Spike’s Perdition (Saints Purgatory MC #7)

29. Spike

CHAPTER 29

SPIKE

“That’s one lucky baby.”

I grin at the saleswoman as she hands me bag after bag of baby items. When I finished up at Sinful Wheels, I decided to stop off at the local baby boutique and spoil my son a bit. Now, I’m running late to meet Ivory at her house, and I’m several thousand dollars poorer.

And so fucking happy I could burst.

Once everything is loaded into the truck, I take my cell out of my cut and hit the speed dial for Ivory. The line rings several times before voicemail picks up.

“Hey, babe,” I begin. “I’m running a little late, but I think you’re gonna like why. I’ll see you soon.”

After hanging up, I decide to send her a text as well just to cover my bases.

Me: Running late. Be there soon

Just as I reach the highway, brake lights fill my field of vision. Traffic is backed up for as far as the eye can see. I grab my cell and pull up my traffic app. According to the latest update, there’s an accident about ten miles ahead, so I resign myself to being even later to Ivory’s.

The hour-long trip turns into two hours. I try Ivory again with no luck, and by the time I turn onto her road, I still haven’t received a return call or text from her, but I think nothing of it. She probably has her music turned up while she packs and can’t hear it.

Ivory’s car is parked in her driveway, and I pull up next to it. I don’t bother getting all the bags out of the truck, knowing I’d just have to load them all back up to take to the clubhouse. She’ll see everything soon enough.

Music blares from inside the house, and I chuckle at the fact that I was right about why she didn’t answer or reply. I yank my keys out of my pocket to unlock the front door but find I don’t need them when I turn the knob, and it opens.

“Ivory!” I shout, trying to be heard over the music. “Where ya at, babe?”

My eyes take in the same boxes that were already packed when I left yesterday, and I frown.

Maybe she’s taking a bath.

I weave my way through the mess of the living room toward the kitchen to grab a drink before I head to the bathroom. The moment my foot settles on the tile floor, my heart cracks, and my stomach bottoms out.

“Ivory!”

Rushing forward, I take in the sight before me. Ivory is tied to the kitchen table with rope at her wrists and ankles, and she’s bleeding heavily. The puddle of crimson on the floor beneath her sends my fear into overdrive.

“Ivory, baby, wake up,” I cajole, tapping her cheek and shifting my gaze to her stomach. There’s a long jagged incision, and tissue is exposed.

The baby!

I whip out my cell and dial nine-one-one, my mind racing.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a female answers.

“I need an ambulance,” I snap and rattle off Ivory’s address. “She’s bleeding heavily, and it looks like…” I swallow the bile creeping up the back of my throat.

“Sir? What does it look like?”

“Fucking hell, it looks like our baby was cut out of her.”

I’m not an emotional man, and it usually takes a lot for me to be truly terrified. Right now, I’m both.

“Did you say a baby was cut out of her?” the operator asks.

“Yes!” I shout. “Get a fucking ambulance here!”

Not waiting for a response, I disconnect the call and dial Soul’s number.

“Yo, brot?—”

“I need you, Abyss, and whoever else you can manage to meet me at the hospital closest to Ivory’s address,” I spit out.

“What the fuck?” Prez asks. “What’s going on?”

“C’mon, Ivory, baby,” I plead, squeezing her hand. “Ivory’s bleeding out,” I tell Soul. “The baby’s gone, man.” Tears spill onto my cheeks, and I swipe them away before disconnecting the call.

I toss my phone onto the floor and begin CPR. The chances of Ivory living through this are surely next to zero, but I have to do everything I can to save her.

And your son.

Sirens wail in the distance, and I count out my compressions. She has a faint pulse which gives me hope, but I remind myself that life is an evil bitch and likes to kick me in the balls.

Footsteps penetrate the fog of autopilot, and I glance over my shoulder to see paramedics rushing toward us.

“Sir, I need you to step back so we can work,” the older one tells me.

“I’m not leaving her.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he says. “But you do need to give us space.”

When I don’t move, the younger one forcibly removes me from the kitchen and pushes me into the living room. I watch helplessly as they work to get an IV started.

“Pulse is weak and thready,” one of them says. “Based on the amount of blood, I think this is as stable as we’re gonna get her here. Let’s get a move on and get her to the hospital.”

A third paramedic walks by me pushing a stretcher, and the three of them untie Ivory and transfer her from the table.

“You coming?”

I nod absently and follow them outside. I’m dimly aware of locking the front door behind me, but for the most part, all of my focus and attention is on the woman I love, the woman who’s dying.

Helluva time to realize how you feel about her.

Climbing into the back of the ambulance, I send up a silent prayer to whatever forces are out there that she’ll be okay. I don’t know if my prayers are heard, and I’m skeptical that they’ll be answered, but I can’t sit here and do nothing.

I grab Ivory’s hand and brush hair out of her face as the ambulance takes off.

Double dog dare ya to survive.