Epilogue
EPILOGUE
MALIK
I’m focused on the task at hand, watching Indigo as she gives me one of her looks. That look. The one she reserves for when I’m doing something wrong.
She’s always been good at this—knows exactly where to make the cut, how deep, how precise. Me? Not so much. But I’ve been doing this long enough to know it’s not the time for mistakes.
“Not like that,” she says, her voice sharp. I can feel the irritation in her tone, even if she’s not saying much more than that. “You have to stab more to the right or you’ll hit the femoral artery, and this will be over too soon.”
I meet her gaze, giving her a half-smile. “Pretty girl, if you wanna come over and do it yourself…”
I see her jaw tighten. Her eyes narrow as she glares at me, and I know I’ve pushed her too far. She’s already on edge, and with her, when that happens, it’s like walking on glass.
“I would if I could,” she snaps, her words clipped. “But I can’t get too excited right now.”
She rubs her stomach. Her hoodie stretches over the roundness of her belly, and I can see the way her fingers linger there. It’s been nine months now—almost time. I feel a wave of nerves every time I think about it. Our daughter, the little girl growing inside her.
It changes everything. I don’t know how to reconcile this life—the bloodshed, the deals made in darkness, the dangerous people we handle—with the reality of being a father. It doesn’t seem like we can have both, but damn it, I’m going to try.
I force my attention back to the job, but my thoughts keep drifting to her. To the baby.
"Then deal with how I do it. This isn't exactly my forte," I mutter, trying to focus.
She shrugs, but the tension’s still in her shoulders. I can see her trying to hold it all together. Her voice softens as she cradles her belly again. "I know, baby. I’m just cranky and uncomfortable. This little chunk needs to come out already.”
A small grin tugs at my lips. "Soon enough, Mama. Soon enough."
The guy in the chair, our target, has been quiet for a while now, but suddenly he screams, his voice shrill. “This is so fucked! You two are fucked up!”
I give him a cold, dead stare. “Kinda figured that out for myself a little over a year ago,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Thanks for the reminder.”
With a swift motion, I slice his throat, blood spraying across the floor as he gasps in a dying breath. I watch him crumble, but I don’t linger. Not my style.
“Too fast!” Indigo complains, her voice high-pitched as she frowns.
I chuckle, wiping the blood off my hands. “I don’t savor it like you, Mama. He got what he deserved. And we get paid. That’s all that matters, right?”
She pouts. Her lips curl downward, and her eyes give me that look again. The one that says she’s not entirely happy with me, but she’s not going to make a scene. Yet.
“Right,” she agrees, though the pout remains.
I take a few steps back and toss the knife into the bag, turning toward her. She’s still fidgeting with her hoodie, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable. Pregnancy does that to her. Hell, it does that to anyone. But this is different. This is her. My Indigo.
“You’ll be back in the driver’s seat soon enough,” I say, my voice low. “Then we have to figure out what we’re gonna do with our daughter when we come on these jobs.”
She looks up at me, her expression soft, almost distant. “We’ll hire a nanny to come with us. I’m sure Brandon knows someone.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not leaving her with someone else, even if I trust them. She’s ours, Mama. We figure this out together.”
Her lips curl into a reluctant smile, but she doesn’t say anything else.
Instead, I pull out a small box from my pocket, already knowing what’s inside. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks, my nerves on edge every time I think about what it means. I open the box, and when I see it again—the red rock nestled in the hollowed-out squirrel skull—my breath hitches in my throat.
My heart skips a beat, and for a second, I wonder if I’m out of my damn mind for doing this. But I can’t wait any longer. Not after everything we’ve been through. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Dropping to one knee, I hold the box out to her. My heart pounds in my chest, and I watch her face as her eyes lock on the ring. Her gaze flickers from the skull to me, and I swear I see her hands shake.
