by Harper Riley
“What the hell are you doing, Kitka! I’m not going to the damn fight!” She pushes past me until she’s fully in the bedroom. Her steely brown eyes give me a once over, but I can’t care less about what I look like right now.
“Is she coming?” Larissa asks as she sneaks her head in.
“Get the hell out of here,” Kitka replies. “I have some business for Sunday.” My stomach instantly turns over. Whatever’s growing inside me is making my nausea so much worse with Kitka around and lurking. Larissa shuts the door quietly behind her, and we’re left alone—never a good thing with Kitka.
“What is this? Why do you think you can barge into my room like this?” I whisper. My throat scratches as I try to keep it down.
“Why can I barge in here? Hmmm... Let me see...” She pulls something out of the back of her bright red skirt and holds it up for me. That pit in my stomach sinks as I instantly recognize the positive pregnancy test from this morning. I must have dropped one of them or left it behind when I was rushing off to the doctor’s. Dammit!
Still, I have to keep it cool. I can’t let Kitka know. She’s the last person in the world I would want to figure this out. Her connections with Cobra could get me in deep shit.
“It looks like a pregnancy test,” I reply with my usual bit of sarcasm and distaste for her.
“Well, aren’t you a freaking genius. Do you know who it belongs to, Sunday?”
“I have no clue, Kitka. I can’t tell ownership by the pee on that stick.”
She sits on my bed, spreading her skirt neatly in her lap. “Well, here’s what I’m thinking. You haven’t had your period in, oh, a month or two. I would know since we’re on the same schedule. And you’ve been sick lately, right? Right. Then there’s the fact that you were the last one in the bathroom when I came home this morning. So putting all the clues together...”
“It’s not mine,” I attempt to finish her statement.
She stands again, walking straight toward me, so I have nowhere to go but to land against the wall of my bedroom. “Don’t play fucking dumb with me. I know you went to the lady doctor today. I know you were in the bathroom for a helluva long time. And I sure as fuck know what morning sickness looks like. You’re pregnant, and it’s that bastard Wilderkind’s baby, isn’t it?”
“What the hell are you—”
“I already called Killer, Sunday.”
My mind goes blank as I ask, “Why the fuck would you do that, Kitka? Do you know what you’ve done?”
“I did what is right for the club. That’s what I always do. Those boys are my boys. And when you went off and screwed one of the others, you lost all your chances with me.”
“You wanted me to sleep with him!” I shout as I push her hard in the chest. She stumbles backward as I continue to yell. “You’ve wanted me out since the day I got here. You couldn’t take that I was younger and hotter than you and that the guys wanted me more than they wanted you! You set me up, and you damn well know it!”
Kitka flies back onto the bed. Her arms held up high for protection. I raise my arm in the air with my fist balled up and ready for the smack, but a hand suddenly grabs me away and pulls me down to the ground.
“What the fuck is going on here?!” Killer roars while he towers over me. “What are you doing, Sunday?” The club president looks so out of place in my bedroom with the floral prints and the light pink comforter. His face is seized up in rage at the sight of his ladies fighting like this. The rest of the apartment goes quiet. Through the open door, I watch as the girls file out of the place as quickly as they can. No doubt they want to know what’s going on, but Killer probably ordered them off to that fight.
When the last one’s gone, Kitka holds up the pregnancy test to him. “This is why I called you, Killer. It’s hers. I know it is.” He turns it over in his hand—almost like I did when I couldn’t believe if it was real or not.
“Is this yours?” he asks without looking at me.
I gulp down the lump in my throat. It’s time to tell the truth, no matter the cost. I can’t keep this up any longer. “Yes, sir. It’s mine.”
He sits down on my vanity, the test still in his hands. “How far along are you?”
“Eight or nine weeks. They can’t really tell...”
“It’s not Ricco’s?” His voice almost sounds hopeful. I hate to burst the bubble.
“No. I didn’t sleep with him without protection. We just went on a few dates.”
