Page 20 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

While Saffie looks at me in horror, I qualify to make her feel easier, “Just for a while. But Grumbler will be worrying himself senseless if you don’t get home now.”

With a worried look in my direction, and a more complex expression spared for Saffie, Mary stands, takes the keys out of my hand, then goes to lean over the woman sitting beside me. “Niran will give you my number. Anything you need,anything,you hear me? Just call, and I’ll come around.”

“You can both go,” Saffie states, anxiously looking between me and Grumbler’s old lady.

“No can do,” I reply. “You shouldn’t be on your own. Not right now. I’ll just stay long enough to make sure you’re okay. But first, I’m going to walk Mary down to the car.”

“How will you get home?” she asks.

“Don’t worry about me. One of my brothers can come collect me.” Standing, I gesture Mary to hold back, as I walk to the door and open it.

Peering out, I check no one’s shooting up in the hallway, and there’s no sound of footsteps coming up the stairwell.Sooner Mary’s out of here the better.Taking the lead, I walk slowly down the stairs, hoping Mary’s following carefully.

Outside the apartment, I’m relieved to find the SUV unmolested. Ushering Mary toward it, I settle her in the driver’s seat, pleased when with just one worried glance around, she adjusts the seat which had been pushed back for my long legs and starts the engine immediately. I watch until the taillights disappear around the corner, then, fortifying myself with a deep breath, attack those flights of stairs again.

Saffie’s door is shut, as it should be. I bang on it and get no reply. Knowing she’s in there, I don’t give up.

“Open the door, Saffie. It’s me, Niran.”

“Go away,” a small voice says.

“Nah. Let me in, or I’ll stay right here.” I eye the hallway critically, wishing I had my piece on me. There’s no way in California I’d get a license to own a gun, let alone concealed carry, not with my affiliation to the MC. Being Black, I’m already at enough risk of being stopped as it is, being caught carrying could be a death sentence if I come up against a trigger-happy cop. Flexing my shoulders, I keep my eyes and ears open, ready to fight my way out if need be.

One moment passes, then another, then I hear the sound of bolts being drawn back, and the door opens a crack. It’s all the invitation I need.

“I won’t hurt you, Saffie,” I tell her, carefully pushing the door wider, moving slowly so as to not scare her. I pause, then walk past her into her small living area.

“I don’t understand why you’re here.” Her words are laced with suspicion.

Truth be told, neither do I. All I know is she’s hurting, badly, and something inside me wants to ease her pain. I doubt I can fix her, that’s beyond me, but to lend her my shoulder and do what I can to make this awful day easier, well, I hope I can go some way toward that.

In the end, there’s not much I can do. She won’t eat. She watches as I make a sandwich for myself hoping to tempt her, but it doesn’t work. She won’t drink anything other than the water I force on her, worried after all the crying she’ll become dehydrated.

I sit on the worn sofa beside her. For a long while we sit in silence, then with a sigh of exhaled breath, as though tired of keeping herself together, she inches toward me, and I put a brotherly arm around her.

She might not be speaking, but I know her mind has to be whirring. I don’t attempt to start a conversation. I’m so out of my league, I wouldn’t know what to say.

Eventually, out of sheer exhaustion, she falls asleep. Gently, I lift her and carry her into the one bedroom, laying her fully dressed on the bed, only removing her shoes before sliding the sheet over her. Then, unable to stop myself, I lean down and plant a quick kiss to her forehead for no other reason than it seems the right thing to do.

“Sleep,” I whisper, knowing she doesn’t hear me.

I return to the sofa that’s far too short for my height to stretch out but settling in as I don’t want her to be alone tonight. Fuck knows why, she’s not my responsibility. But she needs someone, and there seems to be no one else.

Knowing it’s still relatively early and I’ve no inclination to settle in for what will be undoubtably be an uncomfortable and restless night, I take out my phone and start googling. I read up about the baby’s condition and end up thinking she has only one route ahead. Medically, nothing can be done to help her baby. I don’t believe in the power of prayer, especially not when the dice have already fallen. Her baby has zero chance to survive.

Will she live on hope? Put herself through the next few months which only a fucking miracle could end happily? The best she could hope for is a few minutes or hours with a dying child, and that’s if she’s lucky.

Is she strong enough to take the logical route?

How could I even begin to imagine what strength it would take to end the pregnancy, to close that door on hope. I’m a man, how could I ever understand?

While I’m a fixer, while I want to help, imposing my views on a woman I’ve just met would be a mistake of the highest proportions. Any views I have, I need to keep to myself, holding back, even if she asks my opinion.

What would I feel if I were the father?

Devastated, lost, raging at fate. For perhaps the first time, I truly understand Grumbler and Mary’s concerns. Saffie appears to be in my age bracket, and this probably wasn’t on her radar, or only as a minimal risk. Grumbler and Mary’s eyes are wide open, and every day they live with the possibility that something will go wrong.

Fuck, what would it be like to lose a child? Even one that was only a promise as yet.

---