Chapter Eleven
August
Sitting in the medical bay at the clubhouse, I rubbed my eyes, trying not to go blind as I strained to read all the results from the latest batch of DNA test results, then entering them into the computer as Montana walked in.
“Hey, I’ve got an extra ticket to the Patriots-Bills game this weekend. You wanna go? We’re taking Kansas for his eighteenth birthday.”
“Can’t. I’ve got to get this shit entered before your dad rips me a new ass, then I have something to do.”
Groaning, Montana sighed. “I don’t know why he wants that shit done. He’s been on everyone’s ass to get their blood drawn. Mom told him to go fuck himself.”
“Bet that didn’t go over well.”
“Fuck no. Took me and Arizona to pull the fucker off her before he killed her. Something isn’t right between the two of them. I mean, they’ve tolerated each other in the past, but this is different. It’s weird.”
Yeah, I wasn’t going to comment on the marriage between George and Virginia Stone. It wasn’t my business, and as far as I was concerned, that fucker had everything he deserved coming to him soon enough.
Montana sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to it, then. I just fucking know that Kansas is gonna wanna bring Amy.”
I barely looked up as my fingers typed away on the computer. “Okay. Have fun. Maybe we can go get a drink or something this weekend?”
Montana grinned. “Yeah sure. No problem.”
With that, Montana quietly left the room, and I tried to focus on the task at hand, but my mind kept wandering.
I thought about Diana and how I’d much rather be with her than here, typing in data.
Leaning back in my chair, I groaned, checking my phone for any missed messages, and I wondered if Montana and Kansas would have a good time, and whether my sister Amy would indeed tag along.
Knowing her, she would.
The medical bay felt stuffy, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, adding to my growing headache.
I rubbed my eyes, wishing I could take a break, but knowing George would be breathing down my neck if I didn’t finish inputting the data soon, I carried on.
The fucker himself walked in two hours later.
“You got the latest batch entered?” he asked without preamble, standing in my doorway.
“Almost finished.”
“Don’t forget to send the results to my email when you’re done.”
Slamming my hand down on my desk, I snapped, “Have I ever fucking forgotten?”
George stood to his full height, and the motherfucker grinned. “Well, look who finally decided to grow some fucking balls.”
“Fuck you,” I snarled, pushing away from my desk, getting to my feet. “You know what? I’m fucking done for the night. Your fucking email can wait till Monday. I’m going home.”
“You’ll go when I say you can, boy,” the president of the Soulless Sinners sneered. “I don’t know what fucking bug has crawled up your ass, but my boot is about to fucking remove it. Now sit your fucking ass back down and finish your fucking job.”
My jaw tightened, his insult landing with the familiar sting of his manipulative power.
The fluorescent lights seemed to intensify, blurring the edges of the medical bay as a primal rage simmered beneath the surface.
Montana’s words about his parents echoed in my mind, a chilling premonition of the domestic storm brewing within the Stone family, a storm I was increasingly finding myself caught in the periphery of.
But George’s threat, the utter disrespect, was the final spark.
He thought he could break me, mold me into his obedient tool, just like he was trying to do with the DNA data.
He was wrong. My hands balled into fists, the urge to shatter the pristine computer console and walk out the door almost overwhelming.
“You know what, Prez?” I spat, my words laced with a venom I rarely displayed. “I’m done taking your shit. You want your precious fucking data? You can enter it yourself, goddamn it.”
I grabbed my jacket, ignoring the guttural roar that erupted from him as I made for the door.
The pounding in my head intensified, no longer just from the data entry, but from the sheer audacity of his control.
He was a tyrant, a puppet master, and I was his unwilling marionette.
But tonight, the strings snapped. I needed to see Diana, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the clubhouse and the creeping dread that had become my constant companion.
The thought of her, her warmth, her genuine kindness, was the only thing that could cut through the darkness George exuded.
As I stormed out of the clubhouse, all I could think about was Diana and our child.
I wanted so much to pack a bag and just disappear with her, never to be seen again.
I wanted to forget the Soulless Sinners Motorcycle Club ever existed.
I wanted to forget everything and just be a man that Diana could be proud of and a father to our unborn child.
My car’s engine roared to life, a soundtrack to my hasty retreat.
Every mile I put between myself and George’s toxic influence felt like a breath of fresh air.
My mind, however, remained a battlefield, torn between the desire for a new beginning and the grim reality of the tangled web I was caught in.
Protecting Diana and our child was paramount, but the thought of leaving everything behind, of truly disappearing, felt both liberating and terrifying.
As I sped through the darkened streets, the neon glow of the city lights blurred into streaks of color.
Diana’s face flashed in my mind, her gentle smile a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness.