“Then it’s—”
“It’s that fucking Wilderkind guy, Bear!” Kitka shouts. “This whore fucking got herself knocked up by him!”
“Shut up, Kitka,” Killer commands. “I don’t want to hear anything about this.”
“But... but it’s club rules,” she contests. “Sunday’s got to go.”
He looks down at the ground towards his feet. I have no idea why he doesn’t just take my be the arm and throw me out the window. That’s what I would think a guy like Killer would do to girls like me who are stupid enough to sleep with a guy without the right protection.
After a long pause where both Kitka and I stare at him in wonder, he calmly explains, “I’m not kicking her out. It was her duty to sleep with Bear that night as the prize. I agreed to it. I am responsible for this.”
“WHAT!” Kitka’s voice thunders through the empty apartment. “She made a bet with me that she could sleep with him.”
“Then it’s your fault too,” he shoots back. “You are in with club leadership. You should fucking know better than to play that game. That goes for you too, Sunday. I should kick both your sorry asses out of the club, but I’m loyal to Cobra and, like I said, I’m taking responsibility for what went down between Bear and you.”
He stands and heads towards the window. “I’m taking claim on you, Sunday. You’re gonna be an old woman for Cobra.”
“What! Cobra is my... he’s my...!” Kitka looks towards me desperately, but I don’t dare question Killer when he’s showing me mercy.
“You’re going to sleep with him and soon. There’s going to be no denying that the baby isn’t his. After it’s born, Cobra can leave you, and you can get the money the club owes you and the child.”
“No. No, please Killer.”
“This is punishment for you too, Kitka. You’re no one’s boss around here, and it’s fucking time you learned that lesson. What is said in this room goes no further or you’ll end up where I should be putting you. You get me?”
Her feet tap into the ground as I can see her literally bite her tongue. “Is that it?” she asks, breaking her silence. “Is that all you want from me? Can I go?”
Killer dismisses her with his hand, leaving only us in the room. The man’s shadow casts long on my floor as he stands there before the window undoubtedly watching Kitka storm off into the early night.
I’m not sure what to say in a moment like this. He is saving me, throwing me a lifeline, but he most likely knows that putting me with a guy like Cobra is dangerous. Cobra’s the kind of guy who is best described as a ticking time bomb. He’s unpredictable, hard to read, and untamed. No one but Kitka can keep up with him or take him on like she can. Killer’s throwing me into a lone, hungry wolf’s den without a way out or a gun to fight myself off with.
“What if he says no?” I ask under my breath. “What am I supposed to do?”
“He will say yes. I will make sure of it. But you need to do your fucking part by making it work with Cobra, and keep yourself away from the Wilderkind. They get word of it, and they’ll come gunning for that baby and for you for hiding it. I’m not gonna have a war break out over some bastard baby.”
“Okay,” I say with a resigned sigh. “I can do that. I can sleep with Cobra.”
“Good because you don’t have any other choice, Sunday.”
He walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. With the apartment quiet again, I pick up the photo from under the bed and place it on my pillow. I quickly strip down and curl up under the light c
omforter. The pillow rests next to my head as I whisper to the dot of a baby. “I know it’s gonna be hard, kid. But we’re gonna make it. I’m gonna do whatever I have to do to keep us alive and safe—even if it means keeping you away from your real daddy.”
The sunlight dies, my room turns a blue-ish black, and I dream of Bear and his arms draped around my body.
Chapter 8 - Bear
Outside the small locker room, the people are going crazy. I hear them chanting, screaming, and calling out my name. I used to live for this shit. I used to peek outside those doors and watch as the fight girls with their big tits and tiny T-shirts talked excitedly about me. This was my scene. But tonight, I’d rather be a million damn miles away.
“You got your head in the game, man? You look like you’re sleeping on the job.” Jack tosses a towel at me that I barely catch in my taped-up hands. Who knows how long he’s been staring at me drifting off into space. I blink rapidly and then glare back. It’s none of his business what I look like.
