Chapter 23
STEVIE
When King and I were at it and Lynette guided me away from him, my entire body shook from his verbal assault. His words hit me hard. Ungrateful bitch? This whole situation is his fault. If he had left me alone, my life would have be great.
I apologized to Lynette and the women regarding what I said about the club, spewing hate about them as if it were a dirty word.
In my case, MC is a dirty word that’s drifted through my life.
My dad is the reason I despise them. Without argument, the women accepted my apology.
They explained the dangers ahead, convincing me to stay with Frost. Supposedly, it’s my best option.
On the way out, I nodded to the guys as an apology.
It’s not enough for them. Some turned, some stared me down, while a few gave a slight nod.
Another two weeks have passed and depression is seeping back in.
When King is home, we move around the house like ghosts, pretending not to see the other.
He doesn’t even bother to check if I’ve eaten or showered anymore.
Most of the time I’ve had the house to myself.
King’s busy at the shop, or going to the club most likely getting a blowjob or screwing one of those Sweet Butts.
It bothers me, but I shake it off. I’m still not sure why I’m here or what this thing is with the Grave Disciples.
Nothing’s happened. Lynette and the other women begged me to return to King’s house.
They said it’s the safest place, but safe from what exactly?
As much as I don’t want a repeat of what Ace did to me, I also can’t remain locked up in a house I’m not welcome in, nor do I want to live at.
The Grave Disciples are after the Wolves of Mayhem, not me.
To make matters worse, I’m nauseated all the time. I’ve made several attempts into town for groceries or to fill out a job application, only to turn back home to vomit. Then it dawns on me. Even though my periods aren’t regular they’ve never been this long.
Wait! I took the day after pill.
Within 24 hours.
Vomit rises up my esophagus, but this time it’s from panic.
I throw my hair into a messy bun, wash my face, and lean into the mirror.
The person I’m staring back at is scared.
Lost. I’ve never found my place in life, going from helping my mom to living with Noel.
At thirty-seven years old, I should have been established with a family or in a job.
Living in Moose Grove has taken a toll on me, and now…
the possibility of a pregnancy is traumatic.
Once the front door closes and King’s bike revs up, I drive to the pharmacy to buy ten different home pregnancy tests.
Back home and in the washroom, I guzzle down a glass of water, pee on the stick, and wait five minutes.
Positive.
More water. Another stick. Another pee. Another five minutes.
Positive.
I repeat it eight more times, all of them showing the same result.
Positive.
I vomit up all of the water, crackers, and the little bit of coffee I could get down earlier this morning.
My hand swipes at the tears and snot on my face.
Scooting back on the washroom floor to the wall, I scream and sob.
What the fuck did I do to deserve where I’m at now?
Jobless. Practically homeless. Pregnant.
The shit list is endless. I can’t have a child, nor can I stay with a man whose temper is as short as the blink of an eye.
A shiver runs through me. I close my eyes and talk to my dead mother.
“What should I do, Mom?” A huge sob wracks my body, stopping me from talking. My chest inflates from a gulp of air and I continue talking to the room. “I can’t do this on my own.” My fingers wipe the tears away. “I miss you.”
I remain in the washroom, sobbing, tossing options around in my head.
Abortion. Except I don’t think I could do it.
Adoption. Could I hand over my infant child to strangers?
I doubt it. There’s one sure thing. Leave this town.
I might not have a job or a place to live, but this biker…
this town is too toxic to raise a baby. And there’s no way King or anyone else can know about it.
The way things have been, it’s obvious he’s done with me, and won’t bother to chase after me.
With my hands pressed against the wall to steady myself, I push up into a standing position. I throw cold water on my face, look in the mirror, and in my head give myself a small pep talk.
A lot has happened to you. You’ve taken care of your mother and Noel; you can take care of a baby. The job market is tough but you’ll find something. You have no choice. You have savings for a while until something pops up.
Ready to put my non-plan into motion, I toss my toiletries into a bag, along with all the pregnancy tests.
Next, I shove as many items into my suitcase and duffle bag as possible and fling them down the stairs.
