21 Killing a baby

Date = 10 April
Place = San Francisco (Inferno) (7-Eleven)

POV - Aria

“I’ll go get my car and meet you in front of the VIP entrance,” Mel holds up her car keys and shakes them to reinforce her statement. I smile and nod my head. I fucking love that girl. She leaves me in the staff room to change and get my stuff ready.

I didn’t even need to ask permission to end my shift earlier, ‘cause Enrique found us in here, still bedazzled by what we heard between Brian and Graham, and literally ordered me to leave. I look at my hands holding my purse. They’re still a little shaky. I’ve never done something like that … it’s not me. I’m not a physical type of fighter. The only other person I’ve ever laid a hand upon was that stupid reporter a while back. Okay, both of them deserved it, but still.

I smile again. Maybe Mel is rubbing off on me … not sure if it’s in a good way or bad. I walk downstairs and through the secret door, guarded by two insanely huge bouncers. They smile to greet me while holding open the door for me. I nod in acknowledgment. Being the owner’s girlfriend does come with its perks … even if it’s fake. I enter the room only the very very rich or very very famous ever get to see … well, excluding the workers and close friends and family. But then again, except for me and a few special cases, Enrique’s family and friends are mostly very very rich and very very famous. Ug. I’m so fake in every way.

The room is big and decorated much in the same way as the rest of the club - industrial chic - with the same color scheme as the American flag. Huge model aircraft, exact replicas of USA fighter planes, hang from the roof. This is Logan’s touch … he’s the one into history and wars and planes and all that shit. It’s not my thing, but I must admit it looks very nice.

There are comfortable sofas and chairs where guests can get … eh … well comfortable, while they wait for their rides. Luxurious bathrooms and a coat cupboard, equipped with private saves to store their belongings, are also part of the setup. You see, when you’re one of the chosen, you can leave your wallet and other expensive goodies here in a safe. All you need to do is open a tab and go party without worries. And when you exit … well, you pay your tab and you’re good to go.

Against one wall, the front end of a real airplane has been converted into a bar, where the fancy-suited bartender can help you with that last drink before you leave … or a first one before you enter the club. I walk to the huge doors that lead to the private parking area and a room where valets and drivers are eagerly waiting to either park your car, fetch your car, call you an Uber, or even drive you home privately, whatever you need. That’s what makes Inferno so popular among everybody that is anybody, in this country and even beyond - since I’ve been working here some princes from Denmark and Greece partied up a storm … and a princess from Belgium rented out the place for her birthday bash.

“Good evening, Miss Aria, Miss Mel is already waiting for you in her car,” a thin valet with mouse-gray hair, gestures with his hand to where the green Lambo is idling. She retracted the roof as the night is nice and warm enough to let our hair blow in the wind.

“Thanks, and have a good night,” I say awkwardly. I still can’t seem to get used to the staff in this area being so formal. They are specially chosen and trained … the best of the best.

“You too miss,” he replies with a huge smile.

“Can we stop to buy ice cream and pickles? I really really need some right now,” Mel swoons as soon as I’m buckled up.

“Sure, I’ll jump out and get some,” I say, cringing when I think about the disgusting concoction of ice cream, pickles, peanut butter, jam, and chocolate sauce she seems to be hooked on these days. I’ve tasted it once and it’s utterly disgusting. But anything to keep her happy … ‘cause an upset Mel is not a pretty picture. She goes from crying to laughing to mad to crazy to sleepy to horny all in a matter of seconds. If that’s what it’s like to be pregnant I’m not so sure I want to have kids … ever. I turn my frown into a smile. It is kinda cute though, and the way she turns that smitten bad-boy, and all the other guys (including Luke and Jackson) for that matter, into little lambs following her every whim, is just fascinating. I’m even slightly jealous about how they treat her as if she’s a dainty porcelain doll that might break any second. But she deserves it too, after everything that happened.

Mel pulls into the parking at a 7-Eleven and I jump out.

“Remember the pickles,” she yells and I give her a frowny stare.

“What?” she asks pulling an innocent face, “Sometimes people forget the pickles.”

I roll my eyes and turn my back to her so she can’t see the smile on my face. I rush through the aisles and buy the ingredients for her disgusting cocktail. I get extra ice cream - peppermint flavor - for me. I can’t let her binge alone, now can I? I throw in some soda and other bits and bites, both healthy and not. These days my sister-in-law eats like a pig … no offense, but it’s true.

The fact that she hasn’t put on any extra weight is a miracle. The only indication of the little bean inside her is a tiny perfect bump that she hides under loose shirts, but she won’t be able to hide it much longer. And she won’t need to … since she plans to have a gender-reveal party on my sister’s birthday … well, they’re now going to have a gender-and-baby reveal party on my sister’s birthday. She’s going to tell the press that she’s the pregnant one.

