Page 33 of Dangerously Deceptive

The young girl's face looks like it distorts into a grimace, as she looks over at her boss. I look over and the weedy guy is actually wagging his finger at her, like she will be in trouble if she doesn’t sort out something that is very clearly his issue to deal with. When she speaks, it’s through gritted teeth, and she genuinely does sound scared. “Okay, but…erm, so…my manager, well…he was w-wondering if the nice man y-you are with, if h-he could move his bike o-off our window,” she stumbles over almost every word, her body trembling like a leaf. I want to pull her into a big hug, but I think if we make any sudden gestures right now she might scream and run.

Jamieson, who can clearly see what I can, looks at the young girl with sympathy and an apology etched in his eyes. He must be used to drawing this kind of attention anywhere he goes, but I’m not. “Oh, yeah, sorry about him. Can I just get some black coffee in a takeout cup and I will go and give it to him?” he asks, and her eyes light up. Her fingers, that had been fiddling with the cotton on her apron from the second she placed the drinks in front of us, now turn into animated hand gestures as she instructs Jamieson to follow her for the drink.

As I’m watching them interact, Jamieson looks over at Shayla to make sure she is okay before he finally gets up. I’m pulled away from all the action around us when I feel a small, cold hand lay on top of mine. Looking over, I see Shayla has reached out, meeting my hand that I had left just next to hers. The idea was a bit like in real life, just let her know that I will always be here, no matter what, and she can come back to me in her own time. It fills me with hope that my mini experiment worked, so maybe my real one will.

I stare at her, just waiting for her to meet my gaze, but she doesn’t. When Whiskey stands, she looks over at him and his face looks stern. “Tell him everything, Shay. I can’t hold Joker back much longer. We will have to go soon,” he says, taking on a much softer tone with her than I have ever seen him use. The short, sharp gruffness that he used with the young waitress now replaced by firm words that leave no room for argument, but that are said in the softest way possible for a one-percent biker.

He walks away, and I just wait, giving Shayla time to gather her nerves. I know whatever she tells me won’t be what I want to hear. I already know as much, given that Jamieson just indicated she is going home with him, which was very fucking much not the plan. Her hand grips mine a little tighter, as the sobs rack her already frail body. She is shaking, and not just from the crying. I pass over her drink, which she takes with a small smile. She takes a gulp and lets out a shudder.

“Urgh. I knew I should have gone for the hot chocolate. Coffee without caffeine is just black sludge,” she jokes, chuckling to herself.

My smile just from hearing her voice, and that little laugh. It is like music to my ears. Yes, her laugh sounds hollow, and she doesn't sound like anywhere near my Shay, but she isn’t quite the zombie I thought she was.

“If you want a hot chocolate, I can definitely get you one?” I ask, but she shakes her head.

“No, I won't drink it all anyway. I can only manage a few mouthfuls of anything before I’m throwing up. But, and only if you don’t mind, you can say no, could I have a mouthful of your Coke?” she asks, eying up my glass of Diet Coke like it’s the last water source in a barren desert.

With a slight chuckle, I hand it over. “Of course. Have as much as you want. But I should warn you, it is Diet,” I say, remembering one of the conversations we had in the motel room.

We argued for around an hour over which was better: full sugar, normal Coke, Diet Coke, or Coke Zero. We both agreed that the normal version was the best if you were picking with no limitations. So if you weren’t bothered by calories, or how much sugar and caffeine is involved, the red, normal Coke is both our winners. But the healthier options split our opinions. I sided with Diet, the drink I have been addicted to for years. Shayla said Zero had the best taste. I don’t know how we managed to debate such a simple subject so easily in such a short space of time, but it was really that easy between us.

The ghost of a smile passes over Shayla’s mouth as she brings the liquid to her lips. I watch transfixed as she takes small sips of the drink. Maybe she is worried about drinking it all. I want her to know I would give her anything, even my beloved Diet Coke. “Shay, have as much as you want,” I say, turning my hand over in hers slowly.

We both move our eyes to watch where our hands are connected. Her wide-eyed stare is cautious, and she is worried about what I’m doing, whereas I’m concerned I am pushing this beautiful girl too far too soon. But I have to try something. So as I turn my hand, I lock our fingers together until our hands are clasped. She looks from our hands to my eyes, a surprised look on her face. Did she really think I wouldn’t still want her? I think she needs to hear me say it.

“Shayla, over a month ago when we said goodbye, I made you a promise. That I would still want you, no matter what happened, and I still stand by that. It’s why I’m here. I can’t even begin to understand what you have been through, but you have earnt your freedom, and now is the time to live it. I am here to help you live, Shay,” I state firmly, my voice leaving no room for arguments.

I don’t really know what kind of a reaction I was expecting, or how I was expecting her to reply, but I was not expecting her body to begin shaking as sobs rack her body again. Her cries grow louder, and I have no choice but to reach over with my free hand to run my fingers over her cheek. I know she is a bit skittish, and I have no idea how she is going to respond, but I can’t ignore her anymore.

Slowly, I stroke my fingers across her cheek, brushing her greasy hair out of her eyes, and clearing away a few stray tears that have fallen. Not only does she let me stroke her cheek, she leans into my touch. My heart speeds up, and I start considering that the Shay I knew might not be so far away, after all.

