman I barely know? Still, what started as a quick fuck to meet a need and pay back a debt turned into something more satisfying than I’ve felt in a long while. It’s not like I can’t get laid; there are club girls galore up in this house all the damn time. I could get fucked six ways from Sunday if I just wanted a nut, but that’s not what I want. No, I want one woman,
and that’s Millie.

  Pissed, I track down Rod to an apartment he’s gotten for Lipstick and the baby. It’s a nice place in a nice part of Shaker Heights.

  Lipstick is tall and slender and platinum blonde. Her lips are cherry red, hence the reason she’s called Lipstick. She’s got big fake tits. I don’t find fake tits at all attractive but Rod’s always been a fan. Likes to bury his face in them, the weirdo. That’s where we’re real different. I like my women curvy and natural. Real tits, big bush, wide ass. Rod likes ’em pencil-thin, full of silicone, and waxed hairless. Whatever. Different strokes for different folks.

  She comes to the door in a tiny black dress, her belly protruding just slightly.

  “Rod’s got you barefoot and pregnant, huh?” I ask.

  She pulls me in for a hug. “Hey, stranger, long time no see.”

  “How’s it going?” I ask.

  “Pretty good. I’m five months today. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a girl!” She does a little dance.

  I give a genuine smile. “That’s great. I guess you must’ve been rooting for a girl, then?”

  “Well, Roddie wanted a boy, of course, but I assured him that, as it’s 2017, girls too can play football. That appeased him somewhat.” She winks at me.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I say. “I heard there’s some middle school girl in Bay Village who gets like three sacks per game.”

  “I heard about her, too!” she exclaims, clapping her hands.

  “Rod around by any chance?” I ask.

  She nods and takes me hand, leading me down a hallway. She points and I find Rod fiddling with the pieces of a baby crib. He’s spouting swear words like there’s no tomorrow, and his instructions are upside down.

  “Roddie,” she says, “Look who’s here. Maybe take a break? Clear that head of yours?”

  Rod turns and smiles when he sees me. “Oh, thank fuck,” he says. “Axel knows way more about this shit than I do.”

  “About puttin’ together baby cribs?” I ask. “The fuck I do.”

  “Well, let’s grab a beer and you can help me anyway,” he says.

  We wander out to the kitchen and Lipstick slips on a jacket and shoes and says she’s running out for pizza.

  “I never thought I’d see the day you’re puttin’ together a baby bed,” I say.

  “I dunno,” he says, popping open his beer. “It’s kinda nice, bein’ away from all the drama.”

  “All the fuckin’ drama is right,” I say. “You left me with it, you asshole.”

  “Can’t be that bad,” he says.

  I rattle off everything that’s gone down in the past month.

  “Jackson?” he asks. “Really? You sure?”

  “He admitted it,” I say. “I didn’t take no pleasure in gutting him, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Yeah,” he says, his tone sullen. “And Belikov bolted on the shipment.”

  “He did,” I say. “He wanted to see you. I told him you were busy. He didn’t want to hang around and wait.”

  Rod shrugs. “Meh. Fuck him, then. I’ll find another buyer. Ain’t no thing.”

  “Rod,” I say, “The guys need you. I ain’t no good at runnin’ a club on my own. There’s a reason you’re the president, and I’m the VP.”

  “You’re doin’ fine,” he says. “I needed a break. That job’s a headfuck on a good day and I been in it since when? Like ten years? Fuck.”

  “You were one of the younger presidents when you got voted in,” I say. “Always a natural leader.”

  “But goofy as hell,” he says, laughing. “Remember you called me that once? Or was it goofy as fuck. You said I was an airhead.”

  “You are,” I say. “I stand by that statement. “I mean, shit, you’ve been gone a goddamn month just to put together a motherfucking baby crib.”

  He laughs out loud. “I wanted to show her … that I could be good. That I would be a good dad.”