“Indigo...” I say her name like it’s the most sacred word I know. I’ve rehearsed this a hundred times, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure what I’m expecting. I just know I have to ask.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “You’re crazy, you know that? Like, completely out of your mind. But that’s why I love you. You’re weird, unpredictable, and you challenge the hell out of me in ways no one else ever has. You make me want things I didn’t even know I needed. And no matter how fucked up everything is around us, I know you’re the one I want by my side—forever.”
She doesn’t answer immediately, just stares at the ring, then back at me. Her jaw slackens, and for a moment, I think she might just say no. But then, she squeals—loud, excited, full of emotion. “You’re proposing with a red rock, in an animal skull, in front of a corpse as a witness?”
I laugh, the tension in my body unwinding a bit. “I am. And I’m getting kinda nervous. Are you gonna answer?”
“YES!” she yells, throwing herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “A hundred times, yes!”
I slip the ring onto her finger, a smile tugging at my lips as I stand up and pull her close. I kiss her softly, gently, trying to savor this moment for both of us. It’s not perfect. Nothing we do ever is. But it’s ours.
When we pull back, she whispers into my ear, her breath warm against my skin. “We should head to the hospital, Malik.”
I freeze, my smile faltering, my heart suddenly racing. “Why?”
“My water just broke.”
I don’t even think. I scoop her up in my arms, not caring that I’m covered in blood, not caring about the danger still lurking in the air. All I care about is getting her to the hospital. Getting our daughter into this world.
INDIGO
I feel Malik scoop me up in his arms, and my heart races in sync with the frantic pace of the world around us. Pain surges, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to steady my breath. But it's no use. Everything is happening so fast, and I can't slow it down. Not anymore.
He sets me down in the car as gently as he can, but every movement sends another ripple of pain through me. I barely register the way he yanks open the back door, grabbing a fresh change of clothes from the duffel bag we always keep there. He strips off his bloodied ones in record time, his movements frantic, then snatches a container of Lysol wipes from the console. His hands shake as he scrubs the blood from his skin, swiping his face and fingers with quick, harsh strokes.
“Shit,” he mutters, tossing the wipes aside and sliding into the driver’s seat. His grip on the wheel is tight, knuckles white, his jaw set. The first contraction strikes, sharp and unrelenting, and I bite down on my lip, swallowing a cry.
I glance at him, the panic in his eyes that mirrors my own, reflecting back at me. “We need to call Jake,” I rasp.
The next wave hits just as I’m dialing.
"Little Snake," he answers.
“I need a Cosmo at the train station in town.” Another contraction hits and I hiss.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” his voice crackles over the phone.
“If by ‘hurt’ you mean this baby is making its way out of me, then yeah.”
Jake chuckles, but I’m already over it. "You went into labor on a job? Typical Little Snake."
The laughter makes me want to throw up. “Shut the hell up and get the job done, then come to the hospital,” I snap, fighting the pain that surges through me like a fucking tidal wave.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, his tone now serious.
I hang up, and by the time we pull into the hospital parking lot, I’m already clenching my fists, feeling like every fiber of my being is alive with intensity. The adrenaline makes it worse, but I can't stop the feeling—can't stop the trembling in my hands or the way my pulse is racing out of control.
Malik helps me inside, and the chaos of the ER surrounds us as they move us along to the L&D floor. Nurses and doctors swarm around us, trying to get me settled into a room, but it all feels like a blur. I can't focus on anything but the pain and the knowledge that this is it—this is the moment everything changes.
"Epidural?" one of the nurses asks, her voice soft but urgent.
I shake my head, barely able to find my voice. "No," I grit out, my teeth clenched as another contraction seizes me. "No meds."
They give me a look like I’m crazy, but leave me be. The pain, it’s a part of me. I’ve caused enough of it in this world, so it seems fitting that I should suffer some while I bring life into it. After everything I’ve taken from it, this is the least I can do.
Malik stays close, his presence steadying me, even though I know he’s just as scared as I am. He’s not saying much—just rubbing my back, offering quiet reassurances when he can. I feel him there, and that’s all I need right now. He doesn’t have to say the words. I know he’s with me, no matter how hard it gets.