“Another ten minutes,” Cliff says as he paces the floor. He stares down at his phone with his fingers rushing across the keyboard. “The presidents want to let the betting go on a little bit longer before the first match. They’re probably making a killing out of it. It looks like all the riders in the tri-county are here.” He stops at the door and opens it just enough to let the sound in. The roars send shivers up my spine.
“Who is fighting first?” I ask, not really caring about the answer. Truth is, I want these guys off my fucking back. I hate having a crew in my locker room. It distracts me from my pre-bout routine, and it forces me to talk when I’d rather sit here in silence and go through my plan of attack.
“You’re last. That’s for sure. After you knocked out that Filth and Butcher guy, you’re gold to the club... at least with fighting.” He doesn’t want to mention how I’m still being demoted in every other area. I haven’t gotten my original route back since I took my Sunday prize. It has been weeks since I spoke with Vance about it, but I have been making some progress. Just last week, he stopped assigning me back-to-back graveyard shifts with the young riders. My punishment is, from how it appears, coming to a close.
Jack, always the honest one, isn’t afraid to speak his mind on the subject. “Yeah. Get one more win for the Wilderkind against the Filth and Butcher fighter tonight, and you’ll be back up on top. No one’s gonna question your loyalty if you knock him out in the first round.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” I tell him, shaking my head. I’ve got confidence and the balls to back it up, but I’m also realistic. I haven’t trained in a month. The shifts and demotion have kept me from working out, and my mind has been everywhere else but the gym when I was able to get in a few hours at the weights and cardio machines.
“The guy’s a legit fighter,” I justify myself. “He’s not some fucking pansy they think is gonna be able to take a hit because he’s 250 pounds of muscle. They’re gonna be smarter about it this round.” I had time to do my research on the guy they are putting me up against. He’s not a huge name in the boxing circles. My old coach had zero clue who he was, but he eventually found his info from one of the smaller training circles. The guy took some classes and advanced pretty fast through the amateur rings. That was dangerous enough—young, stupid, and somewhat skilled. Those guys were the ones you couldn’t prepare for.
There’s a muffled knock at the door, and us three spin on our toes to see Vance and Killer before us. I have forgotten about this part. They all look a little green in their face as Vance takes a step forward. “You know how this goes, Bear. What do you want if you win?”
I don’t even hesitate. No way in hell am I getting in trouble like I did the last time. “Ten percent of the winnings from the bookies, top shelf alcohol, and a $500 prize.” I reach out my hand and practically grab Vance’s arm to seal the deal. Both of them nod coldly at me and then take a step backward. They each take turns eyeing me as they make their decision.
Finally, Killer comes back and says, “It’s done. Good luck out there. You’re gonna need it tonight.” He’s always a hard one to read, but tonight, I’m getting a strange vibe off of him. There’s no smugness; no arrogant bastard attitude that I’m used to from Vance. He is, instead, stone-faced and all business. He can barely look me in the eye as he shakes my hand. Something about it throws me off. What the hell is this guy up to that he can’t treat me like a fucking man?
“We’ll see,” I reply, a cocky smile plastered on my face. If this was his ploy to psych me out, it sure as shit isn’t going to work on me. I am too experienced for that mental mind fuck, and I’m too cold to let some sorry ass excuse for a club president get to me. I turn back to my crew with my fists pounding into one another, finally pumped up to get out of this dressing area and into the crowd. I could practically feel their vibrations through the ceiling and floor.
Jake stands next to me, his hand on my shoulder, as he whispers, “This is your time, Bear. You get this win, and you’re back on top. No one in their right fucking mind is gonna question who you are or where your loyalties are. You hear me?” I growl in response, and he continues, “Good! Get that damn fighting spirit going and do this for the Wilderkind!” All three of us shout together, howling towards the ceiling. The adrenaline has begun pumping through my veins, coursing up to my brain. I grab my towel and sweatshirt, and we’re out.