I pay for all the stuff and push the trolley through the door to the car that’s one of about five in the parking area. At this time of night, there’s not a lot of traffic around. I scoot the trolley between the green beast and a black van. Mel is sitting in the car, typing on her phone, and I tap on the front window. She yelps out and looks up with a shocked frightened face. I hold up my hands. She still scares easily under certain circumstances… or when hearing certain sounds. That stalker of hers did a number on her, that’s for sure.

“Sorry,” I whisper. She shakes her head, her smile back on her face. She starts typing again, and I can only guess it must be Damion. At least she remembers to open the front bonnet of the Huracan Spyder. I concentrate on packing the groceries into the small boot space and don’t notice the person that walks up behind me until it’s too late.

He grabs me from behind, putting one gloved hand over my mouth, drowning my scream. What the frick? I quickly look, but can’t see Mel because of the open bonnet. However, someone dressed in all black, head covered with a black balaclava, stands at her door, a gun pointing straight at where she must be. My eyes grow large. I struggle to get loose, but it’s no use. The door of the van slides open and some more people get out. I freeze in shock and can just watch. What do they want from us? Maybe they want Mel’s car.

The person on Mel’s side leans over the door and pulls a silent Mel out of the car, holding her from behind, the same as I’m being held. He sticks the front of his gun to her temple. Another masked person takes her phone from her hands and smashes it onto the ground, stepping on it as if to make sure it’s truly broken.

“What do you want?” Mel asks cold and calmly, her eyes sparkling in the dim light as if they’re burning blue flames. I can see she’s desperately trying to fight her fear of guns. She told me about her phobia … something she retained from her abduction.

“This is a robbery, we want the car,” one of the black figures says, the voice that of a woman. My heart suddenly seems as if it’s gonna beat itself right out of my chest. I can’t seem to move. Mel just went ghost-white. Her eyes find mine and I can see the fear inside them.

“She doesn’t look very pregnant … are you sure about this?” the one guy holding Mel asks, his covered head turned towards the woman.

I look at Mel’s tummy. She’s around 19 weeks and although she has a small bump, it’s barely noticeable because of two facts … her full chest and the extra loose shirts she wears these days to hide it.

“Are you retarded or something?” the woman says in a chill voice, “This is a R.O.B.B.E.R.Y!” She almost spells out the last word while glaring at the man with angry eyes, the only thing visible through her balaclava.

The man snorts, “I’m just saying.”

“Just do what you’re paid to do, and keep your mouth shut,” the woman is even icier now and I frown in confusion. I look at Mel and she seems just as lost as I am. Why would robbers worry if Mel is pregnant or not? Something strange is going on.

“Should we push a coat hanger into her?” the dude now standing in front of me asks. For what? A coat hanger? And then the realization hits me. They want to do a backstreet abortion. But why is he looking at me that way? I’m not the one that’s pregnant … OH NO!

The newspapers … they think I’m pregnant. And for some reason, they want to kill the baby! Fuck. Wait … maybe it’s an OH YES instead … they think I am pregnant … ME! That’s great!

“Are you stupid? Just hit her in the stomach a few times. And slap that one around a bit too.” Thank goodness for that … I’m not going to be raped by a piece of wire, at least.

I look at Mel. She also figured it out. Duh. She’s a Blackburn … they figure things out in their sleep. We communicate with our eyes and I truly hope that we’re on the same sandwich … that she understands what I’m trying to silently tell her. And that is to shut the fuck up!

I can see she’s torn between wanting to protect me and wanting to protect her baby. But for me there is no choice … we have to save this baby, no matter what. I watch her open her mouth. Then she screams as loud as she can. The man hits her with the gun against her temple and puts his hand over her mouth. Fuck. Mel struggles to get free and I realize they’re going to hit her again.

“NO!” I yell out giving Mel a stern stare, “don’t hurt my baby, please!” My eyes plead with her. She gets the message and stops, but I can see she’s not happy. A tear rolls down her cheek.

The woman starts laughing. I don’t think I’ll forget that laugh soon. She hits me in the stomach. Mel’s teary eyes look broken.

“Okay, get rid of it,” the woman says and climbs back into the van. So much for being subtle. But I guess the beans have been spilled … pun not intended.

One man starts hitting me in the stomach, while the one behind me holds me still. The pain is rather severe, worse than I imagined. I take three hits before I scream and fall down with all my weight, pulling the man holding me forward. He lets go and I drop to the ground and curl into the fetal position. I don’t need to act much, because I’m really in pain. I try to think how someone having a miscarriage would perform. I groan and scream and cry (the tears are not an act … it frickin really hurts) and curl around on the ground while holding my stomach.

