Broken: Boxed Set

by Wilde, Leah

  We drove back to my house in silence. Parking and getting out of the car, we went upstairs to my bedroom. Katy dumped out the bag of cotton balls and nail polish on my comforter. I ducked into the bathroom while she did, making sure to shut and lock the door behind me.

  My hands were shaking as I set down my purse and withdrew the test. The colors on the box were so bright and friendly that I wanted to puke. How dare they look so innocent? Didn’t they know what was going on? Didn’t they know that, depending on what this test told me, my life as I knew it could be over? I guessed not, because they stayed the same bubblegum pink no matter how angry my thoughts seethed.

  I ripped open the cardboard and pulled out the test. Sliding my leggings down to my ankles, I sat down on the toilet and activated the test. But when I pulled it back out from between my legs, I didn’t look. I couldn’t. Not yet. I needed a few more seconds.

  I slid to a seat on the floor next to the toilet. I wasn’t sure what kind of emotions I was supposed to feel right now. Dread? Excitement? Butterflies in my stomach, or something more serious? This was unexplored territory. I wasn’t ready for these kinds of events in my life. But, like it or not, this was what was happening. I had to face it head on.

  I took a deep breath and looked.

  # # #

  “Katy,” I said, emerging from the bathroom, “you were right. I’m not feeling that well.”

  She looked up at me. “Do you want me to go?”

  “I just don’t think I’ll be very much fun today.”

  “No, no, you’re totally right. You should rest. You do look really pale.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “I’ll give you a call later to check on you, okay? Feel better, hon.” She blew me a kiss and left me alone.

  When she had gone, I went back into the bathroom. The pregnancy test was still clutched in my hand, although I’d been careful to keep it behind my back while I was talking to Katy. The pink plus sign shining from the test strip was solid and stark. It wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was this baby.

  I put a hand on my stomach. So many questions. I wondered what the baby looked like, how big it was, who it would take after. There was no doubt about the father, though. Micah was the only possibility. But could I tell him? Should I? Would he care?

  Part of me thought he had a right to know. If I was a man, I would sure want to know if there were any mini-me’s running around out there without my knowledge. But then again, I wasn’t anything like Micah. There was no telling whether he gave a damn or not. Maybe I wasn’t even the first one to have been impregnated by him. There was a decent chance that a whole host of Little Micahs were already out and about in the world.

  The bigger and more pressing question, though, was how I would tell my father. I put that thought aside as soon as it sprung up. I couldn’t possibly deal with it yet. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it; it’s not a problem until it’s a problem; yadda, yadda, yadda, whatever I had to say to convince myself not to think about my daddy yet, I said it. The merest suggestion of that particular conversation had brought vomit to threaten at the back of my throat.

  I sat there for a long time, holding the pregnancy test in my hand. The warmth of the air and the cold of the tiles seeping through my leggings were a reassuring contrast. Basic physical sensation, that’s what I needed right now. No thoughts. No worries. Just relax.

  Eventually, I fell asleep. When I did, I dreamed of pregnancy tests raining from the sky like hail, thudding into the ground around me. They each had the same thing: a big, pink plus sign staring me down like the eyes of some nocturnal animals.

  I woke up sometime later with a start. Through the crack in the opening of the door, I could see that the sun outside had set and it was nighttime. I tried to struggle to my feet, but the effort brought a fresh wave of nausea rocketing through me. I dropped the plastic stick, fell forward onto my knees, and hurled my guts up into the toilet in front of me.

  My retching echoed in the tiny bathroom. I threw up again and again, until there was nothing left but stringy bile looping between my lips. My throat and abs were sore from the convulsions and my temples were pounding with a vicious headache.

  When the fit had passed, I rocked back onto my heels. I used a piece of toilet paper to wipe the gunk off my mouth as best as I could, then that, too, went into the toilet bowl. I pressed the lever and watched as the vomit was whisked away down the drain.

  “Who was it?” someone said.

  I looked up. My father was standing in the doorway.

  I blanched. “Daddy, it’s not what you think.”

  “No?” he said. His voice was murderously cool. It was somehow scarier that way, even more so than when he ranted and raved. Those eyes—the same grey as I had—were flat and unyielding. He looked capable of anything. “Then what is that?” Extending a finger at the floor, he pointed out the pregnancy test I’d dropped. Even in the dim light, I knew he could see the positive result. My drooping head said everything else.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It was an accident.”

  “Who is the father, Paris?”

  I shook my head side to side. I couldn’t tell him. For some bizarre reason, I felt an insanely powerful urge to protect Micah. There was no telling what my father might do, and if I gave Micah up, then I would have a hand in whatever happened next. I didn’t want that.

  In a single rapid motion, he took one step forward, dropped to a crouch, and seized my forearm in his grasp. He ripped me around to face him. “I won’t ask you again. Tell me who it is,” he hissed. His nostrils were flared wide.

