TAKE ME, OUTLAW: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance

by Zoey Parker

  I'd known a couple of girls in college who'd gotten abortions. Kathleen had handled it well, and even when it awkwardly came up during a drunken late-night conversation over a year later, she'd claimed that she had no regrets at all. She'd been completely convinced that it was the right thing to do, and that she simply hadn't been ready to have a child. At the time, I had admired her logical approach and her certainty.

  But on the other hand, there was Beth, my other friend who accidentally got knocked up in sophomore year. Her boyfriend had been an insensitive pig, and when she told him she was pregnant, he bullied her into having an abortion without caring how she felt about it. After it was over, Beth ended up having a nervous breakdown and leaving college.

  I still admired Kathleen's resolve to this day, but I didn't know if I was enough like her to go through what she had and come out unscathed. I did know that I was too terrified of ending up like Beth to do this if I wasn't 100% sure I could live with it, and I just didn't believe I could ever reach that level of certainty.

  But most of all, now that I knew it was inside of me, I was certain I could feel it growing. If this was just a collection of bothersome cells to get rid of, then how come I already felt like it was a person? Why was I already considering which gender it would be, and what kind of future I could give it?

  A future without a father. You're not just thinking about raising a child for the first time in your life. You are thinking about raising it entirely on your own. You're a barely-employed actor, and you're barely in your twenties. Wouldn't it be selfish to decide to raise a baby under those conditions?

  I desperately wanted to take these thoughts to heart, but I couldn't. I knew that to me, “selfish” would be aborting a life simply because the thought of being a parent was frightening and uncertain for me. In that moment, I realized that even if I could work up the courage to make an appointment at a clinic, I wouldn't be able to go through with it.

  For better or worse, I was going to have this baby. And Nic could never know.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Growler

  Left.

  Right.

  Left.

  Right.

  I could barely remember where I was or how I'd gotten there. Fuck, I could barely remember who I was. I'd lost a lot of...well, everything, pretty much. Tommy kept the blood transfusions coming whenever he chopped off something new, but it seemed like he still kept the flow light enough to keep me weak. Having only one arm left kept me off balance, too.

  But I could remember one thing, goddamn it, and I clung to it every time Tommy left the room. I could remember to keep slamming my weight—what was left of it—from side to side, over and over, while sitting in my chair.

  Left.

  Right.

  Left.

  Right.

  At least I didn't have to worry much about popping any stitches. To minimize blood loss, Tommy had chosen to keep cauterizing most of the wounds with that motherfucking red-hot poker. I had almost gotten used to the sound of my own skin frying, and the sight of my own body parts being held by someone else across the room.

  I had even gotten used to the fact that Bard and the others wouldn't be coming to my rescue. I had clung to that hope for the first couple of weeks, but after six, it was clear that I was on my own. I didn't blame them. I knew they probably just couldn't find me, and I also knew they'd be doing everything they could to either track me down and break me out or make these sons of bitches pay for what they'd done to me. But either way, I'd almost certainly die in this fucking room.

  I remembered being groggy and thinking they were trying to get information from me, even though no one had asked me anything. “You're not gettin' anything from me,” I had slurred. Those were the last real words I would ever speak, as it turned out.

  Tommy laughed behind his surgical mask. “Hey, paisan, we've already gotten a lot from you! Hell, we've cut off enough parts to build a whole other biker, if we wanted to!” And with that, he reached into my mouth with a metal clamp, grabbed my tongue with it, and used a scalpel to saw through it. That was some bad pain, and I think I might have passed out toward the end.

  Still, I could handle pain. I'd been doing it all my life.

  Trying to break free of the layers of duct tape would have been useless, even at full strength. But after shifting my weight enough times to try to get the blood flowing to my numb ass cheeks again, I realized that this wooden chair wasn't too sturdy. It was old, it had been sat on many times—by Giovanni, probably, or his equally-fat relatives—and the nails holding it together were loose and squeaky.

  Even missing about 25 percent of my body, I knew I had enough weight to loosen it up even more if I kept working at it. And even though Tommy had done a number on my upper body, I still had both of my legs, which meant I had a chance to run for it if I could get free. I still had an arm to deal out some punishment with, too.

  Not much of a chance, maybe. But I'd take it over getting chopped up for parts like a stolen fucking car.

  So:

  Left.

  Right.

  Left.

  Right, come on, give me a little something, baby, don't be a tease now.

  Left, oh you motherfucker, you cunt, give just a bit, don't you fucking let me die here.

  The chair arm under my remaining wrist pulled free with a small squeak, exposing the pointy tips of the rusty nails that had held it in place. Oh, thank fucking Christ.

  Suddenly, I heard someone outside the door, and I quickly placed the chair arm back where it belonged. I had to play this perfectly. I knew I'd only get one shot.

  I sure hope it's you, Tommy, because there is nothing in the world I want more right now than to snatch that scalpel from you, turn it sideways, and bury it in your narrow guinea ass. Fuck, it'd even be worth not getting out of here alive, as long as I get to give you a sharp metal suppository before I check out.