“What have you done?” I then yell and look up with my tear-filled face. “You killed my baby!”

The woman kicks me with a red stiletto in my stomach and just laughs again. That laugh … those Prada heels … I won’t forget it soon.

“Let me go!” Mel shouts. The person holding her hits her again with the gun before letting her go and she rushes over to me as soon as she’s free.

“Enough! Just take the damn car,” she grits through her teeth while crouching next to me, taking me into her arms. Her cheek is swollen and there’s blood in the corner of her mouth.

“Mel, I think I’m bleeding!” I act some more. “We need to go to the hospital!”

“And that’s that then,” the woman says from the back of the van. She dials someone, saying “It’s done!” Only that.

“Let’s go fellas! Take the car,” she orders and slides the van door close.

Mel and I watch as they drive away and then I sit up straight.

“Fuck, Aria, are you alright?” Mel whispers through her tears. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Mel, it’s not your fault. And I’m going to be fine. And the most important thing is your baby is going to be fine. We were lucky this time.” Mel sniffs and wipes her face with her sleeve, but the tears keep on rolling from her eyes.

“Mel, I’m really okay … just a little sore. They took the car!”

“And the ice cream,” she sobs. I’m starting to wonder if pregnancy makes you a little daft, ‘cause instead of whining about an … oh I don’t know … three-hundred-and-something-thousand dollar car … she worries about a tub of ice cream.

“We need to call … " she turns her head in every direction as if crazily looking for something, and she stops when she spots her broken phone on the tar.

“Fuck! They broke my phone,” she starts crying again. I’ve never heard her swear this much.

“Aria, your phone … give me your phone!” she yells, her hands moving frantically all over me, patting me to find my phone.

“Melaena Blackburn, CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” I shake her lightly and she stops. Her eyes huge; staring into mine. Not that I’m calm … but at this moment the pain drowns everything else.

“Okay, now focus bitch,” I say, this time more softly. She blinks a few times and then grabs my purse. She wipes her face determinedly.

“Come, I’m going to get ice cream while I phone my brother.” She finds my phone in my bag and starts dialing. “You find a place to sit down.” She gestures to a bench in front of the shop and helps me up.

“Ah, brother, we need you to come and get us. It’s an emergency,” I hear her say before she disappears into the shop. I wobble over to the wood bench while clutching my tummy and sit down with a sigh. Freaking hell it hurts. A shiver runs down my spine. If they had hit Mel like this she for sure would miscarry. Thank God. And for once I’m glad that there are paparazzi out there. Their mistaken news just saved a little bean’s life.

“Here,” Mel holds out a spoon and I glance at the four Magnum tubs in her hands, one Double Sea Salt Caramel, one Milk Chocolate Vanilla, one Milk Chocolate Hazelnut, and one Dark Chocolate Mint. Now I’m sure pregnancy kills your brain. Who the hell is gonna eat all this?

“Oh, and take this.” She hands me a knife. Now I’m truly confused as to why she bought two knives. She pulls a face.

“In case they come back. I’m not getting harassed again. Fuck them … eh sorry beanie …” she puts her hand on her tummy, “stuff them solid. And now we can share this while we wait for Ilkay to arrive.” She’s already spooning some of the goodness from the Sea Salt Caramel container. I reach for the Mint. Mel holds the Hazelnut tub against her swollen face.

“Why did you call Ilkay and not Enrique?” I ask while melting some ice cream on my tongue. She makes a sound and gestures that her mouth is full. She literally takes a spoon from each tub and mixes them in her mouth. Her cheeks look like that of a stuffed hamster.

“Eh … this is an Ilkay type of problem, but I did ask him to bring the others with,” she answers as soon as she swallows. I don’t get it.

“Sorry?” I ask and she looks at me as if I’m the one that lost my brain power. She opens her full mouth and waves her hand as if she wants to cool the contents down. She giggles a little before she swallows.

“Uh … brain freeze!” she cries with tears in her eyes. You can say that again! Seems like pregnancy permanently froze her brain … but I won’t say that out loud. She shakes her head a few times.

“Ilkay … oh … yes. Um, you see, each of my brothers has their unique strong points … hence depending on the situation I always choose the best one or ones to call.”

“Okay, that makes sense I suppose … care to share those points with me?” I take another bite and wait curiously for her to enlighten me. I just feel as if I need to focus on something or else I’m going to break down into a pathetic little heap of sorrow. And I’m guessing that it’s the same with her. She can’t really be this calm after everything that just happened.

“Sure.” Another four scoops disappear into her mouth and down her throat.

