EIGHT MONTHS LATER


RUGER

“Fuck, it’s my mom. I gotta grab that,” Ruger yelled across the table at Mary Jo, holding up his cell. The band hadn’t started yet, but the place was still packed, and he couldn’t hear a damned thing. He didn’t get out much since he’d started prospecting the Reapers. Earning a place in the club was a full-time job by itself, and he pulled shifts at the pawnshop, too.

Ma knew that, and she wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.

“Hey, lemme get outside,” he said loudly into the phone, walking toward the door with long strides. People got the fuck out of his way, and he bit back a smile. He’d always been a big guy, but now that he wore an MC cut?

Fuckers practically dove under the tables when they saw the club patches on his vest.

“’Kay, I’m outside,” he said, moving away from the crowd in front of the Ironhorse.

“Jesse, Sophie needs you,” his mom said.

“What do you mean?” he asked, peering at his bike, parked down the street. Was that guy getting close to it? Oh, not gonna happen …

“So, are you going?” she said. Shit. She’d been talking.

“Fuck, sorry, Ma. Missed what you said.”

“I just got a panicked phone call from Sophie,” his mom repeated. “Stupid kids. She went to a kegger with your brother and now she thinks she might be in labor. He’s too drunk to drive her and she’s having contractions, so she can’t drive herself. I’m gonna kill him. I can’t believe he’d take her somewhere like that, especially now.”

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“Jesse, don’t use that language with me,” she snapped. “Can you help her or not? I’m in Spokane and it’ll take at least an hour to get there. I’ll start making more phone calls if you can’t do it.”

“Wait, isn’t it too early?”

“A little too early, yes,” she replied, her voice tense. “I wanted to call an ambulance but she insists it’s just Braxton Hicks. Ambulance rides cost a fortune, you know, and she’s scared of the bills. She wants to go home but I think she might need the hospital. Can you get her or not? I can meet you there as soon as I hit town. I’ve got a real bad feeling about this, Jess. Didn’t sound like Braxton Hicks to me.”

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, wondering what the hell “Braxton Hicks” were. He saw Mary Jo come out of the bar, smiling at him ruefully. She knew all about sudden phone calls and changes in plans. “Where are they?”

He got the information, then hung up, walking over to his date and shrugging his shoulders. This sucked. He wanted to get laid, and not at the clubhouse. Some fuckin’ privacy would be nice for once, and Mary Jo was wild as they got.

“Club business?” she asked lightly. Thank fuck she wasn’t a drama queen.

“Nope, family,” he replied. “My asshole stepbrother knocked up his girlfriend and now she’s going into labor. Needs a ride to the hospital. I’m gonna go get her.”

Mary Jo’s eyes widened.

“You should leave,” she said quickly. “I’ll take a cab home. Shit, that sucks … How old is she?”

“Just turned seventeen.”

“Damn,” she said, shivering with genuine horror. “I can’t imagine having a kid that young. Call me later, okay?”

He gave her a fast but hard kiss. She reached down and offered his cock a quick squeeze. Ruger groaned, feeling himself stiffen. He really needed to get laid …

Instead, he pulled away and walked over to his bike.

The party was halfway to Athol, off in some field that he vaguely remembered visiting when he was in high school. He found Zach’s truck easy enough. Sophie stood next to it, looking scared in the summer twilight. Then her face tightened and she hunched over her giant belly, groaning. Now she looked terrified.

Ruger parked his bike and realized he’d have to leave it in the field—no way she could ride with him. Fucking great. Asshat little shits would probably run over it or something. Sophie’s face was white with strain, though. No room to fuck around. She needed to go in the truck, and clearly she needed to go now. Ruger shook his head, glancing around for his brother.

He still couldn’t figure out why a smart, beautiful girl like her would pick Zach, of all people. Sophie had long, reddish-brown hair, beautiful green eyes, and a way about her that screamed feminine softness—a softness he’d spent more than one night imagining with his dick in his hand. Even pregnant in the middle of a field party, she was still gorgeous.

Way the fuck too young, though.

She saw him and winced, reaching around to put one hand against her back, stretching as the contraction ended. Ruger knew she didn’t like him, and he didn’t blame her. They hadn’t met under the best of circumstances, and things between him and Zach went further to shit every day. Ruger hated the way he treated their mom and hated the way he lived his life. More than anything else, he hated the way the little fuck was already running around on Sophie behind her back.

Cocksucker didn’t deserve a girl like her, and their kid sure as hell hadn’t won the lottery when it came to his future daddy.

“How you doing?” he asked, coming up to Sophie and hunkering down so he could see her face. Her eyes were full of panic.

“My water broke,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “The contractions are coming really fast. Way too fast. It’s supposed to be slow with your first baby, it never happens this fast. I need to get to the hospital, Ruger. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Oh, fuck me,” he muttered. “You got the keys?”

She shook her head.

“Zach does. He’s over by the bonfire. Maybe we should call an ambulance? Oh …” she groaned, leaning over.

“Hang in there,” he said. “I’ll get Zach. I can drive you to the hospital faster than an ambulance at this point.”

She groaned again and leaned back against the truck. Ruger took off toward the bonfire, finding Zach half passed out on the ground.

“On your feet, asshole,” Ruger demanded, grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him upright. “Keys. Now.”

Zach looked at him blankly. Was that barf on his shirt? High school kids stood around watching them, eyes wide as they clutched their big red Solo cups of cheap beer.

