Spun (Kings of Chaos 1)

“Go look out the peephole. Be quiet about it.”

I creep over to the door with my heart in my throat. I thought I’d left this behind when I moved to Vegas. I look out the round piece of glass and relief floods me. “It’s Nasty and Quick.”

“Good. Open the door and let me talk to them.”

I unlock the door. “Hey, guys, Wizard is on the phone. He wants to talk to you.” I hand Nasty my phone and walk away to finish packing.

My stomach seems to be eating itself from the inside out. I’ve been lying to everyone for months. I place my hand over my belly. The swell is slight, but there and growing rapidly. Now is the perfect time to place all of my cards on the table. I have to do this. I’ll let him know and then continue on. No baby of mine will ever feel the way I did, or grow up unwanted and tortured because Daddy couldn’t be bothered. Repeating my mantra in my head, I finish packing, change into a pair of loose fitting jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt, grab my duffel bag, and walk out of the room. I’m willing to fight for our freedom and happiness, the way I wish someone had done for me. “I’m ready.”

“You’ll ride with Nasty,” Quick says. “I want to bring up the rear. If there’s any trouble, he’s going to take you straight to the clubhouse.”

My heart is in my throat. I hate being on the back of bike right now. But the last thing I plan on doing is revealing my secret to them first. I owe Wizard that right. I’ve grappled with giving the baby up for adoption or terminating the pregnancy, but neither thing set right with me. This child was made out of love and I have the means to keep it. I make good money, and what I don’t have, I know KOC will provide.

You were dragging your feet because you know Wizard is going to flip.

Having me be his old lady damn near sent him over the edge. I can only imagine what becoming a father to be will do. I trail behind Nasty as we leave the apartment.

The two were assigned to me once I hit town. Both are over six-foot tall, broad shouldered with square faces and granite jaws. The brother’s would make any man think twice about causing trouble. As sons of KOC members, they were born into the life the same as I was. I remember seeing them growing up when we had big get-togethers. It’s amazing how the once lanky teenagers with braces and long black hair have morphed into a formidable riders.

I climb up behind Nasty on the bike, careful to keep as much distance between my belly and his back as possible. He chuckles, and I know he thinks I’m worried about keeping a respectable distance. You couldn’t be more wrong. The engine purrs to life between my legs and we pull off from the parking lot.

Immediately, shots ring out. I duck and scream. I can feel the bullets whizzing past my face.

Nasty weaves the bike to avoid the trajectory.

This is it. I’m going to die. THAWP! The sound explodes in my ear.

“Shit! Were you hit?” Nasty yells.

I glance down and see a circle of red blossoming on my arm. My brain regains its ability to function. I cry out. The pain is immense. My stomach rolls and my arm is a limp weight dangling against the left side of my body. I grip him tighter with the right. I want to look back, but I’m terrified I’ll catch one to my face. Tears roll down my cheeks. I breathe through my mouth to manage the pain. If I fall off the bike, I’m done for. The bullets continue. A searing pain begins in my thigh.

“Fuck! Hang on.” Nasty goes off road.

The uneven ground rattles my teeth. The bullets cease. I wonder if Quick got him. The feeling of hot blood flowing through my body terrifies me. White noise fills my ears and my vision fades. I battle my way back from oblivion. I have a tiny life in my hands. Please, God, don’t let my baby die. I’m trapped in tunnel vision. Nothing exists but Nasty in front of me. Just hold on. I chant the words in my mind over and over. I recall the tiny blob on the sonogram tha

t represented my child, as if I could hold he or she to me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Nasty is swearing as we pop back from the back road to a main road. “Can’t take you to the clubhouse like this.”

I say a prayer for small favors. The faster I get to the hospital, the better off I’ll be.

“Ten more minutes, Nevy.” He roars off once more, at what feels like a hundred miles a minute, and talking is once again not an option. The landscape blurs and lights are meaningless as he breaks every law in traffic school.

We skid to a stop in front of the emergency doors. The relief is so intense, I almost black out on the spot.

Nasty jumps off the bike and swings me into his arms. He rushes through the front door.

The movement jars me. I hear a scream and realize it’s me.

Nurses rush over and he fills them in.

I’m in a strange detached state. I see what’s happening, but I can’t participate.

“She’s going in to shock, you guys. Let’s get her on a gurney.”

I’m strapped in and being whisked away in what feels like seconds. The air assaults my body as they cut off my clothes.

“Ma’am, are you pregnant?”