HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY

by Kathryn Thomas

  And it’s not Vipers.

  I’ve gone over the timeline and the dates, searching my brain for that one time when we maybe… or that moment when we…

  But, if I’m being honest, there is no time when we were together—not like this. Each time we’ve been intimate with another, something happens. He can’t keep it up, or I get a headache, or the club calls him away, etc. By my count, it’s been three months since he’s climaxed inside of me, and even then, it was usually while wearing a condom.

  Because we’ve been so lackluster in the bedroom, I stopped taking my pill. I mean, why waste the money on something that was just making me fatter and more emotional when I could save the twenty bucks a month and trust the condom instead? The plan was working well. I had no worries whatsoever in regards to the baby-making department until I went and did something insanely stupid. I slept with a complete and total stranger.

  It was only about a month ago. Halloween night. I had gone to the party with the rest of the girls—Viper was out on a run and wouldn’t join us. I figured the whole mask thing would mean I could play around a little. Enjoy myself. The girls were all drunk out of their minds. They didn’t even see me sneak out with him towards the shed. And they certainly didn’t hear me scream my bloody brains out as he took me hard and fast on that makeshift cot and workmen’s table. My wrists still ache from the force of being held down.

  That night was, quite honestly, one of the best of my life. I’ve had some good fuckings before. My first time with Viper is probably up there, but this was… this was another level. The mask and being tied up made it something more—dangerous, mysterious, forbidden. And with the alcohol flowing, it was so easy for me to just close my eyes and let it happen to me. When he came inside of me, I couldn’t stop it even if I had wanted to. I was too lost in the passion of it.

  And now… well, now this. I should’ve known it would have consequences and protected myself with that little pill the girls keep in the medicine cabinet of the shared apartment. But I didn’t. I thought it wouldn’t matter. It was one night in the dark. I would never know who he was and I would go on with Viper a little happier and lighter now that I had released all that pent up carnal need.

  It had worked until it didn’t. The first day of my missed period, I cried for hours. And then the morning sickness came. When I finally forced myself to take the test, I knew the answer already. There is no hiding this; no pretending it was all in my mind.

  I am pregnant, and it isn’t my boyfriend’s.

  I haven’t told him yet. I’ve explained all these symptoms as being from my period. Being the clueless, non-observant man he is, he hasn’t questioned it. But the girls are starting to look at me funny. Even as April sits here with me, she eyes me up and down as if the possible baby might pop out of me at any moment if she stares me down the right way.

  “You know what,” I say as I take in another drink of the water. “I’m feeling better. Let’s go back in.” I try to plaster on a peppy smile, but I know I’m failing miserably. Even standing up is sending my stomach back into convulsions.

  “Are you sure, Rivet?” April asks.

  “Yeah. I can make it the rest of the shift, and then Viper will pick me up. No biggie.” I don’t let her protest anymore. I grab my apron from where I left it to hang and head straight back in.

  The bar is stuffier, more claustrophobic than before. The metal tiled ceiling feels as if it will crumble in on me at any moment. All the eyes at the bar turn towards me as the waitress door swings shut behind me.

  “Table three—new guys,” Lynnie barks, handing me a bucket of beers and ice. “Carnivores protection.” Her head gestures towards a table of younger looking guys, maybe my age or so. I haven’t seen them around, but then I’m not sure why I would. If they are security for the club, they wouldn’t be getting around in the circle too often. Usually, the only ones we serve here are full club members—guys that are runners, sellers, dealers, enforcers, etc.

  But new faces are good for me. It means that I’ll have one less person to worry about running to Viper with the rumor that I’m knocked up. I grin again, that flirty, waitress grin I’ve nailed down, and head straight to them.

  “Hey, guys. I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” one of the men answers. “You’re Jane Rydel, ain’t you?”

  It’s been years since anyone’s called me that. I’ve been Rivet every since I joined up with the club. Shedding my real name has been a way of burning my old life—the college-bound, A-student, goody girl who couldn’t get ahead because of her screwed up, trashy parents.

  “No,” I lie as I shy away. “It’s Rivet, and I’ll be your server today. I hear y’all ordered some beer.” I place the bucket down on the table, but as soon as I am near enough, one of the men grabs my hand and pulls me closer to him. I nearly fall into his lap, but he holds me at a distance, studying me from under a black brimmed hat.

  “You’re Jane. I know you are.”

  “And how would you know that… if it were true?” I ask, my breath hitching at the sound of his thick, dark voice.

  He laughs. It echoes through our touch and up through my arm. It’s the kind of laugh I know I’ve heard before, but the memory can’t catch up with me. He holds onto my hand as he says, “I’m Bishop Daniels. We used to live down the block from one another at Shady Oaks Park. I rode the school bus with you every day.” His voice lowers as he adds, “I even know how you got that scar on your shoulder.”

  My hand instantly shoots up to cover the small, half-moon shape. I had gotten it riding my bike down to a creek. I hit a rock and went flying over the handlebars, landing on a pile of river rocks. And Bishop was there, standing over me laughing as I bled profusely.

