“It’s me, baby,” I murmured, taking pity on the look of disbelief she carried, and valiantly trying, for the moment, to ignore the baby she also carried.
“M . . . Moses?” she stammered
“Yeah, tough girl.” I stretched out a hand, palm turned up. “Feel me. I’m real.”
“B . . . but,” she said with a sob as her hand reached ever so slowly to meet mine. There was only a whisper of a touch as her warm palm hovered over mine, shaking. I’d never seen her shake with such emotion; she had always been steady as a rock. “You died.”
I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed to feel her, and she needed to feel me. Stepping forward, I pulled her into my arms and held her tight, my hands rubbing her back, neck, shoulders, hair, every part I could reach without letting her go.
“Only for a minute. Dejohn said the rebels found me and wanted me to live; they needed a leader for the Underworld, so they made sure I didn’t die. Dejohn fixed me up, good as new.”
“Dejohn?”
“Yeah,” I chuckled. It seemed I had reduced her to one word sentences.
“Dejohn took care of me, baby. He gave me those fucking happy pills and pumped me full of medicine. I lost a lot of blood, but he was insistent I make a full recovery. Even though I was alive and breathin’ again, something inside me was dead. Losin’ you was as good as losin’ myself, and I was barely existin’. Helpin’ Dejohn put the Underworld back together was the only thing that kept me upright. I was gonna end it, Nada. I was gonna ride the ash cloud out of that fuckin’ hole, then one mornin’, two weeks ago, I woke up with a piece of paper sittin’ beside my bed. You’ll never guess what was on it.”
“What was on it?” she said, bringing her head away from my chest, her watery gaze on mine.
“It was a map.”
I dumped my backpack and knelt before her. I didn’t know much about pregnancy, but I had been recovering from the two bullet wounds and my torture courtesy of Kingsley and Locky for six months now, so that estimate put her a little over twenty-four weeks along. I cupped my hands around the swell of her abdomen.
“We made a baby,” I murmured in awe.
“I missed you so much.” Glancing up, I watched the unchecked tears spill down her cheeks. “We missed you,” she added, placing her hands over mine.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere ever again, baby. You’re mine, and I’m yours. We own each other.”
“I’ve never owned anything before, only my knife. Now, I have you . . . and him. It’s a little overwhelming,” she whispered.
“Him?” I asked with a raised brow.
“I’m sure it’s a boy. He’s quiet all day, then kicks all night long; only a boy could be that stubborn.”
I smiled as she sniffed back her tears and rubbed her belly affectionately. Lifting the shirt that covered her flesh, I stared in wonder at the area of her body that was usually a slab of flat muscle. Reverently, I placed a hand on the warm, tight skin.
“You be a good boy for momma. Take it easy on her. She’s had a hard time of it lately and deserves a break. You feelin’ me, grub?”
“Grub?” she huffed, trying to be outraged and failing miserably.
Pressing a kiss to her stomach, I stood and lowered my lips to hers for a kiss I had been planning on giving her since the moment I opened my eyes all those months ago. I’d faced death, I’d faced the devil himself, and neither one of them could have stopped me from bringing this kiss to my girl. Finally, I gave her one last lingering press of my lips before leaning my forehead against hers.
“I got your back, baby. We got this. We escaped hell. We can do anythin’.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I made one more promise to myself. I promised I would fall asleep every night with the warmth of her body pressed against mine, and I would wake every morning the same way. Every day would be filled with me giving her all the things she had missed out on: laughter, love . . . freedom. Once upon a time, this beautiful girl had nothing. From this day forward, I vowed to give her everything.
Epilogue
I sat on the edge of the porch, my legs swinging idly as I watched Shadow raise a sharp axe and swing it down against the wood that balanced on a large stump before him. It was autumn, and winter would come soon. Shadow assured me we would need the enormous pile of wood he had been working on for the last two months. As days crept by, the cold seemed to settle deeper into my bones. I was beginning to believe him when he said the snow would be the coldest thing I had ever felt, even colder than the deepest depths of the Underworld.
