Page 129 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

No, I fucking won’t. That’s the head of my baby, I realise, coming back to my senses.

I’ve no idea what to do. “I can see the baby,” I tell her, excitedly. “I think you’re supposed to push.”

She screams again, and her pregnant belly goes taut.

“Push, Mary. Push. That’s it. His head’s fuckin’ out. That’s it, babe. Just one more time.”

“I can’t, Grumbler. I’m too tired,” she cries. “It hurts.”

“You can, Mary. You fuckin’ can.” My gruff voice is sterner than I wanted it to be, but it seems to have an effect as she proves me right.

Another strong contraction has her wailing in pain, but she huffs her breath and bears down, and in the next second, I’m looking down at the messy bundle of miracle baby I’m holding in my hands, forgetting for a moment to breathe.

He’s fucking perfect. Bloodied, covered with some unknown substance, with a shock of hair the colour of mine before it went grey. I fall in love immediately.

“Is he alright?” Mary’s voice is weak, but full of concern.

The baby twitches his arms and legs, and then as if already fed up with the world, lets out a wail.

“Let me hold him.” Her hands beckon to me.

I leave the umbilical cord attached and grab the quickest thing I can take off. My cut. Nestled in the leather, I hand my son to his mom.

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, Mary.”

It’s only then I become aware of voices outside.

“Hey, don’t blame me, Officer. I had to stop. My brother’s baby’s being born in there.”

“Yeah, right.” The disbelieving comment comes from a stranger. Then the door behind me is opened wide, and I pull down Mary’s skirt fast. “Fuck me,” the cop breathes. “Fucker outside was right. You need an ambulance?”

I don’t want to waste any time. “We need to get to the hospital fast. He wasn’t supposed to be born yet.”

“Okay then.” The police officer sums up the situation fast. “You better follow me.”

After I make sure Mary’s comfortable, Scribe gets back behind the wheel. The police car moves ahead of us and puts on the blue and red lights. To the sound of sirens, we’re escorted to the hospital.

Mary, looking up from the precious bundle in her arms, tiredly smiles at me. “This will be a story we’ll have to make sure he never forgets. Being born in the back of a truck and already coming to the attention of the cops.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. After all the tension of the last few days, fuck, all the long months when we first found out Mary was expecting our child, leaves me in a rush. My laughter turns to a sob, and I, Grumbler, outlaw biker and sergeant-at-arms, am brought to my knees by my old lady and newborn son. Tears roll down my cheeks and I do nothing to stop them.

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