Baby Daddy Bad Boys

by Harper Riley

  “No... no... no!” I shout. “Kitka! I’m not going anywhere. Not until I know what happens with the fight. There has to be some other way—some way to get me out of here without them seeing me when the fight is over! Please! I’m not going to leave Bear alone.”

  Kitka places her hand over the girl’s wrist and pulls her back from me. She pulls me into her arms and places her face inches from mine. I feel her long fingers trace my cheeks as she looks me dead in the eye and sighs heavily. “No one is going to make you go, Sunday. But you understand the risk you’re taking on? You’re not gonna get these girls killed. As soon as the fight is over, you’re gunning it to the car.”

  “No! That’s not part of the plan, Kitty Kat. We discussed this. Vance gave us our orders too. We get her the hell out of here now, or we aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

  Kitka doesn’t break her eye contact with me as her face transforms into that bitch I know she can be. Her entire face turns cold and unreadable. She lets go of me and turns back towards the older woman who impatiently taps her toes on the ground.

  “Listen here, Zelda,” Kitka whispers. “I’m the one in charge here. Vance said so. And if I say that she can watch the fucking fight, she’s gonna watch the fucking fight! Now go pull your car up towards that hill where the Filth and Butcher girls are. Park it behind the underpass so none of them can see you. We’ll sit up there, and when the fight is done, she’ll run right back over to you before anyone can see she’s missing.”

  “This is on you,” the woman sneers. “If something happens to us, you Filthy Bastard scum are gonna have more to pay for.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Zelda.” Kitka smiles wickedly as she looks towards me again. “Now, are you ready to go watch? Don’t say a word to the other girls. Just follow my lead, and play it cool. You don’t want to raise any haunches.” She takes my hand and leads me through the maze of bikes and cars and up towards the hill. I stumble slightly in my overly tight shoes and the awkward dress, but I manage to make it up and over just so we can take a spot to the side of the girls.

  I can make out Bear from here. His brown tuft of hair is already sweaty and frizzed up as the two men dart across the ring. I watch their hands carefully. Unlike the boxing matches where you are more focused on them blocking, this was all about the charge. One wrong move and one of them could slit an artery, chop off a finger, or worse—make a kill shot. I haven’t seen one of those fights yet, but it’s come close. I shudder thinking of a Filth and Butcher member who had their neck slit from a backhanded move.

  “What is this, amateur hour!?” Larissa screams nearby. She must have noticed us arriving because she then calls out, “What the hell are you doing over there? Get on over here and share the blanket. It can’t be comfortable standing in those shoes like that.”

  “No. She’s fine,” Kitka says without giving her a look. She squeezes my shoulder as a reminder to keep my mouth shut.

  It takes all my control not to answer as Larissa adds, “Your boy is looking tired. You keeping him up all night?”

  My boy isn’t the one who is looking tired. He’s looking rather triumphant as he dives towards Cobra’s thighs and hips. The crowd goes silent as they wait to see him pull back. To everyone’s surprise, he’s missed. Bear leaps back onto his feet, his chest heaving and panting. He wipes his head with the hand holding the knife, and I see, for the first time since I’ve known him, that he’s struggling, truly struggling.

  “There you go, Cobra!” one of the girls shouts as she stands up. “Don’t let that pansy get you! Get him! Get him!”

  I turn back towards to the ring to see Cobra jump in the air, his large frame flying fast towards Bear. Bear tries to duck and roll but gets tangled under the mess of his body. Both of the knives fly fast towards the other person. From here, it’s a mess of arms and legs, torsos and tops of heads. The club men shout in confusion and chaos. But for me, everything goes completely silent as I wait in the milliseconds for something—anything.

  And then, the entire world changes.

  There’s a pop. I can hear it, even over the yelling and screaming, I can hear my body pop. I have no idea if Kitka heard it as well, but she looks towards me with bulging, terrified eyes as she speaks without thinking, “Oh my God, Sunday! Did your—”

  We both look down towards the ground at the space between my legs. A small trickle of water pours out of me and then, like the dam breaking, the rest follows with a splash. The next thing I know, before I have a moment to calm myself down, something hits my back, plucking at the nerves. My entire stomach and hips feel as if they are being pulled apart and thrown together all at the same time. I double over with my arms wrapped around me.