King left two hours ago, and he normally is gone anywhere from three to eight hours.
Not sure when I’ll get a shower in again, so I take a quick one, dress in jeans, a t-shirt, and throw a light knit sweater over it.
I load my car, check the gas, which is enough to reach the highway to put enough distance between me and this place.
The town disappears in my rearview mirror, and just when I think I’m in the clear, I hit a traffic jam on the highway.
Not just a jam, but a standstill. There’s no place for me to pull off, so I, along with everyone else, inch my way forward.
My hand rests on my still flat stomach.
A baby.
As terrifying as it is, the idea has me smiling. I have no doubt I can care for the baby emotionally. It’s the financial part I’m worried about. I look down, drawing circles over my stomach, a full-fledged smile planted on my face..
Vroom.
My head shoots up in time to see an approaching motorcycle, weaving in and out of the lanes and cars.
His body is lowered to glance in the window of each car, which I don’t know why since King knows my car.
Maybe he thinks I took another one to avoid detection.
I slam my hand down on the steering wheel for not thinking of it myself, except I figured he wouldn’t bother me anymore.
From the far lane to the middle, he does the same until he’s in the far-right lane.
As he closes the distance, my eyes lock on King’s through the rearview mirror.
He revs his engine, and in full throttle, pulls up to my driver’s window, yelling, “Pull over.” I stare straight, ignoring him as he remains on his bike, pounding on the window. “Fucking pull over, Stevie!”
Traffic inches enough for me to pull into the emergency lane, and use it to reach the next exit.
I’m slouched down, watching through the side mirror.
King is so close to my bumper, I’m able to see him gritting his teeth.
Of course, he doesn’t bother with a helmet. It would be too smart of him to do.
Far ahead, I notice blinking lights near the next exit, which is cordoned off, blocking the emergency lane, too.
My eyes dart over the scene to figure out another way. All I can do is veer back into the right lane.
King pulls up beside my passenger window and beats on it. “Pull over!”
Again, I avoid him. He cuts the engine, and I watch him get off his bike.
I move a car-length ahead while he’s doing something in the saddlebag.
Traffic stops again. King’s walking toward my car, twisting something around his hand.
Checking the doors are locked, the car rocks from a hit.
King wound a sweater over his hand to punch my passenger window.
This has me screaming for him to leave me alone.
My shaky hands reach for my purse to retrieve the pepper spray, but I lose focus as he tries the car handle.
Bringing his arm back, he slams his fist into the window, cracking it to where it spreads like a burst of fireworks. “Open the fucking door, Stevie!”
Tears trickle down my cheeks, and I’m screaming no. For a moment, King retreats as a man exits his car.
King rounds my car, walking toward the man and pointing. “Mind your own fucking business. Get back in your car!”
King is so menacing the guy does as he says. He turns back, stalks toward me, eyes narrowing in on mine. This man is frightening. Psychotic. At my driver’s door, he orders me to open it.
When I don’t, he bends down until we’re at eye level and says, “If you don’t get the fuck out of this car, I’ll take my anger out on one of these assholes, starting with the one who thought he was your fucking Prince Charming.”
My hands shake and I’m sobbing. Traffic moves, so some people honk their horns for me to go.
King gives them the finger and through gritted teeth, he says, “Unlock the fucking door.”
My finger hovers above the button. I’m terrified of him.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
His jaw tenses when he says no.
To avoid him from injuring someone, the locks click, and he yanks the door open.
“Out.” I slide my trembling legs to the side, and stand, avoiding his glare. “On my bike.”
I walk in the emergency lane to his bike, which isn’t far. People stare at me and then their eyes flick behind me and widen from how deranged he appears.
King unwinds the shirt, shoves it in his saddlebag, and settles on the bike, tugging me to it. He positions me in front, facing him.
“Wrap your arms and legs around me.”
I do so and he drives between the cars, and when the opportunity comes, he does a U-turn heading in the opposite direction.
My life is in that car. Clothes. Makeup.
My purse. I’m shuddering from the chill and dread, crying into his chest. Neither of us has a helmet on, but it doesn’t bother him.
At least he’s driving at a normal speed.