Under the long-sleeved shirt that pulled tight across my heavily pregnant tummy, our baby wriggled. I pressed my hand against whatever limb he had chosen to stretch and gently coaxed our little grub to be still. I loved feeling him move, but as my body grew to accommodate him, things became tight and uncomfortable. It was a good uncomfortable, but some days I wondered if my gift for fighting had been passed down to the baby inside me. He moved with such strength it occasionally stole my breath.
My gaze rose to Shadow once more, and I watched with female appreciation as his muscular body glistened under the bright sun. He was wearing a dirty pair of jeans and nothing else, his tattooed torso bare for my viewing pleasure. Taking my eyes of him was hard–I’d watched him die and I didn’t think I could ever survive that kind of trauma again. A few weeks after arriving on the doorstep of our cabin, he’d left again. I fought with him for two days about leaving, but he insisted that it would be safe. We needed things for the baby, and he was determined to provide. On his way from the Underworld, he had passed by several roadside stores, and the closest was a day’s walk away. Watching him leave had been sheer agony, the three days he had been gone pure terror. When he came home safe and sound, loaded down with bags, I’d damn near taken him to the ground and had my wicked way with him.
I knew nothing about babies, I had no idea what we needed, and Shadow couldn’t shed much light either. But he’d gathered everything he thought we might need, including a book he miraculously found on pregnancy, right down to delivery. The thought of squeezing this enormous fighter out of my vagina filled me with a fear I never knew I was able to feel. Shadow assured me everything would be okay, his unwavering confidence and commanding presence enough to calm my fears, for now. Fear was something I didn’t feel much these days. Since leaving the Underworld and Shadow’s arrival, my life had settled into something new, and sometimes overwhelming. I preferred to be outside rather than in, and I found it difficult to drag my gaze from the sky and trees . . . well, when Shadow wasn’t parading half naked in front of me. The colors of the forest always amazed me, so many different colors, so bright. The clean smell of the air was something I would never take for granted, and the stars that hung in the sky at night were a sight that stole my breath every time I laid eyes on them. Having such freedom made me wonder about those who didn’t have it.
My thoughts returned to the Underworld, and Dejohn. Shadow had explained that he was doing well the last time he had seen him, right before he had used the map to leave. He’d been grooming another soldier, a stocky, hard man named Clive, to take over Kingsley’s position. I remembered Clive, though I had little interaction with him. Sentenced to the Underworld for his involvement with an illegal, underground fighting ring, I wondered if the man had what it took to lead the Underworld. He would certainly enjoy the arena and cage, but from what I had known of the man, he seemed quiet and subdued, but his eyes held a touch of madness. I trusted Dejohn would know what he was doing, and he, of course, had the support of the rebels.
All the innocents had been removed, including the extra names I had attached to the list. Grace was out of that hell. She would be back in a world she better understood, where she would hopefully be safe. Dejohn had explained to Shadow that a large village had been constructed in the Alaskan wilderness, and the innocents would create their own homes there. They would have food, shelter, and above all, freedom. It helped ease my guilt over leaving Dejohn with s
uch a mess, just knowing the people who shouldn’t have been incarcerated were now safe.
From what Shadow was able to garner after leaving the prison, the rebels had become a major force, their mission of freeing innocents, and inmates such as Grace, had become a global cause. People now questioned the prison systems, and the starkly black and white world the new leaders tried to force upon them. There was talk of change, and that pacified even more of the guilt I carried. Something good had come of my life. I’d lived in darkness, I’d embraced it in an effort to survive, and in doing so, I had helped create a tide of change.
My only and biggest regret, I hadn’t saved Regan. It wasn’t until one night several weeks ago, when Shadow suggested we call our baby Regan if she were a girl that I truly let my tears fall. I had failed her, she died because of me. While I sobbed in Shadow’s sure and strong arms, he whispered his heartache over suggesting any of it was my fault. His voice echoed with genuine remorse, and after a good hard cry, I wiped away the tears and lay down at Shadow’s side. That night, I slept like my tears had released me from the constant horrific images of her death that had plagued me. The guilt still sat deep inside, the grief still hurt, but I would make it up to her by living every day with her memory in my heart. I would make sure I saw all the things she’d told me about in her stories, and I would do all the things she once confessed she would do if she were living in the world above. Build a snowman, swim in a lake, climb a tree, take a nap under the warm sun with the grass at her back, dance under the stars. I almost laughed at that thought. I’d never danced, and I was sure it wouldn’t be pretty, but I’d do it, for her. Every single thing I could easily recall Regan wishing for, I would make sure it was done. Her death would not be in vain.
