Delilah

 

He killed a man in front of me. To be honest, that piece of shit might have deserved some kind of punishment. My dad caught him as he groped me by thrusting his hand down my shirt as I was handcuffed to the metal chair. I saw the look in my dad’s eyes. It’s the same as mine when I get into one of my rages. The fire is nearly palpable, and may the sweet baby Jesus help the person nearest us when we get in that zone.

 

But whatever my anger has been, I’ve never shot a man in cold-blood like that. I have never seriously thought of taking a life for some little sense of vengeance, but I watched in shock and awe as my dad dismissed him, and as the guy walked out of the room, took out his gun and shot him square between his shoulders.

 

His small body dropped against the doorframe, his hands grasping around the paneling before slowly collapsing to the floor feet first. I thought I heard him utter my dad’s name, but I couldn’t be sure. I was too busy screaming bloody freaking murder.

 

My dad acted like it was nothing. Killing a man, taking someone’s life, was nothing but an unfortunate business reality. Things like this happen when you’re playing with skin. And as the boss, you’re the one who doles out such harsh punishments to fit the crime. Apparently abusing the boss’ kidnapped daughter is worthy of execution because, after the shooting and the clearing of the body by two hapless guards named Mort and Erickson, no one wanted to come near me. I saw them cringe as my father ordered one of them to take me my dinner or to release me for one of the few breaks he scheduled in my day.

 

He hasn’t said much to me, really. I don’t really expect him to though. After the moment he introduced himself to me, I made it clear that I was not going to be thrilled he had used a cop to kidnap me or that he had sent armed men to follow me around, ready to pounce. At the end of the first night, before he locked me in the basement, he whispered into my ear, “I know you don’t understand now, but you will. I’m going to make our lives so much better.”

 

“How?” I asked, my throat sore from crying. “You left my mom and me years ago. I don’t even know you! The only thing you can do to make my life better is bring me back to Race!”

 

“Race? Bad Devils’ Race? Is that the man who took you, locked you in his clubhouse, and knocked you up?”

 

“How do you know that?” I sobbed, suddenly remembering my doctor’s warning to take it easy. Being kidnapped was the exact opposite of taking it easy. I couldn’t imagine being tied to a chair in some basement would be healthy for a growing baby.

 

“Because I know these things. I have ears where I shouldn’t. And you’re rounder than the first pictures they gave me months ago. You’re filling out.” He spat on the ground as he added, “While I’m not terribly happy it’s that bastard’s baby, a grandchild taking over my post as president of the Roadheads does sound appealing.”

 

“Never,” I replied, my chin raised high. “Race will find out that you took me, and he’ll come after you. There will be nothing that stops him. Not you or your damn club. He’ll take all of you down, and you’ll be sorry for coming back into my life like this.”

 

My father took his fingers and ran them through my hair. It was if he had to admire every last strand on my head before they faded away. He sighed and then smiled brightly at me. “I’m hoping he’ll come for you, Delilah. I want him to meet the man myself, maybe even shake his hand before I shoot his damn head off.”

 

“What?” I asked, my heart almost dropping to my feet.

 

“Like I said, I’m not terribly happy that you chose to shack up with the leadership of the Bad Devils. After all, those fuckers kicked me out of my own goddamn club, a club I helped build. I earned my position in that MC, and those assholes repaid me by sending me on missions where they knew I’d eventually get axed off.” His chest heaves, and I can tell just how upset he is. “Don’t you get it, kid? They wanted me dead.”

 

“But what does that have to do with Race?” I demand. ”He wasn’t part of the club then.”

 

“I know that, Delilah. But he’s their leader now, and all leaders should be baptized by fire. From what I’ve heard, your boy is a greenhorn around these parts. He’s not been tested like I have. He’s not been sent to hell and come back with a tale to tell. Unfortunately, he’s gonna have to prove himself against me, and no one wins against me. You can ask my men about that.”

 

He chuckled to himself before coming back to his original point: “After he and your filthy lying mother are out of the way, I’ll re-introduce you to the brothers of the Roadheads. I’ll set you up with my second. He’s a good guy for the most part, and he’ll treat you and that baby real nice. You’ll have the life you deserve instead of working as a waitress in some sleazy Hollywood scum restaurant. You’ll have money, cars, protection, and a home– all the things you should have had years ago.”

 

I turned my head coolly to meet him as I say, “You mean all the things a father should have given to their daughter.”