  The door opened, and damned if I didn't get something even better.

  Vole.

  Dear Santa—thank you for the late Christmas gift. I promise that if I get out of this alive, I will never say an unkind word about your stupid fucking holiday ever again. I'll even leave out milk and cookies for you next year, you beautiful, fat, weird-looking bastard.

  Vole was holding a pair of mouth-clamps in one hand, and his other was wrapped around a hammer and a sharp-looking chisel. His buck teeth were displayed in a nasty grin.

  “Guess what day it is, you hacked-up menefreghista?” Vole sneered. “Today is Dentist Day! See, Tommy an' the other guys went to grab some lunch, an' they left me to keep an eye on you. But I figure, hey, they been workin' pretty hard. Why not prepare a little surprise for 'em when they get back, right?”

  Oh, you have no idea, you fuckin' rodent. I tried to keep looking dazed and pathetic. The more harmless he thought I was, the better.

  “So what I'm gonna do, see, is I'm gonna tape your head back an' put these clamps in your mouth. See 'em?” He held them up proudly, clicking them together. “Nice, right? I saw 'em in the window of a dental supply shop, an' call me sentimental, but I thought of you immediately. Yeah, I'm gonna prop that ugly ball-washer of yours open big an' wide, an' then I'm gonna use this hammer an' chisel to bust out every tooth you've got 'til you're left with a mouthful of gums. But yo, that ain't the best part! No, the best part is that when the other guys get back, you're gonna treat each of 'em to a nice, sloppy blowjob! Yeah, you're gonna chug down that cum like a champ!”

  I said another silent prayer of gratitude for the loosened chair arm. Without it, it sounded like I'd have been in for a gnarly fuckin' afternoon.

  “Well, let's get started, huh, tough guy?” Vole said, setting his supplies down next to the chair. He picked up the roll of duct tape, tore off a long strip, and prepared to position himself behind me. I knew it was now or never.

  “Hope you've been flossing, or—”

  The words snapped off in his mouth as I lifted my arm with the chair section t
aped to it and lashed out. The blow caught him in the temple, and when I pulled my arm back again, I saw that the nails had made a half-dozen holes in his face. He stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock. Another three or four steps, and he could slam the door behind him and trap me in here until the others came back.

  Well, fuck that.

  I reached down with the chair arm and used the nails to puncture and tear the duct tape around my legs, yanking them free. With that done, I could finally stand—but I lurched forward, my legs numb and shaking from lack of use. Vole was still backing away, and if I hesitated for another second, I'd lose my chance.

  I leaned forward and launched myself at him like a missile, not caring if I could stay upright. I only cared whether I could keep my forward momentum going. The two IV holders fell forward, dragging behind me. Vole was outside the door, and his hand was already swinging it, trying to shut it in time. My torso flopped through before the door could close, and it slammed hard against my side, breaking a rib. I barely felt it.

  My remaining hand clawed at Vole's torso, and the nails on the chair arm dug in again, scraping the flesh from his chest and belly in long red ribbons. He was squealing and flapping his arms in front of him uselessly.

  This is for the sucker-smack with the metal pipe, you goddamn little weevil.

  I brought the chair arm down on his head again and again, bludgeoning him as the nails stabbed his face into a bloody mess. Finally, he stopped struggling and flopped back limply, clearly dead.

  I hit him a few more times just to be sure.

  After that, I straightened up with difficulty and used my teeth to tear the remaining tape off my wrist, shaking off the gory chair segment. I used my good arm to yank out the IV needles, tossing them aside.

  Looking around, it seemed like I was being held in a one-story house in one of the nicer suburbs. I had no idea which one or how long it would take to get back to the city, but I knew I'd better get started if I had a hope in hell of making enough distance before Tommy and the others got back.

  I also knew that I'd better not make the trip bare-ass naked, unless I wanted the cops to pick me up before I could make it to the Nest.

  I grabbed a blanket from the couch in the living room, wrapped it around myself, and bolted out the back door, running across the lawn and away from that goddamn chamber of horrors.

  My teeth chattered loudly in the cold, but man, I didn't give a fuck.

  I was just grateful I still had teeth.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lauren

  Well, that was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

  I walked out of the casting director's office building, crumpling up the script pages and tossing them in the nearest trash can. I had been reading for a minor part—a sarcastic bank teller in a romantic comedy. It only would have been two scenes if I'd gotten it, but they were two important scenes featuring the lead actors, so at least I could have been reasonably certain that I would end up in the finished film instead of on the cutting room floor. I'd been extremely excited about it, since with a baby on the way, this was exactly the kind of break that could really help me out when I needed it most.

  Unfortunately, the casting director was too busy chatting with his assistant about the hot date he'd had the previous night and didn't hear a word of my audition. I had asked whether he wanted me to reschedule, but he'd just flapped his hand at me impatiently to indicate that I should continue, then kept talking over me to enthusiastically describe every sexual position he'd engaged his date in as though I wasn't even in the room.

