Page 22 of The Bane of a Sinner
I grabbed my jacket, ignoring the guttural roar that erupted from him as I made for the door. The pounding in my head intensified, no longer just from the data entry, but from the sheer audacity of his control. He was a tyrant, a puppet master, and I was his unwilling marionette. But tonight, the strings snapped. I needed to see Diana, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the clubhouse and the creeping dread that had become my constant companion. The thought of her, her warmth, her genuine kindness, was the only thing that could cut through the darkness George exuded.
As I stormed out of the clubhouse, all I could think about was Diana and our child. I wanted so much to pack a bag and just disappear with her, never to be seen again. I wanted to forget the Soulless Sinners Motorcycle Club ever existed. I wanted to forgeteverything and just be a man that Diana could be proud of and a father to our unborn child.
My car’s engine roared to life, a soundtrack to my hasty retreat. Every mile I put between myself and George’s toxic influence felt like a breath of fresh air. My mind, however, remained a battlefield, torn between the desire for a new beginning and the grim reality of the tangled web I was caught in. Protecting Diana and our child was paramount, but the thought of leaving everything behind, of truly disappearing, felt both liberating and terrifying.
As I sped through the darkened streets, the neon glow of the city lights blurred into streaks of color. Diana’s face flashed in my mind, her gentle smile a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness. I knew I couldn’t just disappear; I had to find a way to untangle myself from this mess, to ensure her safety without abandoning her. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with dangers I could only imagine, but for Diana and our child, I would face them all for a future with her.
I entered my apartment sometime later to find Diana asleep on the couch, her hand lying on her swollen belly as the television played some random show in the background. Quietly shutting the door, I dropped my bag and walked over to her. Leaning down, I softly kissed her lips and then watched as she smiled and her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey, yourself.” She yawned, sitting up, only to stop as she grabbed her belly. “Wow,” she grunted. “This little one is active tonight.”
Sitting on the coffee table, I leaned forward, placed my lips on her stomach, and said, “Hey, you in there. Stop giving your momma a hard time. She needs her rest.”
The response was instant when I felt a swift kick to my lips.
Diana laughed. “Guess he told you.”
Quirking my eyebrow, I grinned. “Could be a girl.”
“Guess we will find out soon enough,” she said, holding out her hand for me to help her to her feet. However, the second she was standing, I stiffened as I stared at the couch.
“August? What is it?” I vaguely heard her ask when she turned to see what I was looking at. There on the cushion she was just lying on was a dark red spot.
She was bleeding.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the lingering exhaustion of the apartment. The dark bloom on the couch, so stark against the worn fabric, was a visual scream. Diana gasped, her hand flying to her abdomen, her eyes wide with a terror I’d only ever seen reflected in the faces of those caught in the crosshairs of our world.
I scooped her up, her weight both familiar and terrifyingly precarious in my arms. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” I murmured, my voice a rough imitation of calm, as I raced towards the door, toward the promise of a hospital, toward the desperate hope that whatever this was, it wasn’t what my gut was screaming it was.
The emergency room was a sterile, indifferent purgatory. Diana, pale and trembling, was whisked away by a flurry of nurses and doctors, leaving me alone in the echoing waiting room, the bloodstain on my jacket a constant, sickening reminder of the fragile life I held so dear. Every passing minute felt like an eternity, each distant siren a potential harbinger of doom.
I thought I knew fear.
I was wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for the crippling fear of losing a child.
“August?”
Turning quickly, I spotted Melanie, one of the charge nurses I knew well. Rushing over to her, she smiled up at me. “She’s fine. Come. I’ll take you to her.”
Nodding, I said nothing as I followed her through the white corridors of St. John’s Presbyterian Hospital. The very hospital I was currently doing my residency at. Melanie led me to a recovery room where Diana sat, looking frail but relieved.
“It was just a scare, August,” Melanie explained, her voice gentle. “The baby’s perfectly fine. Just a bit of spotting, maybe from all the stress lately.”
Relief washed over me, so potent it left me weak. I crossed the room, kneeling beside Diana, my hands finding hers. “Thank God,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes, still shadowed with fear, met mine, and in their depths, I saw a reflection of my own overwhelming love and fear. The moment was broken when the door opened and in walked the one fucking doctor I didn’t want to see.
“Shit,” I cursed as the fucker smiled.
“Ms. Cooper, my name is Dr. Wilcox. How are you feeling?”
“What’s wrong with her, Wilcox?” I growled, cutting all pretense.
The fucker simply said, “Just some spotting. Nothing to worry about. As a fourth-year resident, you should know that this was a possibility.”
I growled at the man, who openly chastised me in front of Diana as if I were some errant schoolboy and not a seasoned resident of this hospital.