 

“Don’t test me, Delilah. You’re a guest here– a real privileged one. Most men who come through those basement doors don’t survive two steps. But if you act nice, sit in this chair, mind your business, and show me that you can obey, we’ll get along nice.”

 

He looked down at me as he rose to his feet. Over his shoulder, I caught him looking back at me, his eyes twinkling. There was something he was leaving unsaid, but I couldn’t guess at what that would be. Every night he gave me that same wanting glance before turning off the light and shutting the door.

 

Tonight is night number five. The day had passed like the others with me sitting here, arms tied around my back, men moving in and out of the room with drinks and snacks. They would untie me to eat, go to the bathroom, and stretch my legs. I managed to convince them to let me have my vitamins by showing one of the goons my doctor’s notes and telling him the baby could be in jeopardy if I didn’t take them. They handled me with kid gloves then. The brutes became gentle, silent beasts, shuttling me from one activity to the next at the command of my father who checked in every four hours on the dot, even at the middle of the night while I attempted to sleep upright and bound.

 

I measured the time by a small, silver clock that ticked loudly above my head. Except for the TV that was brought in yesterday to entertain me, it was the only thing I could watch. I told myself that every second that passed was another second closer to Race rescuing me. Though with every visit and movement of the little hand that he didn’t barge into the basement with guns blazing, I started to doubt Race would ever find me. Was he even looking?

 

At six o’clock, my dad appeared in the doorway with a smile as wide as the moon. He walked me arm in arm to the leather couch at the end of the room and then placed my dinner tray on my lap. It was more fast food, but what was I supposed to expect out of a club full of men who probably had never seen the inside of a kitchen.

 

“I was thinking of letting you shower tonight. You have been good, and it’s about time.”

 

“About time for what?” I ask with a hint of suspicion.

 

“Oh, you’ll see,” he replies, his eyes staring at the closed door. It was unusual to see it shut. I can’t remember the last time he had it closed.

 

I’m suddenly not that hungry “I would like to shower,” I admit, my voice tired. I can’t remember the last time I bathed, let alone changed my clothes or ran a comb through my hair. “But I’m not going to shower with guards.” The dead man’s hands grasping under my shirt replays in my mind. I know that no one would dare attempt it now, but the fear is still there, eating away at me.

 

“No. I wouldn’t think you should. You’ll use the shower in my office. I’ll post Erickson and Mort outside the doors so you’ll have your privacy.”

 

“And you? Where are you going to be?”

 

“Don’t worry about me.” He smiles again as he places a hand upon my knee. “We’ve got a big night ahead. I’m told we have visitors coming.”

 

“Visitors?”

 

“Yes, Del, and I don’t think you’re going to want to miss them. I want you to be there, watching everything. Then you’ll know and understand exactly who can take the best care of you and your baby. You’ll see what family means to me.”

 

I gulp as I try to understand his cryptic way of talking. Everything is a puzzle or a riddle when he speaks to me. Nothing is straightforward. Maybe it comes with the territory of faking your own death and becoming the leader of the rival gang, but the theatrics are driving me mad. There are no guests of his I would ever want to see, especially when it is in relation to my baby.

 

“I picked out an outfit for you,” he adds as I try to stay focused. “It’s upstairs along with the rest of your things. I had my girls pick it out at the maternity store. I’d let you wear your old things, but I don’t know if you’ll fit into any of them. You’ve filled out in the few days since I’ve had you here. That’s good.” The way he beams at me is as if me being pregnant and somewhat healthy is some kind of accomplishment to celebrate. It would be laughable if I could afford to muster up some kind of humor in this situation.

 

The decrepit upstairs of the building isn’t much different from the dungeon downstairs. Cramped, darkened, and reeking of mysterious smells, we push through clouds of smoke and through lines of men crowded in narrow hallways. As my father appears, they pull away, parting the seas for their Moses. But they aren’t looking at him as he passes. Their eyes are trained on me. Some leer, licking their lips and daring to make clicking noises through their broken teeth. The rest laser onto me. No doubt, they’re wondering if having me as some collateral or bait is going to be worth the effort and the bloodshed. For each of these men, I imagine just how Race will take them down when he finally arrives.

 

“Take your shower and get dressed,” Dad says as we walk into a small office space, “you’ve got ten minutes.” He flips on the switch and gestures both to a side room where I hear water already running and a pile of clothing neatly folded at the foot of the door.

 

“Ten minutes? That’s not long—”

 

My father shuts the door to his office before I can protest. I turn my head towards the clock, noting the time. The last thing I want is one of those assholes to walk in on me while I’m not dressed yet.