  “Bear!” I shout, unable to control myself. “Someone get him!” But no one moves. The girls stare me down like I’m kryptonite—one wrong move on their part and they’ll be delivering the baby themselves. It’s not until I scream, “BEAR! GET BEAR!” that Kitka goes into overdrive. She races off back towards the women from the Wilderkind who I can see just out of the corner of my eye. The Filth and Butcher girls spring into action too, but they send Larissa racing towards the ring where Killer is watching the fight that’s gone bloody.

  I have no idea whose blood is on that ring or which body is lying on the ground. My eyes are fixated on the two men boxed together on the ground. The ref’s legs block their faces as all the club gathers around to see the carnage. But with Larissa screaming like a banshee on fire, it only takes moments for every eye around the ring to turn towards me on the hill. Of course, it’s Killer I see running. Every part of me wants to slither away, but I’m unable to move not only because of the pain but because of the two figures slowly gathering to their feet.

  To my surprise, Killer doesn’t look phased at seeing me out of the van. It’s almost as if he had expected me to be right where I was. Without a pause, he shouts, “Are you okay? Is this it?”

  “Yeah,” I answer through gritted teeth. “I-I think the baby’s coming. My water broke.” He grabs my arm and pulls me so that I am standing up straight. In this position, I can see Bear standing motionless in the ring. Cobra’s behind him, panting so hard his shoulders bob next to that giant, snake-covered head of his. I whisper towards Killer, knowing it will do no good, but I know I have to try. “Bear... please, Killer.”

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s got a fight to finish.”

  He pulls me off towards the road, back through the line of motorcycles. As I struggle through the pain, letting myself cry out, I hear it—the sound of Bear calling to me, shouting my name. “Sunday! Wait! Sunday!”

  I turn around to see it—Cobra, taking advantage of Bear’s distraction, comes out of nowhere. His knife is raised in the air, with his mouth split into a smile as the large, tattooed arm strikes Bear straight in the shoulder, near his neck. Everything goes into slow motion as I spin myself around, clutching at my stomach and side. Killer yells out for me, but I’m already rushing towards the ring. With each footstep, the pain gets worse, but I have to see him. I have to see Bear!

  “Bear! No! Please... no!” I cry, tears streaming down my face.

  The men in the crowd part one-by-one as I claw my way up. I use their shoulders to push myself forward until I am directly up against the makeshift ring. My arm stretches out towards Bear, who lies on his stomach in a bloody mess. When he hears my voice, his head slowly turns towards me. His eyes look heavy and tired, and his lips mumble something that I can’t hear. I know I have no time. Cobra is screaming to have me removed, and the pain is so bad that I feel as if my stomach and back will explode at any minute.

  But I don’t stop reaching until I feel his fingertips against mine. I grab hold of his limp, soft hand. And he looks at me. His green eyes spark like a fire not yet ready to burn out. I watch in disbelief as he smiles that same cocky grin from the first time I saw him. His head slowly revolves back towards Cobra’s feet, his hand pulling away from mine.

  Killer’s hands
grab at my shoulders, and someone hoists me up and off my feet. I scream, kick, and bite at the man holding me down, but it’s not enough. I’m halfway through the crowd when I see him. My Bear, the Bear that promised me he wouldn’t back down, somehow crawl over and get back onto his feet while Cobra watches me being pulled away.

  And while the boys shout at Cobra to turn around, he’s too busy screaming at me about his victory to see Bear, with both knives raised, dive them square into the middle of his back.

  Chapter 16 - Bear

  I used to love the sound of disbelief—of me proving to all the stupid fucking haters that I could do something they didn’t think I could. I used to love listening to their mouths hang open wide, and their teeth chatter as they looked at me with fear. I used to love feeling the rush of air being sucked out of a room when I showed them what I was really capable of.

