It’s seven a.m. and I’m putting my makeup on in the mirror when my cell phone vibrates in the back pocket of my blue jeans. I found an extra ponytail in Dreads’ bag this morning when he ran downstairs to grab some beignets from the lobby and looped it around the buttonhole of my favorite skinny jeans, giving my daily-doubling-in-size belly plenty of room. Err...well, kinda.
Ty: I’m in front of the hotel. I don’t see you… Where are you?
I quickly type in a reply but don’t get it sent before Dreads walks back in.
“All right, Vagabond. We got coffee, more beignets, and pack of smokes. You aren’t allowed any of those. Doc’s orders. Or Butcher’s orders. At least until Jacques has him put you on the schedule. And don’t worry. He’s birthed plenty of babies. Jacques included. The man has his real MD and everything. He just lets the MC line his pockets and keeps his mouth shut when we ask for favors. Actually, I think birthing babies is his main gig. That or taking care of ’em after. I don’t know—I forget. Anyway, you ready to eat? Everything is packed and in the truck. We’re ready as far as I’m concerned. Can you think of any other pregnancy need we should tend to before getting the fuck outta this town? I’m ready blow this popsicle stand. Yesterday!”
“Ahh...yeah, no. I’m ready. Actually, I’m not even hungry anymore.” I rub on my tummy. “I’m feeling a little sick,” I mutter as I pull my phone from behind my back. “I’m gonna text my dad, see if he has some Dramamine or something. Anything I can take. I don’t want to get car sick. Oh, God. I usually don’t, but with this pregnancy…”
When he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds, I look back up at him.
“Vagabond…”
The fact that he had the audacity to use that term of endearment—the one he doesn’t even want to remember—causes my patience to snap, and I lash out at Dreads for it. “Just stop with that, already! Fuck, shut it off! Stop calling me that! It’s not my goddamn name, Dreads! Do you want me to start calling you Daniel?!” I shout. Deflecting like a ninja…
“It is Vagabond... You’re our vagabond.” He blinks dumbly at me.
“NO!” I shout before throwing my hands in the air and stepping towards him. “It’s not. And no, I’m not! I’m not, Daniel!” I yell, clearly pronouncing his given name. “My name is Eve.” I tap my finger to my chest. “Get that shit straight!”
I head in the direction of the bathroom, but before I can hit send on my reply to Ty and get the door slammed behind me, he growls out his warning.
“Fine. But five minutes. Then we leave, Eve.”
I roll my eyes before sending Ty the text.
Me: Coming!!! Stay where you are. No, circle the block. I’ll do the same. Head north. I’ll be coming from the south. We’re bound to cross each other. I love you. You’re the fucking best, Fly Ty!!! :* :*
Tears are welling so fast in my eyes I’m having a hard time finding my pops’ contact in my phone, and yes, I’m oddly comfortable with that term now. Once his picture and contact light my screen up, I type a text to him as quickly as my fingers can shuffle.
Me: Hey, Pops. I’m not feeling well. Dreads is pushing me to hurry up and eat, but I don’t know if I can keep my first cup of coffee down. :( Do you have some Dramamine or something? Maybe that’ll help. Call Dreads and let him know if you don’t. I’m heading into the bathroom. I hate this!
Bam. Done.
Fuck it. What did Jacques’s letter say exactly?
I don’t think you realize how elaborate of a game it is you’re currently in, but it’s not good. You’re not safe.
Well, if it’s a game, I better start learning the damn rules. And, if he’s not gonna supply any, then I guess I’ll make up my own.
Ready or not. She may be small, but she is fierce. And I’ve been through entirely fucking too much to give up and walk away now.
Even though that’s exactly what I’m doing. Letting history repeat itself. ’Cause it’s what I do when I don’t know where to go or who to trust. When I’m wounded and I can hardly trust my own mind, I run…
Because you can bet your ass it’s better to run and deal with a new circumstance than the ones falling down around your ears where you stand.
“You're the tree that falls and makes no sound... If I don’t remember, did it really happen?”
