Bastard got to Ola around one thirty, almost closing time. Kit would be done singing by now, but after two days on the job and otherwise occupied making money to show up at her doorstep with, he couldn’t force himself to wait. He had to see, maybe she was still here. Maybe he could get his glimpse. Let her know he was still around…waiting.
The parking lot was half empty when he rolled up, a few guys near the front door smoking cigarettes and having a heated conversation about something. He parked the bike in the far corner, surveying the lot one more time before swinging his leg over. Traffic rushed in the background, but his ears perked listening to the sounds in the lot: the swearing related to whether the Lakers were gonna pull through this season, the scuffing of shoes as people tripped and wandered down the sidewalk, the honking from a block over. Low mumbles from nearby.
Bastard stilled as he neared the front door, listening to the undertones of a man’s voice, somewhere beyond the heated Lakers conversation.
“Fucking bitch,” came through clear, followed by more mumbling.
Bastard’s boots thudded against the sidewalk as he peered around the side of the bar. A man paced a dimly lit alleyway there, hands fisted his hair.
“Kit thinks she can just do that to me?”
Bastard’s stomach took a nose dive. He pressed himself to the bricks of the bar, bringing his ear closer to the corner.
“It’s fucked up. It’s fucked up. It’s fucked up.”
Bastard’s hands rolled into fists as he listened to enough of the ranting to get the gist: someone was pissed with Kit, and it didn’t look like he’d be going elsewhere to deal with it. They were waiting for her. Which meant she was still inside.
Bastard scanned the parking lot, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he mapped out a loose plan. He wanted to watch the guy. Keep an eye on him, just to see how much of this was talk and how much of this might lead to something dangerous. There was still the possibility that Kit wasn’t inside and he was just a raving weirdo, lurking for no reason.
But if she is inside…you gotta handle this.
He hurried back to his bike. Situated in the corner of the parking lot, it gave him a good vantage point of the front door and the alleyway entrance. Partially shrouded in darkness, he could observe without being observed.
Bastard leaned against the back of his bike, crossing his arms over his chest.
And then he waited. Eyes like a hawk on that alleyway, watching the disturbed pacing of the guy. And while he waited he took in all the details, trying to put the pieces together to answer the question lurking in the back of his mind: Is this the stalker from Olympia or a new one?
The guy was too far away and the night was too shrouded for him to make out much. But the guy knew Kit’s name and he wouldn’t leave the bar. Enough reason for Bastard to wait until closing, and then make sure this guy left the premises permanently. Whether of his own persuasion, or Bastard’s.
As time ticked on, more people left the bar, usually in small clusters. One of the guards pushed out eventually, heading for his car. The bar was probably empty inside, but the guy still hung around. A few minutes later, Kit pushed out into the parking lot, focused on her phone.
He straightened, his body experiencing a strange wave of emotion as he took her in. Part relief, part warmth, another part knowing that he’d wait as damn long as it took for her to come around. He smiled, but it faded fast as she rounded the corner and headed down the alleyway.
Bastard pushed off from the bike, taking measured steps toward that alleyway, fists already balled and his entire body tense, drawn like a bungee cord ready to snap back.
And then came the muffled scream. He got her. Bastard broke into a run, barely conscious of crossing the parking lot he was so focused on that alley. Darkness obscured part of it, but as soon as he crossed the brick threshold of the bar, he spotted that guy with Kit backed up against a wall.
The sight of her there undid something inside him, made that primordial coil pop loose, unleashing a maelstrom of adrenaline. His entire body went hot and he lunged without even seeing where he was going.
He grabbed the back of the man’s jacket, pulling him off of Kit with a whoosh of force that reverberated down to his feet. Kit let a piercing scream once he was off her, crumpling to her feet against the wall.
“Get the fuck off of me!” The guy was smaller than him but wiry, pure muscle underneath his clothes. He slipped from Bastard’s grip, launching himself toward Kit. His knee connected with her side and she cried out, shielding her face with her forearms.
Panic sliced Bastard in two, torn between wanting to help Kit and beating the life out of the attacker. But every second counted now, especially if he was going to make sure this guy never hurt her again. Bastard grunted, grappling with him to pull him off of her, sending him to the ground in a heap.