“Fuck me,” Ruger muttered again, digging down into his brother’s pants pocket, hoping like hell he hadn’t lost them. This was closer to Zach’s dick than he ever needed his hand to be. He pulled out the keys, dropping Zach back onto the dirt.

“You wanna see your kid gettin’ born, get your ass in the truck now,” Ruger told him. “I’m not waiting for you.”

With that he took off toward the Ford, wrenching open the door and lifting Sophie into the backseat. He heard a thudding noise and saw Zach climb into the truck bed out of the corner of his eye.

Little prick.

Ruger turned on the engine and popped the truck into gear, ready to go. Then he slammed it back into park, jumped out, and ran over to his bike. He had a little first aid kit in there. Nothing fancy, but at this rate they might need it. He climbed back in the truck, pulled out of the field, and started toward the highway, watching Sophie anxiously in the rearview mirror. She was panting hard and then she screamed.

Every hair on the back of his neck stood up.

“Holy shit, I feel like I need to push,” she cried. “Oh, God, it hurts. It hurts so bad. I’ve never felt anything like this. Drive faster—we need to get there fast …”

Her voice trailed off as she groaned again. Ruger drove faster, wondering if Zach had something to hold on to. He couldn’t see him back there. Maybe he’d passed out in the bed.

Hell, maybe he’d bounced out. Ruger didn’t care either way.

They’d almost made it to the highway when Sophie started shouting.

“Stop! Stop the truck.”

Ruger stopped, hoping to hell that didn’t mean what he thought it did. He threw on the parking brake and turned to see her, eyes closed, face almost purple and full of agony. She was crouching forward, moaning.

“Ambulance,” he said, his voice grim. She nodded tightly. He made the call, giving the operator the details of their situation. Afterward, he put the phone on speaker, dropping it to the seat. Then he got out and opened the back door, leaning in.

“I’m here with you, Sophie,” the 911 operator told them. “Hold on. The paramedics only have to come up from Hayden. You’ll see them soon.”

Sophie groaned through another contraction.

“I have to push.”

“The ambulance is ten minutes out,” the operator said. “Can you hold on until they reach you? They have everything they need to help you with this.”

“FUCK!” Sophie screamed, squeezing Ruger’s hands so hard his fingers went numb.

“All right. It’s unlikely the baby will be born before they arrive, but I want you to get ready, Ruger,” the operator said, her voice so calm she sounded stoned. How did she do that? He felt about thirty seconds away from a heart attack. “Sophie needs you now. The good news is that childbirth is natural and her body knows what to do. A baby born this fast usually means a very smooth delivery. Do you have a way to wash your hands?”

“Yeah,” Ruger muttered. “You gotta let go for a sec, Sophie.”

She shook her head, but he pried his hands free. He ripped into the first aid kit, pulling out a couple of ridiculously small sanitary wipe packets. Then he attacked his hands and tried to go after hers.

She screamed and punched his face.

Holy shit, girl had some power behind her. Ruger shook his head, then pulled it together, his cheekbone throbbing.

Another contraction.

“It’s too early,” Sophie gasped. “I can’t stop it. I have to push now.”

“When is she due?” the operator asked as Sophie moaned long and low.

“About a month,” Ruger told her. “It’s too early.”

“All right. The most important thing is to make sure the baby is breathing. Don’t let it fall on the ground if it’s born before the EMTs arrive. You’ll have to catch it. Now don’t panic—it can take hours to push out a baby, especially the first one. But just as a precaution, I want you to find something warm to wrap around the child if Sophie delivers. You’ll check the baby’s breathing. If it’s good, you’ll lay him on the mother’s bare chest, facedown, skin to skin. Then put whatever you have over him. Don’t tug on the cord, cut it, tie it off, or anything. Keep your hands away from the birth canal. If the afterbirth comes out, wrap it with the child.”

That’s when it hit him.

Sophie was going to have her baby right here on the side of the road. His nephew.

Right now.

Holy shit, she needed to get her pants off first.

She wore leggings and he tried to pull them down with her still inside the cab. It didn’t work, and she couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position, either.

“We have to get you out of here,” he said. She shook her head, teeth gritted, but he picked her up and set her feet on the ground anyway. Then he pulled down her sopping wet leggings and panties in one smooth move, lifting one foot and then the other to free her legs from the clinging fabric.

Now what?

Sophie cried out again, face tight as she bore down next to him, falling into a squat beside the truck.

Fuck, he needed something to keep the baby warm.

Ruger glanced around frantically, finding exactly nothing, so he pulled off his cut and tossed it into the truck. Then he ripped his T-shirt over his head. It wasn’t the best, but it was relatively clean. He’d showered and put on a fresh one before meeting Mary Jo.

Sophie pushed for an eternity, crouched down and digging her fingers deep into his shoulders. He’d have bruises there in the morning. Probably cuts from her nails, too. Whatever. The 911 operator’s calm voice encouraged them, saying the ambulance was only five minutes out. Sophie ignored her, lost in her own world of pain and urgency, giving loud, low groans with every contraction.

“Can you see the baby’s head?” the operator asked. Ruger froze.

“You want me to look?”

“Yes.”

He was pretty damned sure he didn’t want to look. Fuck. Sophie needed him, though. The kid needed him, too. Ruger dropped down to peer between her legs.

That’s when he saw it.

A tiny head, coming out of her body, covered with dark black hair. Holy crap.

Sophie sucked in a deep breath and gripped his shoulders even harder. She let out one loud, long moan as she pushed again.