I look up at myself in the mirror, and my lips barely move as I speak to my reflection, “No sound. I got your no sound. You don’t want to remember me? That’s perfectly fine. I don’t like to be where I’m not wanted anyway. Asshole.”
I’m not talking to myself, in case you were wondering. I don’t see my face or my tired expression. I see Jacques. And I wish like hell I could leave a note for Dreads to take to him before I leave. But I doubt I’ll be able to. And I seriously doubt I’ll find some paper and a pen. Besides, if I ever think of something incredibly poetic and serving of justice, I can always text him. It’s not like I don’t have his number.
This time, when I shrug at my reflection, I do see myself. And then I hear my father slam through the front double doors of my hotel room. Oopsie daisy. Well, there’s my first needed distraction.
“Who the hell do you think you are rushing my daughter? No one rushes a pregnant woman! She’s pregnant! It’s rude, yeah?! Didn’t you have parents, you nitwit?!” My father’s booming voice echoes off the walls as I peek my head around the bathroom door.
I meekly smile when his eyes narrow on mine. “Hey, Pops.” As I step around the door, I shove my phone in my pocket. But not before I sent Ty a text.
Me: Coming, Papi! What side of the building are you on?
I won’t check it until my feet hit the stairs in the courtyard of the lobby though. Don’t get it twisted. I know I’m in a hurry. I see how small this window is. And it’s getting smaller by the second.
“Did you find something for my stomachache?” I ask. “I’m gonna go look downstairs—”
“Oh FUCK NO, you aren’t!” Dreads yells. “You! Stay!” He points his finger at my father’s chest. “You can kiss my ass. I’m just doing what the hell you and Jacques agreed upon. If you have an issue, take it up with him. Not me.” He’s almost out of breath, and his hand is twitching at his hip as if he’s begging for someone to give him a reason to pull his weapon out. “Eve, tell your old man I’m not fucking rushing you, kid. I’m trying to fucking feed ya!” He points to the bag on the coffee table.
“Ma cher bebe doesn’t feel well, Dreads. She told you that, yeah? Just give her a second. My MC’s security is perfectly capable of taking care of her. That’s not the issue. I just don’t want her in the same damn city as that slimy bastard, Ben!”
My father’s sad eyes land on mine, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“B-Ben’s...here?” I whisper, looking back and forth between the men I trust most—aside from my Ty. “D-Dad? Ben’s here? Right now? In New Orleans? Why? And why am I just now hearing this information?!” I don’t really want to know why. I didn’t mean to ask the damn questions. They just slipped out.
“No reason, ma chère. You. Are. Safe. I’d just feel better—”
“Why’d we come here? So quickly? That was never explained to me. And I asked too.” I look at Dreads. “I asked on the way downstairs, did I not?”
“You did. Now, here’s my question: Do you really want to know, Vagabond?”
Shit! Why’d he have to call me that?!
“No,” I spit out. “Actually, you’re right. No. I don’t want to know Ben was in New York too. I suspect he was, especially with there being another bike found. I’m not fucking dumb.” I glance at my father and smile, knowing full well it looks as fake as it truly is. “I’m going to see if I can find something for my stomachache. Maybe try some saltine crackers. Can I pack a few for the road, Pops?” I smoothly lie to my father.
And why the hell shouldn’t I? He hasn’t exactly been truthful.
“Absolutely. You go on. We’ll meet you in the lobby, bebe. I have a few rules I need to explain to Mr. Burgh here if he expects to keep his head, yeah? I’d hate for him to fuck up and something to happen to my newly found precious cargo.” King winks before unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up one at a time. Then he steps towards the other man in the room. “Isn’t that right, Dreads?”
It takes me less than three seconds to scoot from the room and down the hall. My finger hits the G button for the ground floor. My body visibly sags in relief when the doors close behind me. Then I swallow, trying to settle my breathing in the elevator, and I pull my phone from my back pocket to see if Ty responded.
Ty: Fuck if I know. I’m circling it and headed south like you said. What do you want from me?