“You stay…the fuck…away….from…her.” His words were punctuated by punches. His fists flew faster than he could even control, panic and anxiety and worry coming out of him in a relentless stream. Bastard punched him until his own fists bled, until the gravel beneath his knees bit into his jeans, reminding him where he was, that this was public, that Kit was just feet away watching him unleash on this guy..
“Bastard,” Kit whimpered. He looked up, feeling her tugging at him “Bastard, that’s enough.”
He leaned back onto his heels, pressing his palms into the uneven cement beneath him. He drew long, ragged breaths, the adrenaline receding in slow waves. Before him, the guy lay unconscious, his face bleeding profusely, lips and one eye swollen shut.
“Are you okay?” He twisted to look up at her. Her sweatshirt hung oddly off her frame, like it had been fisted and tugged at. He reached up, grabbing her at the hips, steadying her there in front of him.
“I don’t know,” she whimpered, and then a choked sob escaped her. She covered her face with her hands and Bastard popped to his feet, bringing her into his arms. Kit melted into him, her arms encircling his waist, head buried in his chest. She hiccupped as she cried. “He hit me in the stomach, Bastard.”
Anxiety slithered through him, made him feel heavy and prickly. He kissed the top of Kit’s head. “We’re going to the hospital then.”
She sniffed, looking up at him, her eyes rimmed red. “Yeah. We should go to the hospital.”
Bastard loosened his grip on Kit, flexing the knuckles of his right hand. Blood ran, thick and dark, across his hand. He sucked at his teeth, the pain finally finding him now that the adrenaline had run off. He knelt down, rummaging through the pockets of the attacker.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re gonna see who this guy really is.” He found a wallet stuffed in the back pocket. When he rolled the guy onto his side, he moaned. Bastard fumbled to find an identification card inside and when he found it, nestled between slips of paper and weird membership cards to a thousand different things, he snapped a picture of it. Andrew Pittman.
“This shit is ending,” he muttered, stuffing the license back in and tossing the guy’s wallet onto his chest. He wrapped an arm around Kit, guiding her back down the alleyway. “Come on, Peach. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
***
Kit swung her legs off the edge of the examination table, gnawing at the inside of her lip. After waiting almost an hour, they were finally brought back to a room to wait for the emergency room doctor. Bastard sat in a chair along the wall, examining his bloody knuckles.
“I could probably just tape these up myself no problem, right?” His gaze skated over the wall of sterile pads and other medical accoutrement. “They wouldn’t notice.”
“They’d probably tack on an extra five hundred dollars to the bill,” she said, sticking her foot out to grab his attention. He sent a sly smile her way, one that made her belly flip. The man was dangerously handsome—even more so after beating the shit out of the one person who had managed to instill fear in her life.
“That’s okay. I can afford it.” He winked, a dimple in his left cheek flashing. Her mind went straight to the baby: oh my God, what if our kid has that same dimple? I won’t be able to stand it. Will the baby even make it?
Doubts flooded her again, sparking anxiety like flame to a match. She dropped her gaze. Bastard leaned forward, squeezing her knee.
“What’re you thinking about?”
She shrugged, sniffing. Her face still felt raw from all the screaming, then the crying, then the fast motorcycle ride to the ER. What a night this had been. Exhaustion clawed at her. It had to be after three by now, but she didn’t want to check the time again. Each time she looked it doubled her anxiety, reminded her that this tiny life inside her hung in the balance.
“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Bastard said, probably the fifth time he’d said it since they got to the ER. “And even if it isn’t fine, I’ll make it fine.”
She cracked a small grin. “And how are you gonna do that?”
“Any fucking way I can.” He scrubbed at the top of his head, his mossy green eyes shining with something she didn’t quite know how to define. “Kit, I don’t know if you caught on by now, but I’m yours.”
She rolled her lips inward, registering the warmth that spread through her, tucking it away like a secret to be viewed at another time. “But for how long?”
His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he brought it forward, inserting himself in the line of her vision. “Until you shake me off like a dog. And I bite hard, Peach.”