“What’s that smile for?” Shadow’s gravelly voice tore my thoughts away from Regan and the Underworld.
“I was just admiring your body.” I said, reluctant to tell him I’d been thinking about dancing for Regan
Shadow grinned. “You already admired it this mornin’. You were very vocal about it, too, if I recall.”
I blushed, recalling the way I had slipped over his body to straddle his hips as the sun crept over the horizon, bringing light to our free world. Apparently, being pregnant made me horny. Another jab to my ribs made me wince, and I almost laughed that something so small could cause such a reaction that so many had tried to draw from me in the past.
“She’s strong, like her momma,” Shadow murmured.
“He’s determined, like his father.”
Shadow leaned forward and kissed my tummy. I had tried calling him Moses, and failed. He would always be Shadow to me, unless we fought, in which case Moses seemed to spring more freely from my lips. Grabbing onto the wooden railing above my head, Shadow leaned forward, his lips but a breath away from mine.
“It don’t matter what we got growin’ in there, baby. As long as he’s got ten toes, ten fingers, and a healthy set of lungs on him, I’ll be the happiest man alive.”
He kissed me gently, and as the warmth of his lips left mine, I smiled. “So, you finally agree that it’s a boy?”
Shadow laughed and the sound made my entire body tingle with delight, especially between my thighs. Damn horny hormones.
“Not a chance. I still bet you a month worth of foot rubs that we’ve got ourselves a stubborn little beauty, just like her momma.”
Grabbing his hair, I pulled him back to my lips and kissed him, hard. His tongue danced with mine, and we only broke apart when our lungs screamed for air.
“I want to admire your body some more.” I said a little breathlessly.
“Again?” he chuckled.
“Always.”
Swinging himself under the railing and onto the porch, he reached out a hand to help me to my feet.
“What my tough girl wants, my tough girl gets.”
Following him into the cabin, I smiled. The words had become a mantra which Shadow repeated every day. He went out of his way to make sure I was happy and had everything I could want for, which wasn’t much: food, water, shelter, and him. I knew things wouldn’t always be perfect, but at least I knew that whatever lay ahead, we’d face it together. I’d never be alone, and I’d never feel like nothing again.
THE END
A note from the author:
The idea for When Nothing Is All You’ve Got came to me around the time Ronda Rousey was gaining a lot of media attention in Australia. Such a beautiful, intelligent and strong woman inspired me to write a story about a female fighter. The subject of a zero tolerance on crime was something I had wanted to explore for a long time. Our world can be so brutal, unfair and often hard. The judicial system can make us shake our heads with disbelief, allowing bad people to do bad things, walking away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. I find watching the news almost a moment of torture, the horrific stories burning their way into my heart and causing such sorrow and distress. Every now and again though, if we look a little harder and past the horrific stories that touch most of us in a profoundly painful way, you’ll see the beauty our world has to offer. There is kindness, friendship, love and beauty. From something as simple as holding open a door for another, to donating money to a person or charity. Acts of heroism and bravery from every day people who do it because it’s the right thing to do. Even something as simple as a kind word for someone that needs to hear it can be healing and awe-inspiring. Then there is the never-ending beauty in our Earth itself, whether it is the stars at night, the sun at dawn, a raging waterfall, or the simple beauty of a flower or butterfly. In our world there are such incredible acts of humanity, whose stories are hidden behind the media’s need to only show the worst our world has to offer. Writing this story helped remind me that behind the death and war fought all around this great big world of ours, there is so much goodness to be found. We just need to take the time to look a little harder, and we’ll see it.
Other Reads by Kirsty Dallas
Subscribe to KD’s newsletter
Kirsty Dallas
When Nothing Is All You've Got Page 25