Chapter 44 #3
“Holy sweaty balls,” Cricket blurts out. “Is that your mother?” I follow his gaze to the blonde woman kneeling at Zeus’s feet.
“She’s not my mother.” I push Spider ahead of me. “Walk.” I would take care of her myself, but right now, every second counts.
Cricket falls into step beside me. “Ain’t leaving you to handle this alone.”
“You going for Zilphia?” Zeus calls out to me.
“Yeah.”
“Take some brothers with you.”
I shake my head. “No time. Cricket got my back.”
He nods, then motions toward Katherine. “What do you want to do with her?” Betraying the Gods is an automatic death sentence, but because she pushed me out of her body, Zeus is giving me the privilege to decide her fate.
“Please don’t let him kill me, Sam,” she pleads. “I’m still your moth—”
I discharge two slugs into her abdomen without missing a step. She slumps to the ground, still breathing, but she’ll bleed out soon enough.
“Told you never to show your face again.”
Cricket whistles. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
As I approach my bullet-riddled vehicle, my gaze narrows on the scene ahead. Jigsaw kneels beside Loretta, slicing his knife across her lower abdomen.
“You done this before?” I ask, reaching him. As suspected, Loretta is no longer among the living, a gaping hole in her neck the cause of her departure.
“No, but I have to try or the baby will die,” he replies.
I nod and leave him to his task, then pin my gaze on Spider. “Driver’s seat. Now.”
My Glock stays trained on him the whole time. Cricket hops into the back.
“How far?” I ask, sliding into the passenger seat.
“About an hour.”
“Nah. You get us there in thirty.”
As the minutes tick by, thoughts of Zilphia suffocating run rampant in my mind. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the haunting image. Is she alive, or is she dead? The uncertainty is driving me crazy.
“Fuck!” I roar, slamming my fist into the dashboard again and again, oblivious to the pain.
“Easy,” Cricket says, catching my wrist mid-swing. “She’s going to be okay.”
“You don’t know that, Cricket.” I don’t want to hope. Hope is for the weak. I once believed in it as a kid, and it bit me in the ass. “I can’t fucking take it.” If God exists and is merciful as people say, he won’t let them die.
“I know, bro. We’re almost there.”
I shove my gun against Spider’s temple. “If they’re dead, I’m going to make you bleed until all you know is pain.”
And after I’m done with him, I’ll put a bullet in my mouth.
In the ensuing silence, my morbid thoughts return with a vengeance. Time seems to stretch, and just when I’m about to lose my shit again, Spider turns onto an overgrown trail and throws the car in park.
“This is it.”
I rip the car door open and leap out, feeling like a death row inmate about to take the last walk.
I wave Spider ahead with my gun. Cricket and I follow in his wake, scanning the perimeter for moving shadows, the headlights guiding our steps.
I stumble over my feet, my stomach knotting tighter with every step I take.
Cricket catches my arm. “I got you, bro.”
I nod my gratitude and force one foot in front of the other. I never wanted to be a father. Didn’t think I was cut out for it—but the second I learned Zilphia was pregnant, I knew I’d move mountains to ensure my kid’s every happiness. Even more so when I found out we were having twins.
Now… I might never get the chance.
“Just up ahead,” Spider says, pointing at a patch of soil lighter than the flat, darker earth surrounding it.
I fire a single shot into his leg.
“Son of a bitch!” he bellows, dropping to the ground.
“Move and it’ll be your balls next,” I threaten.
“Fuck, no shovels,” Cricket mumbles.
Of course not. Spider never had any intention of following through with the exchange. I holster my Glock and drop to my knees, clawing at the soft soil with my bare hands. On the other side, Cricket starts digging at the opposite end, matching my urgency.
My nails peel back in my desperation to reach her, but the pain’s nothing compared to the hell waiting for me if I’m too late.
Finally, my hands hit wood.
“I’ve got you,” I breathe, frantically working my fingers along the edge of the boards. My heart’s pounding so hard I can’t hear anything else.
I wrench the top off with all my strength, a broken sound ripping from my throat when I see Zilphia’s tear-streaked face.
She’s alive and in active labor, gasping through a full-blown asthma attack, her panties and leggings bunched around her thighs, the top of a tiny head already visible.
“Grab her legs,” I bark at Cricket, hooking my arms under her shoulders. She’s covered in dirt from head to toe.
I lie back against the nearest tree, positioning her between my thighs. Cricket tears her shoes off, then yanks her panties and bottoms down her legs.
“I have your inhaler.” I pull the canister from my cut pocket and give it a firm shake. I never leave home without it, even when she’s not with me.
I spray two doses into her mouth, and within minutes, her breathing starts to steady.
I toss the inhaler aside and grip her spread knees. “I need you to push, Zilphia.”
She shakes her head, sobbing. “It hurts… I need a hospital.”
“There’s no time,” I murmur, pressing a soft kiss on her temple. “Our girls need you to push.”
“Okay.” She draws in a deep breath and bears down, straining with everything she has to bring our daughters into the world.
“She’s coming,” Cricket yells. “Keep pushing.”
Moments later, a sharp cry pierces the chilly night.
“I officially declare myself the God Daddy,” Cricket grins, gently placing the squirming bundle on Zilphia’s chest.
“Oh my God,” she weeps, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh my God… she’s here.”
She’s beautiful and so damn tiny with a wild mop of golden curls. I trail a finger down her soft cheek. “Don’t cry, sweet angel. Daddy will always take care of you.”
I unsheathe my Bowie knife and cut the umbilical cord.
Zilphia gasps. “Her sister is coming.”
Cricket rubs his hands together. “Okay, baby number two, let’s go.”
Zilphia pushes and pushes until our second daughter makes her debut with a shrill cry.
“Congrats, it’s a boy,” Cricket announces, lifting the little human for us to see.
I’m speechless for a second or two, then a smile spreads across my face. “Hear that, Zilphia? We have a son.”
“The tech was wrong,” she says, smiling back at me.
Cricket lowers him beside his sister. I slice through his umbilical cord—feeling like a million bucks. Like his twin, he has a head full of golden curls.
“I have to push again,” Zilphia pants, bearing down.
Cricket recoils, his eyes fixed between her thighs. “What the fuck, man? She just delivered two aliens.”
“Those are the placentas, you moron,” I retort, securing the Bowie back at my hip. “Every baby has one. Keeps them alive.”
“How was I supposed to know?” he grumbles. “It’s my first time delivering babies.”
“Apologies, Zilphia,” Spider says, his voice low. “I didn’t know you were my daughter. I spent a week with Loretta and never saw her again after that.”
“What’s he talking about?” she asks, peering back at me, confusion in her beautiful brown orbs.
“He speaks the truth, but it doesn’t matter.” I ease her against the tree and stalk toward him. “Any last words for your daughter?” I draw the gun from the waistband of my jeans and aim the barrel at his forehead. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“Sandman, don’t!” Zilphia shouts. “If he’s truly my father, I’m begging you not to kill him. Please do this one thing for me.”
“I can’t do that.” I glance at her over my shoulder. “Too much blood has been spilled.”
“Thought we were going to let bygones be bygones,” Spider growls, narrowing his gaze at me. “I want to know my daughter and grandchildren.”
“Bye.” I empty two bullets into his skull. “Now you’re gone.”
Zilphia looks at me with dead eyes, tears slipping past the grime on her face. It had to be done, and I don’t give two fucks about it.