  “I don’t think she chose you for your fathering skills,” I say. “She was a club girl, been around the block a few times. She wants to be your old lady, get the perks that comes with it.”

  “You make her sound like a gold digger,” he says. “She ain’t like that.”

  “I mean, I think she cares about you, but I doubt she expected you to drop everything to do all this. She doesn’t expect you to let the club rot while you run off to be a doting dad. She knew what she was getting into when she decided to have your baby.”

  “You gonna feel the same way when you have an old lady to knock up? You gonna tell her she’s on her own?” he asks.

  “Nah,” I say. “I’m not. But I’m not you, either. You’ve never been a one-woman, settling-down type of dude. No offense, just sayin’ it like it is.”

  “Yeah, I guess not,” he says. “Still, I do … care about her. I want to try. So I’m tryin’.”

  “Well, can you try and also come back to work? I need you.”

  He gives me a thin, tired smile. “Come help me put that fucking bed together and I’ll think about it.”

  ***

  Millie

  I realize that I can put my life into several categories. At fifteen, the Phillip Phase began. The Phillip Phase started as the usual fumbling high-school relationship. We had no idea what we were doing, but it was cool to be wrapped up in another human who liked me back. We figured it out together. And when college came, he stayed close, told me he wanted to get married and have a family. It seemed like the right thing to do, to stay with him.

  Moving to Cleveland was hard. My family is close. They’re normal people. My dad is a firefighter and my mom is a teacher. They were always supportive, always there for me. They liked Phillip okay but didn’t love him. My dad is six-five and dark-skinned and way intimidating to skinny white boys. My mom is willowy and olive-skinned and green-eyed. Phillip always felt more comfortable around her, even though she and my dad were on the same page about him. They called him “white toast.”

  Boring. Phillip was a boring guy. He was stable and hard-working and intelligent, but damn, he had no hobbies. So we moved to Cleveland and I tried everything to get him out and about. Let’s go to a Cavs game. No. Let’s go to the Rock Hall of Fame. No. Let’s go to a concert, out to dinner, to the movies. No.

  Boring. And our life together was boring. And it could have been boring in Sandusky and I’d have been happier because my friends were all there. But in Cleveland, I had to find a new job and make new friends and, as it turned out, when I was with those friends, he did develop a hobby: screwing other people.

  So then there was Post-Phillip Phase. That was marked by me constantly worrying about money. How do I pay for gas to get downtown this week? Should I stop driving and get a bus pass? Why doesn’t this damn town have a subway like other metropolitan areas? What is wrong with Ohio? No major city in the state has a goddamn subway.

  Stress. All the time. And worry over money. And even though I now have a few friends, I also have a mortgage that I have to pay on my own, so I can’t go out very often, which means I spend a lot of time on my couch watching Netflix and petting my cats. Which is lame, and not fun at all.

  I like music. Did I mention that I like music a lot? I played the bass when I was in high school. I was a little bit punk rock and I put a purple streak in my hair and wore Doc Martens before they had this resurgence they’re having now. I still blast pop-punk music all the way in to work, and I scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs.

  Being without Phillip has put me in a place where I just go through the motions. I live this half-life in this kind-of-okay job and I pay for this tiny house and I eat Ramen noodles.

  And then, Axel Phase. Short lived but full of color.

  And even though he’s not really a part of my life—I mean, really, I’ve met him literally three times—I felt really connected to him. I felt more beautiful than I’ve ever felt in my life. I am a biracial woman. I love my parents, but I hate that they raised me
in Sandusky, Ohio, where there were like four-point-one non-white people in my high school. I did not feel beautiful in high school, but with Axel? I felt like a goddess.

  “You don’t fall in love with the rebound guy,” Elizabeth says as I mope around the office.

  “I didn’t, “I say defensively.

  “Don’t lie,” she says. “I mean, you’re breaking all the rules. Don’t let the random biker dude do you without protection. Don’t get pregnant by the random biker dude. Don’t fall in love with the random biker dude.”