“Yeah, I’m gathering that.” She ran a hand over the top of her hair, smoothing some flyaways. “Maybe too hard.”
He smirked. “You’re the first time I’ve bitten, too.”
She yanked her gaze up to meet his and she gulped, finding more passion and sincerity written in his expression than she could have ever hoped for. It was too much. Too much because she believed him, and wanted him, and was dying to walk this path with him.
“Yeah, I can tell that too.” She sniffed, finding more tears in her eyes as she reached out to grab his hand. She intertwined their fingers. “But Baylor…”
A slow grin crept across his face.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I like it when you call me that.”
She laughed, wiping away a tear. “But it’s your name.”
“I know. But nobody ever got the privilege of using it.”
Except me. She sniffed again. “What if the baby doesn’t make it?”
His face fell. “That’s not what we need to be thinking about right now, Peach.”
“But you saw him, you saw what he was doing to me, how violent he was being. The stress alone could have terminated this pregnancy. And then when he fell on top of me—”
Bastard rose up, interrupting her mid-sentence with a kiss. They locked lips so long that her mouth went numb. When he pulled back, a different sort of haze had descended over her.
“Oh, is that your remedy?” She laughed despite her irritation. “Kiss away the worries?”
“Not a bad approach, right?” He looked too pleased with himself. “But seriously, babe, don’t drive yourself crazy with this shit. The doctor will be here any minute. We’re gonna find out. I swear to you.”
As if on cue, a light rapping sounded at the door. Bastard grinned up at her, then pressed another kiss to her lips. “See?”
The door swung open a moment later and Bastard scooted his chair back into place. A tall, gray-haired man stepped into the room. His lips were thin and taut, a laptop in his arms.
“Good evening.” He eased onto a round stool at the far end of the room, setting his laptop down. He rolled over to them, offering a hand to each. “I’m Dr. Linden.”
“Nice to meet you.” Kit shook his hand. “I’m Kit, and this is my boyfriend Baylor.”
She could only imagine what Bastard’s reaction was on the inside. He betrayed no emotion as he shook hands with the doctor. When the doctor leaned forward to peer around at the back of his cut, Bastard’s face fell.
“Is this…” The doctor plopped back into his seat. “Are you in one of those biker gangs?”
Bastard’s face went pale. Kit swallowed a giggle. “No, sir. I mean, it’s a club. We love motorcycles.” He swallowed. “Does this interfere with Kit being taken care of?”
“Oh, no. Of course not.” The doctor seemed undisturbed as he rolled away to face Kit head on. “I was just curious.”
Bastard nodded, relaxing into his seat. “Okay.”
Dr. Linden slapped his knees. “So, what’s the issue today?”
“I was involved in an…altercation.” Kit paused, wondering how much detail she should really give. “And I recently found out I was pregnant. Someone pushed me pretty hard, and I’m just so worried that something might have happened to the baby. I haven’t even seen a doctor yet for the pregnancy. It’s still early. I just…” she trailed off, desperation consuming her again. In a small voice, barely able to speak above a whisper, she added, “I just need to make sure the pregnancy is okay.”
Dr. Linden nodded, his gray gaze solid on her. “Of course. We’ll do everything we can to make sure.” The next bit involved a lot of medical stuff Kit more or less understood. He explained about a kind of ultrasound that, when he showed her the wand, looked a lot more like a dildo than a camera. She’d thought maybe they’d be able to do the type she always saw on TV, but since she was still so newly pregnant, he said they’d have a better chance of seeing things well with this. And all Kit wanted in the world was to be sure the life growing inside of her was okay. Kit glanced over at Bastard. His face was wrought with concern, but the second he noticed her watching it morphed into something softer.
He squeezed her arm while the doctor left the room to find a nurse. “Everything sound good, Peach?”
Kit stared at him, sideswiped by a sudden rush of emotion, getting lost in the earthy depths of his eyes. Fuck, who was she kidding? This man was here to stay. This man was hers.
All she could do was lean forward and throw her arms around him, unleashing a sob that seemed to originate from the depths of her being.