 

I peel off towards the shower. The feeling of my legs moving freely is invigorating enough, but the touch of warm water sends me reeling. I take each moment in, smelling the hotel sample soaps he’s left behind and running my hands through the tangles of my knotted hair as I massage my scalp tenderly. Nothing has ever felt better… Well, besides Race.

 

As much as I would pay my life savings to stay a minute longer, I race out of the shower with towels wrapped around my body and hair. I nudge the door open, so I can grab the pile of clothing he’s left for me. I don’t know what I imagined he would select, but this is far from what I envisioned a father picking for his daughter. The black silk dress accentuates the curves of my rounding stomach and then falls right above my knee. The plunging neckline emphasizes my slightly larger breasts, and the push-up helps fill it in. The whole outfit moves like waves on my body as I struggle to throw my wet hair up into a messy bun at the top of my head.

 

I’m nearly done covering myself in the sample-size lotion bottle when I hear the knock on the door. “It’s time, Delilah.” My dad doesn’t wait for my answer before opening the door on me. I take a few steps backward, holding on to the side of the sink for support.

 

My father’s face has given away nothing to me, but in the moment of him seeing me like this, all dressed up and ready for a night out, I swear there’s something close to his twisted version of affection or admiration there.

 

He sighs heavily, a hand near his mouth, as he exclaims, “You look exactly how I imagined.”

 

“Thanks,” I try to say without blushing. I have dreamed of this– of my dad seeing me like this. I don’t want to tell him too much or to show him that I care a rat’s ass about his approval. This is not how it’s supposed to be. No father is supposed to kidnap their grown child, murder a man for her honor, and then use her as some pawn in a scheme. My heart and head wrestle back and forth until the moment passes.

 

“Where are we going?” I finally ask, willing to break the silence between us.

 

“To meet some people and settle some business. After that, you’re going to have dinner with me and Andre.”

 

“Andre? Who the hell is Andre?”

 

“My second. I told you– he’s willing to take you as his old lady to secure his position. We’ve settled it all.”

 

“I-I’m not going to do that,” I stammer. “I’m not some damsel you need to arrange a marriage for.”

 

“Given that you’re knocked up and unwed, I’d say someone’s got to handle your affairs.”

 

“You have no idea about my love life. Race is—”

 

“I don’t want to hear a fucking word about that bastard, Delilah. Not after tonight.” He throws an arm around me, pushing me forward.

 

“Where are you taking me!” I scream this time as I struggle against him. “Please! Just tell me what you are going to do!”

 

He doesn’t answer. By the time we reach the door, his men are already waiting for him. The two men take me from him, leading me away towards a black van parked in the connected garage. I bang against the tinted windows, only able to see my father jump on the back of a parked bike. He peels out first, and the van begins to roll backward and then out onto the street. The darkened night sky shades the way as we travel back to where I first came from, towards Devils’ territory.

 

It’s a ten-minute drive before the car stops and the driver parks. He steps out of the van, but he doesn’t come for me. I try to unroll the windows, but the most I can do is push them open by the corners. I can only see so much, but I can make out a brown and green field littered with trash.

 

On the opposite side of the lot, two headlights from at least two other motorcycles flash a pattern. My father flickers his light back, and the small group from the Roadheads makes their way across the field.

 

My eyes dart to the other side, waiting for a sign. My heart races. It thumps a war beat in my ears. I throw my fingers through the crack of the window, pushing myself as close as I can towards the opening. And that’s when I see him.

 

Race.

 

He strides through the field with his hands in his pockets. His hair is swept back so I can see his firm glare fixated on my father. Three steps behind him are Nicco and Seb, both looking slightly apprehensive but battle-ready.

 

It’s Nicco who speaks first. “Where is she, Preacher?”

 

“My girl is safe and sound, just like I promised you.”

 

“I want to see her!” Race roars through the night, glancing at the van. I am tempted to scream at him, to let him know that I am here, but I don’t want to be the spark that lights the match.

 

“You’re not seeing anyone until I’ve got what I’ve been promised.”

 

There’s a long pause where everyone stands stone-cold in their spots. The group looks around and then back at a fourth motorcycle parked between the both of them. Nicco calls out something that I can’t quite make out, but the driver turns his lights off and then walks quickly towards the center of the two groups. As the figure grows closer, I begin to notice the tight black jeans, the long T-shirt, and the hair tied in a braid.

 

Before anyone can say a word, I scream out into the night, “Mom! No!”