  But I don’t love this silence or the way I can hear a cricket chirp in the background. I don’t love how I can hear Sunday screaming out in pain from hundreds of yards away as she is pulled backward by someone I can’t see. I don’t love how Cobra’s body sits at my feet, bleeding out while his club shoots daggers at me.

  As far as I was concerned, this wasn’t about winning; this was about survival. After I had taken that hit to my gut, I thought I was a goner. A white light blinded my eyes, and everything went hazy and clear all at the same time. The future I thought I could never have flashed before my eyes. There was Sunday rocking a baby—my baby, with a head of golden brown curls and Sunday’s bright blue eyes. She sang to the bub as she nestled it to her chest. And I stood behind her, my hands wrapped around the chair, not sure if I was supposed to be alive or dead in the scenario. All I could do was watch as it morphed and faded.

  That was when I heard her screams. Somehow—I don’t know if it was something I actually heard or something that came to me magically—I heard Killer being told that Sunday was having the baby. I was already on my stomach, nearly dead, when she came to me with her hands outstretched. And that was when I knew that this couldn’t be it. I would not be the dead dad behind the rocker. I had to be the living person providing for that baby, and making sure Sunday was loved and protected, too. I had to be the guy who held tight with my arms encircling both of them. Nothing was going to end tonight, at least not for me.

  Cobra deserves this. This lousy bastard has been surviving like a cockroach that just won’t go away. From all the sadistic shit he probably pulled on Sunday to the rumors going around about what he did as Killer’s enforcer, the man had a death wish. And while I don’t take any joy or pleasure in watching him take his last breaths or holding his murder weapons in my hands, a tiny bit of me breathes a sigh of relief knowing he won’t be in the way of my happiness anymore.

  That sigh brings me to my knees. In all the excitement over making my kill shot, I completely forgot that I am a dead man walking as well. Cobra’s jab to my side is still bleeding into my soaked, red stained tank. With every deep breath I take in, I can feel the hole split open just a tiny bit more. I try to hold it in, to catch my breath in my throat, so I don’t have to work as hard, but it’s useless. My eyes scan the crowd, desperately searching for Sunday, but she’s gone; whisked away somewhere that’s not here. I try to call out for her, but my voice is stuck and airy.

  “Get up!” Vance calls out, his guys racing toward me. Jack’s arms reach under mine, pulling me to my feet. A shooting, searing pain races through me, but I refuse to let it put me under again. I am not going to let this get to me. I bite down as hard as I can so that my teeth grind deep into one another.

  “Come on, Bear,” Vance snaps, “We have to go—now!”

  The silence is gone, replaced by violent and bloody screams. The Filth and Butcher have realized what has happened. They are seeing their second-in-command laid up at my feet, his blood pooling around him. And there I am, not quite standing, but still alive after being thought dead just minutes ago. Their president is nowhere to be found. I am guessing he’s gone with Sunday; escorting her to some car or a hospital. With no one in charge and the booze still flowing, I have no doubt what is on their minds.

  Jack hurries me out and over the makeshift ring and through the gravel underpass. We take the long way through the line of Wilderkind lining up to defend me. I should have guessed my boys would be on my side.

  Vance screams to them, “Get Bear outta here! Go! Now! Don’t let them get to him! Let’s go, boys! Hold your ground!”

  Like soldiers, they line up shoulder to shoulder to block the gang from seeing where I am heading. But I have no idea either. It’s only when they throw me in one of the guy’s pickups, and head off the side street that follows the highway, that it dawns on me—I’m not going to the hospital.

  “Vance! What the fuck are you doing? I have to be there, don’t you get it? I have to be with Sunday.” I can barely talk, let alone growl, but that’s what it comes out as. I try to grab his arm in some attempt to redirect the steering wheel.

  “No way! Are you fucking crazy, man?” His eyes bulge in his wrinkled face as he explains, “Killer’s got her, and no doubt he’s looking out for you after you killed their second! What the fuck do you think is gonna happen if you walk into the hospital with a wound that big?”