“To sum it up … Ilkay, obviously, is the one on call for any medical type of emergency or when you need a genius brain or something delicate like tampons. Jackson … well, whenever you’re in big shit … physically or mentally … or just about anytime the need calls for a psycho-crazy person. Also, he’s the only one you call if the situation screams for secrecy or discretion. Enrique … you get him whenever you need someone to literally talk you out of trouble. He’s better than any lawyer. And lastly, Logan is the one for any emotional crises … whether you need comfort or a shoulder to cry on.”

“Good to know.” I bump her softly with my shoulder and scoop some more ice cream.

“So actually right now we could use all of them. Ilkay to treat our wounds, Jackson to find the fuckers who did this and beat the shit out of them, Enrique to talk to the police, and Logan for some TLC.” She waves the spoon around in the air again and I have to duck so as not to get my eye taken out. “But he’s not here now … so no cuddles.” She actually pouts her mouth just like Leyla does.

“Although I love my brothers, these days Damion is my new go-to guy for everything. Ug, I miss that dick … literally and figuratively.” She winks at me and I snort, causing some ice cream to blow through my nose. I wipe it with my arm and we laugh out loud. She bumps me with her elbow.

“You know … after-attacked-sex is great … you should try it out when Enrique shows up. Flip, now I really miss that dick.” I frown. Having my robot pumping me into an orgasm right now might not be a bad thing, actually.

This is the first time ever I got beaten up … or robbed or assaulted … and strangely I’m not a mess or falling apart … and I know it’s because of Mel. It’s as if she knows how to handle me … how to keep me from going into a full-on panic attack … makes sense since she went through a few of these scenarios over the last couple of months.

She keeps on talking, but I’m not listening to her words. Her calm voice is what I need. Can one get used to abuse? Used to being attacked? Used to pain? I look at the huge swollen bruise covering half her face. It makes her look eerie, but also fragile.

Ilkay’s black truck parks with screeching tires right behind us. I turn my head and stare bug-eyed as three brothers jump out and run the short distance toward us. They stop simultaneously and stare at the almost empty tubs of ice cream.

“I thought you said there’s a fucking emergency!” Ilkay shouts, his gray eyes worried. Enrique looks lost and Jackson is definitely pissed.

“There is,” Mel swings her spoon through the air, not in the least intimidated by the three guys, “someone tried to kill my baby and make it look like a robbery.” She turns her head to look at them and rumbles it down as if she’s telling them about the weather. I’m sure she must be in shock. The reality of everything hasn’t yet sunk into that pregnant brain of hers. The brothers on the other hand, maybe due to not being knocked up and level minded, gasp in union, and then they all simultaneously shout out, “What the fuck!” Not sure if their reaction is due to what she said or seeing her beaten-up face.

This effectively jolts their sister out of her calm-and-collected coma into some shock-induced shivers and she starts to shake profoundly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They had a gun!” she whimpers, her phobia taking over. Strange how complicated a human brain functions. Mel suddenly has this uncontrollable fear of guns after that Darren guy played some nasty tricks on her. Now her brain somehow associates guns with her bad experience and hence it turned into a trigger. Just like Enrique disliked Bolognese all this time. Mine, if I had to guess, would be small enclosed spaces.

Jackson walks into the store. I wonder if he’s gonna hurt someone or just buy something.

Ilkay’s eyes dart quickly over Mel as if to do a quick check-up. Then he does the same with me. I can feel my sugar high is wearing off.

“They … hhhhuuuurrrrttt (hic) … they hurt Aria,” she snobs, now stuttering while shaking. And there it is … she lost it. Ilkay steps forward, pulls her up, and carries her toward the truck. He places her in the backseat and then walks back to me.

“Where are you hurt?” Ilkay asks and I lift up my shirt. He swears softly and bites his teeth. He looks at his brother who nods. Can they communicate with their minds? Enrique holds out his hand and I take it without even thinking. My knees buckle and I fall onto his chest. I fist his shirt tightly in my hands and start crying.

“Fuck,” he swears and picks me up bridal style to carry me to the truck. Ilkay closes all the tubs and throws them unceremoniously into the dustbin before he joins us. He takes me from his brother, so Enrique can move into the middle, and then he puts me onto the seat. I let my head fall onto my robot’s broad shoulder, worn out and tired. He places his arm around me, and just like that I feel safe and calm. Mel drops her head onto his lap.

Jackson returns, his face looking like some kind of deadly assassin. Why does he always seem to give me killer vibes? He’s actually a very nice guy. Just not my type. I’m struggling with his twin’s robotic moods … and Jackson seems like a million and five times more complicated. Nope, not my scene. But I think, if someone ever gets to steal that dude’s heart, she would have to be extremely extraordinary out of this world.

“I got the security footage … maybe there’s something useful on there,” Jackson says while getting into the passenger seat. Ilkay nods and hands Jackson his phone.

“Find Doctor Burden’s number and ask her to meet us at the hospital,” Ilkay says when he slides behind the wheel.