  “Daddy, you’re hurting me,” I whimpered.

  “Tell me!” he roared. He shook me like a rag doll. I screamed. I felt so weak and helpless. Where was all the strength I’d had when I was with Micah? On the back of his motorcycle, I felt like I could do anything. Now, though, I was defenseless. I was a little girl again, getting screamed at by her father, unable to stand up for myself and with no one around to protect me.

  “Micah Youngblood.” The words were barely audible, but as soon as they left my lips, he stopped shaking me. Instantly, I felt lower than I’d ever felt in my life. I’d given him up with hardly a fight. I was a coward. A weakling. I didn’t deserve a warrior like Micah. I deserved what I had: nothing.

  My dad dropped my arm and stood up. He towered over me, smoothing his hair back with two hands. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

  I leaped to my feet and raced after him as he took the stairs two at a time while shrugging his leather jacket on. “Where are you going?” I screamed. “Daddy, stop!”

  He ignored me and kept going. I slipped, caught myself on the railing, and followed him to the front door. “Daddy, please! Stop!”

  On the threshold of the door, he paused and whipped back around to face me. “I’m going to find him,” he said in a clipped, strangled voice. “If you leave this house while I’m gone, then you will never get the chance to do so again. Stay here, Paris. I’m warning you.”

  He slammed the door shut. The house had never before been so silent.

  Chapter 12

  Micah

  “You okay, boss?”

  I looked up from my daze. Bolt was standing in the doorway. “Yeah,” I said vaguely. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You look a li’l out of it.”

  “I’m just…thinking. That’s all.”

  “You’re gonna hurt yourself, thinking that hard,” he joked. He grinned widely, but I didn’t return it. I couldn’t find it in me.

  I was feeling all sorts of fucked up. After the visit with Val, I’d come straight back into the office and collapsed into my chair. I hadn’t moved for over an hour. I’d just been sitting here, staring into space, caught somewhere between day dreaming and doing nothing at all. I couldn’t get the image of those hands out of my head. Those innocent, unscarred hands.

  “Something going on?” I asked after a while. I needed to focus. I n
eeded something to do—action, motion, decisions. Hard, real things, things that I could put my hands on and move around. All this thinking and these feelings were starting to overwhelm me.

  “No, not a thing in the world,” he said. “I was just passin’ by and saw your door open, so I thought I’d see if you needed a hand with anything.”

  I looked around, but the office didn’t offer any good suggestions. Hell, maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling a little listless around the clubhouse. We could all do with a mission, or at the very least some goddamn chores. Whatever it took to get everyone off their ass and feeling normal again. But it was one of those random lulls in business, when there just wasn’t enough to do to keep the men busy. I couldn’t even find something for myself to get occupied with.

  “I got nothing, man. I’m sorry.”

  Bolt seemed a little taken aback. “Oh, it’s all good, boss. You ain’t gotta apologize. I was just tryin’ to be helpful that’s all.”

  “Thanks, Bolt.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I felt a headache coming on, deep behind my eyeballs. “Is Zeke back?”

  “Nah, he’s still down at the warehouse helping Carter and Bear unload the long-haul shit.”

  “Maybe I’ll go down there and give them a hand.”

  “I think they’re just about done. But hey, maybe the fresh air will do you some good. Can’t have you getting sick, Micah.”

  I waved a hand as he shrugged and left the room. He was right. I needed to get out of this cramped, musty office. A long ride on the bike might help shake some of these sticky thoughts from my head.

  I grabbed my keys and strode out of the office, tugging the door shut behind me. The barroom was mostly empty, although a few men sat drinking alone in the corners. Pushing through the main entrance, I stepped out into the warm night.

  The courtyard separating the clubhouse from the street was scrubby and empty. I headed for the gate, but when I was halfway across the yard, I saw a figure move through it. It was a big motherfucker, tall and broad-shouldered. I couldn’t make out his face, but the dim glow from the streetlight in the far corner was enough to reflect off his hair. I saw that it was flowing and white.

  My eyes started to widen as realization and the man’s voice struck me at the same time. “Micah Youngblood, you son of a bitch,” he growled as he took two quick steps towards me and unloaded a powerful fist into my gut.

  I doubled over as pain erupted where he’d hit me. He swung another punch across my jaw and I reeled to the side, falling onto one knee in the dirt. My whole face was burning, but I managed to scramble to pull out the knife I kept in my boot. I sprang backwards and held it in front of me. Blood dripped down my chin.

  “I know you aren’t stupid enough to come hit me on my own front porch, Tristan,” I said in a low voice. “All I have to do is raise my voice and my boys will have your ass strung up in the tree out back before you fucking know what hit you.”

  “I got every right to beat your ass bloody,” he replied.

  “What the fuck gives you that right?”