  All I wanted was to go home and hop in the shower. I felt I needed one pretty badly after listening to the director's catalogue of lechery.

  When I'd told my parents about my pregnancy, they were extremely supportive, and surprised me with an offer to give me one of their cars so I could get around the city more easily for my auditions and doctors' appointments.

  The car was a cute little blue two-door from the early 2000s, and it had always served my parents well. They drove it out to me and we spent a few days together before they headed home again. So it was a heck of a surprise when a week after they'd left, the car stalled and died in the middle of Clark Street, making me late to an audition as I waited for the tow truck to show up and haul it to a garage for repairs.

  The tow truck bill was almost two hundred dollars, and the garage told me that the car had a corroded battery which needed to be replaced for another two hundred. I had no idea where I was going to get that kind of money, especially with a baby on the way. Meanwhile, I was stuck walking everywhere. I couldn't even spend money on the CTA, since I knew I'd need to save every penny to put toward the new battery.

  So not only had the audition been a disaster, but now I had to walk from the West Loop all the way up to North and Clybourn, which was bound to take at least a couple of hours. And it was already dark out.

  Swell.

  As I trudged my way up through the west side, I walked past a pair of dark sedans parked under a street light. There were three men leaning against the cars, talking to each other quietly. Two of them were wearing track suits, while the third sported a designer suit that probably cost more than I made in a year. When they saw me passing by, the one in the suit wolf-whistled at me, and the other two followed his lead.

  “Yo, lady!” he called out. “Hold up, I got a question for you! Come back!”

  I tried to walk faster, figuring I'd be safe if I could just get to the well-lit major avenue up the block. There would be more traffic there, plus shops and restaurants. If things got bad, I could duck into one of them so I'd be surrounded by people. The street I was on was completely residential and way too many of those windows had their shades drawn for me to feel comfortable.

  The three men jogged up to me, and the one in the suit stepped directly in front of me, blocking my path. He made a big show of being winded, clutching his chest as he huffed and puffed dramatically.

  “Jeez, lady! What are you, trainin' for a freakin' marathon or somethin'? A guy says he's got a question for you, an' you run away? What kinda way is that to behave?”

  I could feel the other two men hovering behind me, and I clutched my purse as tightly as I could. These men weren't dressed like muggers. I wasn't eager to consider what they might want from me instead.

  “I'm sorry,” I replied. I was trying not to sound rude, but I was trying not to sound too friendly, either. I just wanted this to be over, whatever it was. “I'm in a hurry, and I wasn't sure you were talking to me.”

  “You wasn't sure I was talkin' to you? Who the hell else is out here?” The man in the suit rolled his eyes, then addressed the others over my shoulder, gesturing at me wildly. “Fer chrissakes, will you look at this broad? I've seen cacti that were friendlier than this!”

  The other two chortled, and he turned to look at me again. “What's with this freakin' hostility, huh? Where is the attitude coming from? I mean, look at me...I'm not a criminal, I'm dressed real goddamn nice over here, an' you're actin' like I'm some kinda thug who's gonna snatch yer purse! As though there'd be anything in it that I'd even freakin' want!”

  “Fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “What's the question?”

  The man in the suit giggled, and the sound made me queasy. “Okay, so here's the question.” He held up his hand and put the tips of his thumb and forefinger together, making a circle. “Do you think you'd be able to wrap your ass around somethin' that's about this wide? 'Cause if so, I think we're in for one hell of an evenin'!”

  I tried to run, but the two men behind me grabbed me roughly. My shoes scraped against the pavement as they dragged me back to their cars. I opened my lips to scream, but one of them shoved a wadded-up handkerchief into my mouth, hard enough to make my jaw ache. The other one—a man with extremely large ears and thick black eyebrows that looked drawn on with magic marker—pulled a gun from the back of his track pants, pressing it against my temple. “Shut up an' enjoy the romance, darlin',
an' you can still walk away from this. I mean, you'll be walkin' bow-legged, maybe, but...”

  The one in the suit opened the back door of one of the sedans, and the other two shoved me onto the back seat face-down. One of them went around to the other side, opened the other back door, and grabbed my arms and held them to keep me from struggling. I whimpered and thrashed, but I was helpless. Hot tears started streaming down my face. My mind was racing. I have to get out of this somehow, I can't just let this happen, there must be something I can do to stop this, oh God, no, no, no...

  Behind me, the man in the suit pulled up my skirt and tore open the seat of my panties. I could feel his palms rubbing my thighs and buttocks. “Hey, would ya look at these curves, huh? Looks like someone's been eatin' pretty well!” His hands were spreading my cheeks apart, and I started to hyperventilate, groaning and shaking my head in protest. I could hear the sound of his zipper going down, and his shoes stepped between my ankles, separating them. “Still, you guys know what they say, right? The bigger the cushion...”