  I let go of his hand, hoping no one saw that moment of lapsed judgment. I pull back my dark hair into a ponytail as I try to reckon with this old friend yet new stranger. “So you’re Bishop... You’ve changed.”

  He certainly has. He’s not some snotty nosed middle schooler with shy eyes and a taste for corn puffs. Bishop’s grown into something of a living goth God at nearly six foot five and all muscle. His arms and chest, from what I can see under his formfitting T-shirt, are covered in blue, black, and gray tribal tattoos, and his ears and eyebrows are pierced with spike jewelry. The only thing that’s stayed the same is his raven-colored wavy hair that dances whenever he laughs, and those baby blue eyes that almost betray this whole metal look he’s got going for him.

  “You haven’t.” He admires me. I can feel it. His eyebrows pique as he leans in to whisper, “You’re still the same scrawny girl with legs too long for your own good.”

  He goes to reach out to touch me, but luckily, a pound from the entrance stops him from breaking the barrier.

  “Carnivores! Move out!” Tommy storms through the glass door of the bar like a hurricane. He’s covered in sweat, and his voice is choppy and almost panicked. “Come on! Come on! The Desert Snakes are attacking—riding towards headquarters. We gotta get there, play backup.”

  “Where’s Viper?” I yell, but I’m not heard over the sound of the men’s chairs screeching on the floors.

  Bishop squeezes my bare shoulder as he answers for them. “The last I saw, Viper was on his way back from a shift,” he explains. “He’s probably at the club now, if not nearing there.”

  “The rain…” I try to say as I look out towards the few windows the bar has. A stream of rain streaks the fogged up glass. It’s been raining for days now, making it a hazard for any of the riders out there.

  Bishop throws on his jacket, a jet black tight bomber, and reassures me, “We’re the best riders the Carnivores got. If the bulk of the guys are trapped outside club lines because of the storm, we’re the best hopes the club has.”

  “Take me with you!” I call out without realizing it.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes. I mean, yeah. I am. Viper’s my, uh...” I stumble over my words clumsily. Part of me doesn’t want him to
know that this is my life; the life of some biker slut claimed by Viper of all guys. But the other part of me doesn’t want to leave Viper like this. As a claimed club girl, it was part of my duty to stand by him, even in battle—to be there for him no matter what he needs. If it’s to be in that clubhouse with him, helping him with supplies or recon, then that’s what I needed to do.

  Bishop senses what I can’t bring myself to say. Taking my hand, he leads me out through the glass doors and towards the waiting storm.

  Chapter Two Bishop

  The rain beats down on my back, hard enough that I’m not sure if she is even hearing me. That familiar face of hers looks even more lost than the little girl I remember from the trailer park. Her eyes are fixed on the sleek sidewalk and the puddles I’m leaping over to get to my parked bike. She seems to be in a bit of a teasing mood as she yells, “What do you think you’re gonna do there? Do you really think this is smart?”

  My boys are already gone, racing towards the clubhouse with their weapons unholstered. Honestly, I wish I was off with them instead of loading this girl on the back. That said, I can see that she thankfully knows how to ride. She eases onto the bitch seat like a pro and presses her slick, bare legs onto the side of my thighs.

  Before I purr my bike into life, I growl at her. “I’m absolutely fine. But tell me—do you really think this is a good idea, Jane?”

  She reaches for the single helmet I keep on me and fidgets with the clip. The rain smudges her dark makeup, her eyes red but glowing. She bites her lip for a moment and then answers with as much conviction as anyone would have entering a battle. “Yeah. I need to be there for him.” I turn back towards the bike and turn it on to start. Over the short roar of the ignition, she shouts through the rainstorm, “But don’t call me Jane! I’m Rivet now!”

  Rivet . What a fucking awful name. No way in hell I—or any other guy I know—would ever grok to that. Rivet sounds like a fake, biker chick name or a girl from one of those cheap, grocery store romance books or a particularly bad stripper’s stage name. It’s a little too tongue-in-cheek, like it’s trying too hard to be real .

  That’s the real problem here. The girl I know isn’t hard as steel or a cog in someone’s machine. A rivet was used to smash something into place; forced to hold its position. The girl I knew was sassy but had a side about her that was light and weak. In my mind, I see her crying over the ice cream man coming because she could not afford anything. I hear her scream at the boys for shooting a bird out of its nest with a toy BB gun. I smell the sweet and sour candy she used to carry around in her back pocket to share with the rest of us. This Rivet character isn’t her.

  But the girl gets what she wants. And if she’s been in the club world for a while, she’s probably been initiated into this bullshit already. Most club girls know way more than the guys. They’re there for everything, not just the parties. They run the background operations like only women can. And they know things; secrets that can’t ever get out. Truth is, every biker I’ve ever met has something to hide. And all of them—every single last goddamn one of them—has a woman he will eventually tell those secrets to.

