Page 75 of Jett

Crazy quits flicking his Zippo. “What?”

“I said, get the fuck up.”

“Wh-what did I do?”

Before Crazy can get to his feet, Tank pulls him up by the cut and holds him a foot off the ground. He’s barely even breaking a sweat. “You’re takin’ one for your Prez.”

“Huh? Prez, what the fuck’s he talkin’ ’bout?”

Tank pulls his fist back and lets it fly with two hard punches into Crazy’s jaw. Security are on us like a shot. The nurses are up out of their chairs and standing against the wall—despite the fact that they’re behind safety glass.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” my VP yells in Crazy’s face, but obviously his question is directed at me. I slip away while two security guards are escorting Tank and Crazy out the front door, and I slide into the elevator just as the doors are opening and a couple of docs are heading out.

I push the third floor for the maternity ward and smooth my hair back from my face. It’s been a hell of a day, but I need to know what the fuck is going on with my woman. All the worst thoughts are playing on repeat in my head. Was she hurt, raped? Did they hurt the baby, steal something? Were they just looking for quick cash or is it Arians, or another club? We got beef with just about everyone right now. It feels like every time we turn around there’s some other bastard trying to slit our throats.

When I make it out of the elevator and through another closed door, there’s a nurses’ station that awaits me. It’s late, and the ward is quiet. I think about poking my head through several doors just to see if I get lucky with the right one, but a matronly old bitch comes out of one of the rooms. Her eyes roll over me from my scuffed motorcycle boots to my cut, finding me distasteful, if her sneer is anything to go by.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m lookin’ for my wife, Raine King.” I shake my head. “Cole, she’s Cole. Raine Cole.” I let out an exhausted sigh. “We ain’t really married, but she’s my woman, and she’s having my baby.”

“Raine is in room 203.”

“You’re an angel, sweetheart.”

“Mr ...”

“King.”

“Mr King. She’s in a very fragile state right now—we wouldn’t want anything to upset her.”

“Of course.”

“You should prepare yourself.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t know?” She studies my face and blanches. “Come have a seat, Mr King.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you that Raine was attacked earlier today. Two men broke into her apartment and she was slammed into the wall and fell to the ground. She was beaten. The placenta erupted in utero.”

“What the fuck does that mean. English, please?”

“The baby didn’t survive. When the placenta detaches from the uterine wall, it can be stitched back in place and for the most part, mother and baby are fine, but the placenta didn’t just tear—it exploded. The baby drowned in amniotic fluid before we could get to her. I am so sorry.”

“No. No, no, no, no, no. That can’t be right.”

“I’m afraid so. You can hold her if you like? Raine is in there with her now.”

“She’s dead?”

“Yes, she passed in utero.”

“This is bullshit.” I double over, lacing my hands behind my head. I can’t believe this. They were fine this morning. I felt her kick and ... and now she’s dead. “Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr King.”