The contractions are relentless, like waves crashing over me one after the other, each one harder than the last. My body is on fire, and there’s no escape from the burning pressure that grows with every passing minute.
All I can focus on is the pain. I try to breathe through it, but it’s hard when my body is screaming for relief. I press my palm to my swollen belly, as if to reassure the little life inside of me.
“Just breathe, Indigo,” Malik whispers, his voice low, soothing. His touch is warm against my skin, a comfort in the madness of it all. “You’re doing great. We’re almost there.”
Every time the pain spikes, I grip his hand harder, squeezing until I think my nails might break skin, but I don’t care. I need him to know that he’s my anchor, that I couldn’t do this without him.
But even with him beside me, I wonder if I’m strong enough. Wonder if I can survive this.
The pressure builds, each wave more intense, more urgent. My body is telling me it’s almost time, but I don’t know if I can handle it. The pain is blinding, and it feels like it might rip me apart. I want to scream, but I can’t, not with all the effort it takes to focus on the task at hand—bringing our daughter into this world.
I close my eyes and push through it, the sound of my labored breathing filling the space.
His voice breaks through again, calm and reassuring. “You’re amazing, Indigo. Just a little longer. I’m right here.”
The hours drag on, each minute feeling like an eternity, each contraction pushing me further into exhaustion. My muscles ache, my body is drenched in sweat, and I can feel my strength fading with every wave of pain.
I nod, trying to find strength in his words, but my mind is consumed by the pain. I just want it to end. I want to hold our baby. I want to feel like myself again.
“Alright, Indigo,” the doctor’s voice cuts through the haze of pain. “It’s time to push. You’re almost there.”
I grit my teeth, gathering every ounce of strength I have left. The pain is nearly unbearable, every part of me is screaming for relief. I squeeze Malik’s hand harder, as though holding on to him will keep me grounded. His voice, full of encouragement, is the only thing that keeps me tethered to the moment.
“Just a little bit longer, Indigo,” the doctor says.
Malik’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, soothing me even as the pain intensifies. “You’ve got this. I’m right here.”
I take a deep breath and push, the force of it overwhelming, the pressure almost too much to bear. I want to scream, but all I can manage is a strangled groan as I push with everything I have. My body shakes with the effort, my muscles protesting as I feel myself being stretched beyond what I thought was possible.
I can hear the doctor’s voice again, steady but firm. “You’re doing great, Indigo. Just a little more.”
I close my eyes and do it. One more push. My whole body feels like it’s splitting in two, but I push through the pain. And then finally—finally—there’s a shift.
With one last surge of strength I didn’t know I had left in me, I hear the sound that makes everything else fade into nothing. Our baby’s first cry.
It’s like everything else in the world stops. The noise of the hospital fades away, the pain dims into the background, and there’s just me, Malik, and this little life we’ve created.
My heart swells in my chest as I reach out to take her from the nurse, my arms trembling with the weight of her in my hands. I cradle her against my chest, feeling her warmth, her soft skin, and my breath hitches in my throat. Tears well up in my eyes as I whisper her name, her tiny body curled against mine.
I look down at our daughter, her small, scrunched-up face wrinkled with the effort of her first breaths. Her tiny hands are clenched into fists, as if she’s already determined to take on whatever the world throws at her. She’s perfect—absolutely perfect.
Mindy Ann.
Malik leans over, his face lit with awe, his eyes shining with love. He gently kisses my forehead, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s beautiful, Indigo. She’s ours.”
“Mindy...”
And in that moment, it feels like the whole world has shifted. The pain, the struggle, the exhaustion—all of it fades into the background as I look at our daughter, the little girl who will change everything. For the first time in so long, I feel like a piece of me has finally found its place.
She’s here. She’s perfect. She’s ours.
And with Malik beside me, holding my hand, I know that this moment—this new beginning—was worth every ounce of pain. Everything is right in the world. We’ve made it.