  Jane—er, Rivet —she’s with Viper, the club’s VP. No doubt she’s got some dirt on that scumbag. Ever since I joined up with the Carnivores, I’ve heard rumors about him. Just little nuggets here and there, but they sure as hell add up. He runs around with that motherfucker Dig who initiated me. My guys say that Viper and Dig think I’m a threat to their positions. I don’t blame them. I’m young, a force to be reckoned with, and the best rider this club has ever seen. I can ride through the wind and rain like it’s nothing, and that makes me more valuable than men who’ve been kissing the ass of club presidents and secretly plotting to hold a coup.

  Within minutes, Rivet and I approach some of the slower, more cautious club security. They wave at me, urging me forward. Rivet buries her head into my back as if she doesn’t want to be seen. But she’s pretty remarkable with her long, jet-black hair flapping in the wind like a tail to my monster. No one would mistake her, even if she’s with the wrong rider. She’s a sight to see.

  It doesn’t take me long to get back to headquarters, even with the rain and the extra passenger. I pull up as close as I can get to the crawlspace—a far distance from the front entrance or even the backway where most of the other bikes are hidden.

  “What are you doing?” Rivet asks as she eyes the darkened building.

  “I don’t go in or come out the way everyone else does. It’s a rule of mine.”

  She waves her hand at me while slipping off the back of the bike. “It doesn’t matter. Just get me inside before all hell breaks loose. I think I can hear them coming.”

  She was right. The growl of engines in the distance didn’t belong to our guys. It would be too late before our backup arrived, and like the guys said at the bar, the rain is keeping most of our guys who don’t have the skill to ride in storms at home until someone can arrange the rides. That could take hours, if it even happens. My small band of boys riding a few miles behind me is just about all the hope the Carnivores have to whatever hell is about to break out.

  Without thinking, I press my hand to Rivet’s back. Her wet bar T-shirt clings to her skin, and the outline of her low-cut bra is imprinted in the fabric. I push her towards the small metal door leading to a set of six or seven concrete stairs. The smell of musk and mold hits us instantly, and I can tell she’s never been in this part of the building. Good for her. This is the place Viper and the upper leadership has us throw the Desert Snakes that slip in through the cracks or the businessmen who think they can get away with stiffing us on a job. Traces of their blood still stain some of the floors, though it’s hard to see with only a small, grayish window giving light.

  She steps slowly, cautiously, through the mess of cobwebs until I can’t take anymore. I reach for her small, shivering hand and pull her through—towards where I know the wooden door with the brass handle is at the top of the group of stairs. It’s unlocked, as usual. The younger guys never remember to lock the damn thing, despite me reminding them as loudly and violently as I am allowed.

  I grunt in frustration, forgetting the moment, before bursting through the stuck door. My hand is still clenched to hers as we fly forward towards the men’s bathroom on the first floor of Carnivores headquarters. A few heads turn towards us, but no one gives a second glance. They’re all busy rushing through the room on high octane, guns and knives in hand, and many on the phone to who knows who. Seconds in and this place feels as if it’s about to blow.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” a large, angry-looking guy screams through the two rooms. I already know it’s directed over towards us. I watch as Viper barrels through the crowd, his fists clenched around an old wooden baseball bat and a piece of splintered plywood. “Who told you that you could come, Rivet?”

  Rivet pauses, looking at me first. Her cheeks blush pink, her slightly tan face becoming more green than white. I remember her hand still in mind, sweating and still trembling. I put a step between us, an ocean it feels like, before she has the guts to speak up.

  “No one, Viper. The guys, and Bishop, they were at the bar. They told us that you were all outnumbered. I thought I could help—hold down the fort, store some weapons, bring you guys drinks… I don’t know. I only want to be of some help.”

  “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that!” There’s not an ounce of humor or relief in his voice. Apparently, despite her bravery and sacrifice, the last person in the world he wants to see is his girlfriend. It’s almost criminal watching her face drop as low as it does as he continues, “You’re gonna get yourself killed … or worse! Do you even know what those bastards do to club girls like you?”

  “I know, Viper, but I—”

  “‘I’ what?” He places a hand on his bald, tattooed head as he shouts, “Dammit, Rivet! Go upstairs. Stay quiet. And don’t move a fucking muscle. I don’t want to hear from you until this damn thing is over.” He dis
misses her like some dog that had pissed on his foot, waving her away with his short, stumpy arms.

  “She’s probably off going down to the crawlspace, man,” I interject, throwing a side glare towards Rivet. She’s about half her size, and her hair has fallen across her face like a massive shield no one can penetrate. “It’s the last place they’ll look, and I’ve got my bike there if she needs to make a getaway.”

  “Who the hell are you?” He looks me over from boot to top. I’m a few inches bigger than him. Wider too. The asshole knows exactly who I am. He’s seen me plenty, heard my name come up enough, and has gotten in enough arguments with my faction to be more than an ignorant fuck, but here he is pulling some sissy power play.

  I’m tempted to answer something smug, something that will get my lights punched out or a few days scrubbing the floors of this hall, but I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I offer my hand and re-introduce myself. “Bishop. I’m a security detail. Been with the Carnivores for months now. Our boss put me in charge of the—”

  “Our boss put me in charge as well, so you work for me.”