I mutter a curse and go to text him back. But then I think better of it. Screw it. So what? He got the direction wrong. The point is, now, I know what it is.
Me: Okay, in the elevator headed down now!
I hit send just as the doors open to the lobby.
Now, I dare you. Ask me what I have in my possession this time as I run away. Go ahead. Ask me.
Absolutely nothing. Aside from my cell phone and the clothes on my back. And the only thought accosting my brain is that I wish I would've had time to stand around Dreads one last time as he smoked. Or, hell, really any of the guys. Besides me, no one in my circle smokes. And I can’t. Not anymore. Thanks to Jacques Fucking Cain.
I wince as I step out into the sun through the front double doors of my father’s hotel. Wishing now I’d have grabbed my damn sunglasses. When I don’t see Ty’s car, I head north, recalling the direction he’s headed and knowing we will inevitably cross each other’s paths.
I duck my head and tug the silly replica cut my pops had made for me tighter around my middle. Someone wearing my father’s colors steps away from an old tree around the corner of the hotel’s front entrance.
My father’s men usually hang out in the lobby or can be found coming and going through the front entrance, but the first rule of DDDs is: no loitering. Pops makes sure his club acts as refined as possible in public.
When I pass the out-of-place man, I let out the second sigh of relief in mere seconds before pulling my phone out to call Ty.
“Hey.”
The creepy man’s voice stops me, but only for a brief moment. When I glance over my shoulder at him, I see him advancing towards me, so I quicken my footsteps.
“Hey, you sure are a pretty little thing. You ain’t no bigger than a minute, neither.”
I awkwardly laugh. “Yeah. Have a good one. I’m running late,” I lie. Again. This time, only somewhat to my father—well, to one of his men. Weird-as-hell men.
I realize he’s still following me and step up my pace past the socially acceptable measure. I don’t give a shit if he thinks he’s creeping me out. HE IS!
“Hey, you ain’t gotta a cigarette on ya by chance. Do ya?”
He’s actually starting to crowd me, and I don’t appreciate it. Not one little bit.
I abruptly stop, knowing full well he’s going to run into me. But I can’t care less. I’m trying to fucking run away from another home! Doesn’t he get that!?
I rest my hands on my lower abdomen and turn to face him. “No. Actually, I’m pregnant. So, unfortunately, I can’t fucking smoke, even though that’s the one thing I’d rather do right now, more than anything else, aside from carry a healthy child.” I tap my belly. “And this one needs all the help it can get already. The poor thing.” I chuckle until I realize that the creepy guy is leaning in like he can’t even see. Much less ride a bike. “You ride a motorcycle? Your eyes are awfully cloudy. Isn’t that a sign of cataracts or something? Surely you can’t ride if you can’t see.”
“Yeah…”
Now that he’s closer to me, I can say he’s stinky too. And he creeps in even closer.
“You’re that MC dude’s kid, the one that runs these streets. I heard it was a pregnant chick…” He looks me up and down.
I’m trying to figure a way out of this fucking conversation. But his odd-as-hell remarks won’t let me leave!
“Right. I’m King’s kid daughter.” I thump his cut then move to step away. “The same King who owns that color.”
But, before my hand can even make it back to my side, he’s wrenching it behind my back and pulling me forward. He has my arms pinned around me with one of his hands, and the other is wielding a knife at my throat. He leans with his face into the left side of mine before draping his forearm around my neck, blocking the knife from the public’s view. Then his words and his spit hit my neck and my ear.
“I know exactly who the fuck you are. You’re my winner winner turkey dinner. Daddy gets to fucking eat tonight, bitch.”
His erection grinds into me from behind and I almost lose my coffee. For real this time. But a shiny, stark-white van comes to a screeching halt right in front of me and the doors are slung open.
The only fucking thought to cross my mind is, Why in the hell is Ben in the back of this white van? And holy shit, he’s gonna be pissed when I puke all over it. It looks awfully clean.
Then my new friend from my pops’s club mutters, “This the bitch I was ‘possed to catch? She dat one, yeah?”
Then...it’s like my head splits the fuck open.