  “I’m f-f-fine,” I try to say as I push myself up into the seat. Every bump the truck passes over is agony.

  “Like hell you are,” he says with an almost good-natured grin. “You’re about ten minutes away from dying, I can tell you that.” He looks ahead at the road, and adds, “I know a guy—a doctor. He’ll fix you up. Then it’s to the safe house till I fix the mess you left back there.”

  I reach over again, this time managing to grab hold of his flannel shirt. I tug as hard as I can until he almost tumbles over me. I bring my voice down to a low rumble as I urge him, “Listen to me, man. You told me to fight for her and that baby, and I ain’t going to leave her now. I don’t care what happens to me. You get me to that fucking hospital, or I swear to God I will kill us both.”

  I flash him one of the knives, my knife, the one I used in the fight. I have been holding it this entire time, unaware, until now, that Cobra’s blood is still dripping off it and onto my pant leg. I know what I am doing and what I am risking. Threatening the one guy that’s had my back— the guy who took me in and gave me a place in his club—was akin to mutiny. But he has to know. He has to see. I am not going to stop until I am with Sunday and that baby. I refuse to miss this.

  He holds the hand that’s not on the steering wheel up in defense. His jaw slides from side to side as he seems to consider his words carefully.

  “Put the knife down you dumb bastard,” he snarls. “If you really want to bleed out on the hospital floor, then that’s where I’ll bring ya. But keep your stupid fucking mouth shut for as long as you can. And nothing about the fight, you hear me?”

  “Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid?” I spit at him.

  I know the rules. There’s a reason why we don’t do hospitals—a damn good reason—and I’m not going anywhere near one now. We’ve got a vet and a nurse on duty and people to patch us up when we skid out on our bikes or when we got a guy who is strung out on a bad batch of blow or something. They’re happy to keep their mouths shut in exchange for cash. A hospital doesn’t work that way. There’s police, security guards, do-goody doctors in pristine white lab coats who won’t let you leave or get an extra dose of painkillers without knowing your full story.

  Vance turns the truck around, swinging it wildly towards the highway exit. We both guess what hospital she’s gone to. L.A. General is the closest, and where most of the girls go for general things. No doubt Killer’s got connections with them given it’s in his territory. As we pull into the ER entrance, I order Vance, “Give me your shirt. I need to cover up the...” My mouth races but nothing’s coming up but the fresh taste of blood—a good reminder to keep my mouth closed unless necessary. Vance throws off his black and white flannel shirt and
hands it to me. Carefully, I smooth it out over my stained top and slip out the side door.

  Before I can close the door, Vance yells, “First floor to the right’s maternity. Good luck in there, kid. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  I know that I’m hobbling in. I’m grasping the walls with my hand clenched around my side as I avoid everyone’s gaze. I manage to sneak past the security station, where they’re checking IDs and handing out visitor passes, by hiding behind a large man and his family. They don’t notice as I duck down next to them as we make our way through the hospital’s main entrance and towards the elevator banks. I spot the maternity wing’s secured doors swinging open for a patient, and I know I’m not going to get any better chance than this. I take a deep breath, hold my wound, and run as fast I can. Each step feels as if it’s ripping me apart; pulling me at the seams. I am inches away from the large metal doors—that are about to smack me in the gut—but I squeeze through in time, landing on my hands and knees.

  When I look up, I am staring straight at a pair of awfully familiar boots.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Killer whispers, yanking me to my feet by the arm. I let out a yelp of pain. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

  But a small voice behind him gasps. “Bear?”

  I look over his shoulder to see Sunday lying on a long, white hospital bed. A pale blue gown clings to her sweaty body. Her blonde hair is stuck to her face due to crying earlier. Her hand is wrapped around her belly while a nurse attempts to hold her down. I barrel my way through Killer, not caring who sees.

  “Bear? Oh my God... I thought that you were... how are you...”

  “Shhh,” I whisper to Sunday as I place a dirty, grimy hand on her warm forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Didn’t I tell you that I would be here for you?”

  “Sir,” the nurse tells me, “I need you to step away from the patient.”