“Oh my God! Bear! Bear!” one of the women in the crowd shouts as we pass a line of club girls sitting at the top of the bleachers. “You can do it, Bear! Just think of what we have in store for you when you win!” I turn my head just in time to see the brown-haired biker bitch maven lean across one of the other women for a juicy, deep kiss. Her hands massage at her round and full boobs just slightly. I lick my lips in return. That’s some meat I could bite into.
I haven’t had a chance to satisfy my cravings since my time with Sunday. There have been a few offers—mainly from the opportunist girls who want to sleep with someone, anyone, that would possibly get them in with other, higher up, guys. They were the ones that were totally inexperienced, who said all the wrong things at all the wrong times. Amateur hour, really. What I want is a girl like the ones fawning over me. I want a girl who will let me push her hard up against a wall ... a girl who will let me take her on the floor before a hotel bed with her tits bouncing up and down before me...
Fuck! No. I am not going to do this. I am not going to think about Sunday. I’ve spent the last damn month washing her out of my memory—erasing every trace of her from my system. I thought going on a sex fast was going to make it easier for me to crave someone else, anyone else. But it always seems to come back to her. Even as I am about to repeat the night I met her and then ruined my reputation, I am still hung up on her Barbie-blonde hair pinned up in a ponytail and the smell of her perfume against the inside of her wrist.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Jake calls towards me, “Let’s go get to our spots!” God knows how long I’ve been standing here nailed inside my own shoes. The entire row of people is staring up at me like I’m about to keel over or run away. Down by where the rest of the Wilderkind fighters and their men are waiting, there’s an empty set of chairs for us. They’re just getting colder.
I march past Jake, being sure to clip his shoulder on the way. I grab my phone and headphones out of the gym bag Cliff’s holding on to and turn on the only few songs I let myself listen to before fights. Hard, heavy guitars fill my ears and blasts over the rest of the makeshift arena. I can barely hear myself think, and tonight, that’s a good thing.
The first fight goes off quickly. It’s a quick KO for the Wilderkinds. The guy up there is one of my trainees. I’ve been working with him for a year now, teaching him the basics. He’s a little guy, but he gets the job done. It’s such a fast change for the second fight that they don’t even bother to wipe up the blood splatters covering the floor of the square, poorly built ring. As the next two get to their starting points, my music
fades, and I hear the ping from a message. It’s an unknown number, but I expect that—probably someone wishing me luck or some dick from the Filth and Butcher trying to get to me.
I’m partially right. It is a Filth and Butcher member, but it’s not one of the boys sending me dick pics or taunting messages about my mom. It’s a girl named Kitty Kat. I’m familiar with her. She’s the number one girl over there—the second’s lady. It’s only a few words long, but it manages to send chills up my spine: Meet me at the dressing rooms. Now.
What the hell could Cobra’s girl want from me unless this had to do with Sunday? I scan the room quickly, allowing myself to do the one thing I had promised I wouldn’t. There’s no sign of Sunday even in the group of FBMC girls. I would be able to pick her out easily with that golden hair of hers, but she’s missing. If Kitty Kat wants to talk to me about her, I have a damn impossible choice to make.
I spin my head towards the dressing area I just came from. I can see Kitty waiting there, phone in hand. She leans casually against the door to the men’s room as she waits for me. I know I should say no or at least ignore the damn message. But I can’t stay away. I’m like a fucking moth to the light. There’s no way in hell I’m going to avoid her.
“I’ve gotta run to the bathroom!” I shout over the noise of the crowd. “I’ll be back for the third match!”
“You’re not gonna miss much, Bear. This guy is gonna get the shit kicked out of him.” I look up to the two men duking it out before me. Our guy can barely stand on his feet. I didn’t have much time if I was the fifth one to go. With my head ducked down, I sprint off towards Kitty Kat with some prayers that no one is watching me go off with another damn FBMC girl.
I don’t acknowledge her when I pass her by. I open the door to the makeshift locker room and dressing area so she can pass through without me. She lowers her long, tan neck to avoid smacking into my arm and then finds a seat on one of the metal folding chairs. She crosses her arms and her legs and looks off towards the tiled walls. “That was quick.”