I knew I couldn’t just disappear; I had to find a way to untangle myself from this mess, to ensure her safety without abandoning her.
The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with dangers I could only imagine, but for Diana and our child, I would face them all for a future with her.
I entered my apartment sometime later to find Diana asleep on the couch, her hand lying on her swollen belly as the television played some random show in the background.
Quietly shutting the door, I dropped my bag and walked over to her.
Leaning down, I softly kissed her lips and then watched as she smiled and her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey, yourself.” She yawned, sitting up, only to stop as she grabbed her belly. “Wow,” she grunted. “This little one is active tonight.”
Sitting on the coffee table, I leaned forward, placed my lips on her stomach, and said, “Hey, you in there. Stop giving your momma a hard time. She needs her rest.”
The response was instant when I felt a swift kick to my lips.
Diana laughed. “Guess he told you.”
Quirking my eyebrow, I grinned. “Could be a girl.”
“Guess we will find out soon enough,” she said, holding out her hand for me to help her to her feet. However, the second she was standing, I stiffened as I stared at the couch.
“August? What is it?” I vaguely heard her ask when she turned to see what I was looking at. There on the cushion she was just lying on was a dark red spot.
She was bleeding.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the lingering exhaustion of the apartment.
The dark bloom on the couch, so stark against the worn fabric, was a visual scream.
Diana gasped, her hand flying to her abdomen, her eyes wide with a terror I’d only ever seen reflected in the faces of those caught in the crosshairs of our world.
I scooped her up, her weight both familiar and terrifyingly precarious in my arms. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” I murmured, my voice a rough imitation of calm, as I raced towards the door, toward the promise of a hospital, toward the desperate hope that whatever this was, it wasn’t what my gut was screaming it was.
The emergency room was a sterile, indifferent purgatory.
Diana, pale and trembling, was whisked away by a flurry of nurses and doctors, leaving me alone in the echoing waiting room, the bloodstain on my jacket a constant, sickening reminder of the fragile life I held so dear.
Every passing minute felt like an eternity, each distant siren a potential harbinger of doom.
I thought I knew fear.
I was wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for the crippling fear of losing a child.
“August?”
Turning quickly, I spotted Melanie, one of the charge nurses I knew well. Rushing over to her, she smiled up at me. “She’s fine. Come. I’ll take you to her.”
Nodding, I said nothing as I followed her through the white corridors of St. John’s Presbyterian Hospital. The very hospital I was currently doing my residency at. Melanie led me to a recovery room where Diana sat, looking frail but relieved.
“It was just a scare, August,” Melanie explained, her voice gentle. “The baby’s perfectly fine. Just a bit of spotting, maybe from all the stress lately.”
Relief washed over me, so potent it left me weak. I crossed the room, kneeling beside Diana, my hands finding hers. “Thank God,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes, still shadowed with fear, met mine, and in their depths, I saw a reflection of my own overwhelming love and fear. The moment was broken when the door opened and in walked the one fucking doctor I didn’t want to see.
“Shit,” I cursed as the fucker smiled.
“Ms. Cooper, my name is Dr. Wilcox. How are you feeling?”
“What’s wrong with her, Wilcox?” I growled, cutting all pretense.
The fucker simply said, “Just some spotting. Nothing to worry about. As a fourth-year resident, you should know that this was a possibility.”
I growled at the man, who openly chastised me in front of Diana as if I were some errant schoolboy and not a seasoned resident of this hospital.
Dr. Wilcox scribbled something else onto her chart, the scratch of his pen loud in the quiet room. Diana glanced at me, searching my face for some sign, for some reason for my hostility toward Dr. Wilcox, but my expression was closed, guarded. I flat-out refused to stress her out anymore.
“Ms. Cooper, stress isn’t good for you right now,” Dr. Wilcox said quietly, his voice softening just a fraction, as if he realized her world had shifted beneath her feet. “You have nothing to worry about. The ultrasound showed a strong, healthy boy.”
“A boy,” Diana gasped as I slowly stood to my full height.
“We didn’t want to fucking know, Wilcox.”
The smug bastard grinned. “Then I guess you should have taken her somewhere else.”
Before I could speak, Dr. Wilcox’s pager shrilled, slicing through the moment. He glanced at the screen, his face unreadable, and then looked up at me. There was something in his eyes, something careful, neutral, and it made my skin prickle with unease.
“What?” I asked, my voice low.
“Step outside with me, Dr. Lansing,” Dr. Wilcox said, the fucker’s mask slipping firmly back into place.
I squeezed Diana’s hand, just once, before following Dr. Wilcox out of the room.
Little did I know that the events of that weekend would change the course of my life, and the Soulless Sinners, forever.