“Whatever you are scared about telling me, don’t be. I am here, and I’m not going anywhere. No matter what. Remember?” I say, and she nods her head, but that smile I want to see doesn’t return.

“You might not stick by that when I tell you,” she says, and just as she is about to tell me her story, Jamieson walks back into the cafe, interrupting Shayla. I groan, my frustration clear, but he ignores me, looking first at our joined hands and next to meet Shayla’s gaze. For a second, I feel her start to unclasp her hand from mine, clearly feeling uncomfortable under the weight of his stare, but I refuse to let go. I meant it when I said ‘no matter what’.

“How much have you told him? The coffee should hold Joker off for a little, but not long. We will have to go soon, Shayla,” Jamieson states, and my anger bubbles under the surface. I start to snap at him, but Shayla answers first.

“You said I could have as long as I needed with this and I’m holding you to it. If you wanna leave, you can wait for me outside.” Her tone isn’t harsh, she doesn't even raise her voice, but she does stand firm.

Instead of getting up, Jamieson sits down, bringing his tea to his mouth. He scrunches up his face, clearly not rating the tea, before indicating with his hands that we should continue where we left off before he came back into the cafe. We look between each other, not really sure who should start, but I know she needs to hear my reply to her earlier comment out loud. “I know you’re worried, Shayla, but you don’t have to be. I promised you I would be here, and that I would help if I could. Well, here I am.”

She hears my words, but doesn’t respond to them in the way I hoped. Her eyes remain downcast, looking at her free hand as she plays around with her mug of coffee. I notice she catches glances at us both over her lashes, and it’s not hard to tell that she’s scared. Her nerves are starting to rub off on me, as I begin to worry she may be right. What if I can’t deal with her secret?

“I’m pregnant.”

Her words, despite being barely above a whisper, echo and bounce around my skull loudly, as though someone shouted the words in one ear. I look between Jamieson and Shayla, and what I see there is absolutely nothing. He knew, and had obviously had plenty of time to process finding out. During that one glance, I’m sure I see a small smile on Jamieson’s lips, like he is enjoying this moment a little too much, and honestly, I don’t blame him. He has had time, but I haven’t. All I can do is sit here with my mouth flopping open and closed, while I try to find the right words. There’s so much I want to say, to ask. But I can already see the tears in Shayla’s eyes, and feel her hand along with the rest of her physically shaking. My finger that is resting on her wrist tells me her heart is racing, almost beating out of her chest, and it’s clear this is a bad situation for us all. But, as Liam would say, I don’t need to make the damn situation worse before it gets better.

“Shay…” I start, fumbling over which question to ask first, but thankfully Shayla cuts me off.

“You can ask me anything, Kellan. I will be completely honest, starting by saying I have no idea who the father of this baby is. I worked out that the baby could have been conceived the day of the heist, when we should have gone to the chemist for the morning-after pill. But, a few days before that, I was gang-raped by the Reaper Church. Meaning, there are about fifteen possible people who could be the father. There is a test you can do called a foetal DNA test. It's a private test, and costs money. Basically what it involves is a nurse taking some blood from me, and sending that off along with a saliva swab of the potential dad. They can look at my blood and work out which cells are mine, and which belong to the baby. They can then get the baby’s DNA. Once they have ruled out which DNA markers belong to me, the ones remaining belong to the father. So, they compare them to the DNA from the swab provided. It gives a result with greater than ninety-nine percent accuracy,” Shayla explains, sounding like she has read up on this procedure more than once.

Sitting there frozen, all I can hear throbbing away in my head is the words ‘gang-raped’. I knew she had been abused, but she never talked about it like that. Not in such a flippant way. No wonder she has been shooting up to dull out the pain. Does she feel like I took advantage of her? I wasn’t exactly gentle, I was so caught up in the moment. I’ve never been with anyone I had to go easy with. I guess I’ve learnt something now.

“Wait, have you been shooting up while pregnant?” I ask, hating the idea that my baby could have some serious deformity, or die, because of what Shayla is going through. She must be able to see the anger in my pointed stare, and my pursed lips, because her cheeks flush and she has the good sense to look embarrassed.

“Shayla only found out she was pregnant two days ago. We didn’t even know when I spoke to you the other day. As soon as she found out, she stopped taking everything except paracetamol. We have an appointment booked in with the doctor at the end of the week, and she will tell him all about the drugs she did at the start of the pregnancy. But she will prove she isn’t doing them while pregnant, won’t you, Shay?” he asks, looking at her with a small smile on his face. He reminds me of a dad giving his kids instructions but knowing it’s something they don’t want to do. They have obviously argued about this before, and Jamieson has made his feelings on this very clear. Obviously, there’s a part of me that agrees with what he is saying, that Shay should prove not just to medical professionals, but us too, that she is recovered and staying off the drugs. But, I can’t say that to him because right now all I want to do is smash his fucking head against the window.

“What the fuck do you mean, we? How the hell can you even sit there and pretend everything is okay, when Shayla just admitted that the other possible fathers to this baby are the people who gang-raped her. Which must include you. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slam your head through this fucking window right now. If I had a gun, I would blow your head clean off your fucking shoulders, even in front of all these people,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down as much as possible while also getting my point across. I don’t want to end up in fucking jail, can’t help Shayla from there.

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