  “You know damn well what it is.”

  I didn’t have a fucking clue what he was talking about. I was still stunned at the sudden attack. Who in their right mind stepped into the turf of one of the city’s most feared MCs and started swinging at their president? Only a drunk or a lunatic would be that ballsy. Tristan was neither, as far as I knew. His gaze was level and his fists were held up at the ready. He really was intent on doing me some harm.

  “You’re losing it, old man.”

  “You’re going to lose your fucking balls if you don’t own up to what you did.”

  My stomach turned. He must have found out about the raid.

  But even as the thought crossed my mind, I realized that made no sense. If he’d discovered we were the ones who jacked his cash stash, then he would’ve come with an army. Looking through the gates, I saw that his bike was the only one parked out front. Why the hell would he come storming in solo?

  It had to be something else. But what?

  “You’re gonna need to explain yourself very carefully, Tristan,” I said in a cold voice, “and very quickly, too, or else I’ll slice you from balls to brains.”

  He straightened up. “You touched my baby girl,” he whispered. “You fucking used her. Like one of your whores.”

  “Now I’m sure that you’ve lost it. I’ve never even met your daughter.”

  “Think again, motherfucker.” He reached into his wallet, withdrew something, and held it up in the slanted beam of light. I squinted and looked close. When I realized what it was, I felt my whole body shrivel and grow cold.

  It was a picture of Paris.

  There was no doubt that it was the same girl. Those eyes, that skin, that hair—she was unforgettable. She’d been a constant figure in my dreams over the last four months since I’d first laid claim to her. I’d texted her again and again, called her, but she’d never answered. Now I knew why.

  She was the daughter of my sworn enemy.

  “You used her,” he said. “And now she’s carrying your bastard.”

  His words hit me hard. If the realization that Paris was Tristan’s daughter had knocked me sideways, then the accusation that she was pregnant with my child was the knockout punch. My legs felt weak. I fell to my knees in the dirt, eyes unfocused, trying to process what he’d just said. The knife dropped from my suddenly slack fingers. “My…what?”

  “You heard me, Youngblood. She’s pregnant. It’s yours.”

  It couldn’t be true. No chance. This kind of thing just didn’t happen to me. I’d been reckless plenty of times before, but it had always turned out fine.

  This girl, though. This girl was different. Of course things would be different. Of course this would be the one occasion when I couldn’t just walk away from the whole mess. Or could I?

  “Okay, Tristan. Let’s say it is mine. That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m here to tell you that if you don’t marry her, I’m going to crush you and your club. I’ll stake every one of your brothers’ heads out in my front yard as a warning to all the rest of the world that there are some lines that cannot be crossed.”

  I was speechless. “Marry her? Are you fucking insane?”

  He reached down and grabbed me by the front of my shirt, hauling me to my feet. I grabbed his wrists and peeled them off of me, but our strength was equally matched. We stood there, arms flexed and eyes narrowed in mutual hatred. I wanted to skin the son of a bitch, and I knew without question that he would do the same to me, given the chance.

  So why the fuck was he here, demanding that I marry his daughter?

  “I won’t have my family name sullied,” he spat. “You’re the lowest scum I know. You’re a thief, a womanizer, a goddamn walking cunt if I’ve ever seen one. But the only thing worse than my daughter being married to you would be for her not to be married at all. I won’t have a whore for a daughter and a bastard for a grandson. Which is why I want you to listen to this threat very carefully, Micah. And make no mistake, it is a threat. If you don’t do as I say, if you don’t marry Paris, then I will make it my life’s work to bleed you dry. Do you hear me? Do you see how serious I am?”

  His eyes were the same grey as Paris’s. But whereas on her they were rich with life and spark, his were flat. Cold. Deadly. He meant every word he was saying. And he could do it, too. He might destroy his own club in the process, but he was capable of following through on his word. At best, it would be a long, violent war of attrition. At worst, he would eradicate the Lethal Darkness from the face of the earth. And the whole city might burn in the process.

  At the same time, how could I say yes to such an unreasonable proposal? I’d just been with Valeriya and her son. I’d just sworn that I couldn’t do to another woman what Anton had done to his family. This life was mine and mine alone. It didn’t matter that Paris had stirred up shit inside me I’d never known or wanted to know was there. I wasn
’t enough of a selfish bastard to drag her into my darkness.

  I heard voices behind me raising in alarm. “Prez! Micah, what the fuck? Get away from him, you cocksucker!” Footsteps slammed into the turf as Bolt and a few others came racing across the yard.

  Tristan shook me. “Answer me. Give me your word, right now, you worthless piece of shit.”

  My men surrounded us. Two of them pulled out guns and pointed them at Tristan’s head. They were good men, my brothers. They didn’t deserve to fight a bloody, nonsensical war because of something I did. I owed them that much.