LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2) (12 page)

Shaw

“You can’t stay here no more Shaw! I’m not putting up with your shit and looking after your bastard brat. You have tonight to get yourself sorted out and then I want you gone.”

My stomach roils as my mother’s words wash over me, and I swallow back tears, closing my eyes against the hopeless dread that’s settled into my bones since I’d found out I’m pregnant and alone.

Robert, the father of my child and the asshole I’d fallen for and trusted to be here for me, has of course vanished and left me holding the bag. Our one night together had not materialized the night we’d met because though I’d been half insane with need by the time we’d reached his hotel and ready to do something I’d never have contemplated, it turned out the guy was a gentleman.

He’d taken me to a late dinner and spoken to me about everything and anything, from my studies to my plans for the next year. I’d learned a lot about him, too. Or so I’d thought when he’d told me about his job and family and the brother he hated more than anything in the world.

The next day he called me while I moved from my dorm—amid death stares from a still peeved Linda—and then we’d had dinner again and spent the night unpacking my boxes and setting up my ancient TV.

I’d spent a week falling for him before falling into bed with him, my only thought for the pleasure we’d share and the closeness that would come from giving him my virginity.

I’d woken the next morning alone, and I’ve been alone since, having long ago accepted that Rob was one of those guys who used his charm to get what he wanted before leaving to get to the next conquest.

I’d been okay after a week of cursing him to hell and back because I had plans and I would never let something as silly as a broken heart ruin what I spent years working for.

And then I’d found out the one thing that had the power to mess with every well-laid plan I’d made.

I’m knocked up. Bun in the oven. Joey in the pouch.

Not the end of the world, right?

Wrong!

I’d been asked to leave the internship—yeah I got it!—after I’d puked all over a T-Rex fossil that had cost the museum more than I’ll make in a lifetime of hard labor, and with the economy the way it is, I’d been forced to give up my apartment and move back home.

That artery’s been looking great lately.

I have no money but for the seventy bucks in my account, and now, now the woman who gave birth to me is kicking me out.

“Mom, please I—”

“No. This isn’t no charity house, and I’m not letting Earl waste his hard-earned money supporting you and your kid. Call Alec, he’ll help you,” she mutters from her perch at the kitchen table, her cigarette dangling from her pursed lips.

“You know he can’t help even if he wanted to. He’s at school.”

Tulane to be exact and miles away from New York. I wouldn’t call him even if I wanted to, because even with as much trouble as I am in now, I would never allow my brother to give up his scholarship to save my stupid ass.

He’d worked hard to earn that scholarship and even harder to keep himself fed and clothed when Mom had refused to help him out with start-up money to get there.

Alec is and always will be my number one guy, and no matter what, I won’t let him know what’s going on because the fool would drop everything and get a dead-end job to fix my mistakes.

“Well, you’d better find someone who will ‘cause you have tonight. And then I’m going to start throwing your stuff out onto the street,” she growls, coughing and wheezing through a cloud of smoke.

I know why she’s doing this and it’s got nothing to do with Earl because, ironically, Earl and I get along great. He likes me and treats me like the kid he never had. It’s Mom’s jealousy that’s the problem.

“Fine. I’ll be out tomorrow morning.”

***

“Here, darlin’. Take this.”

I’m almost sick with terror when I stand at the front door, as Earl reaches into his pocket and glances around, checking for Mom, before shoving a roll of cash my way.

“Earl I—”

“Now don’t argue, darlin’. It’s only a hundred, what I could sneak out of my sock drawer before the wicked witch could catch me, but it’s enough to keep you fed for a bit. Take it. Please.”

I take it, not only because he feels bad about what’s happening and I don’t want to make him feel worse, but also because I have no other choice. Pride won’t keep me fed and off the streets, no matter how I wish it would.

I need this money. I need a job. I need a place to stay. And I need to find a way to contact Robert Stone so that my kid can have more to look forward to than social welfare and a crappy start in life.

“Thanks, Earl,” I say in a choked whisper. “And thanks for taking some of my stuff to storage. I’ll come back and get it as soon as I can.”

“No worries, darling. Now you remember what I said and go find that man. I’m sure once he knows about the sprout, he won’t leave the mother of his child out on the streets.”

I hold back the snort that threatens to escape and kiss him on the cheek before dragging my bags out onto the porch and starting down the road. No money means no cab, and it’s a long way to the subway from Mom’s crappy little shoe box.

It starts drizzling about halfway to my destination, and I groan at the thought of going to St. Mary’s Shelter for Women in this state.

I look bad, like really bad, since I’ve been sick most days and have lost a considerable amount of weight. Ironically, all of my clothes are too big for me, and I envision never having to buy any maternity gear if this keeps up.

First time in my life that I’ve been bordering on skinny, and it’s not from a diet or any real effort on my part.

I take the train all the way to the middle of downtown and then grab a bus. When I get to St. Mary’s, I get lucky and run into Sister Francine, a nun I’d known in those rare days that Mom would let me go to church on a Sunday instead of hanging around to cook for her flavor of the moment.

“Oh, Shaw dear, you look…”

“I know, Sister,” I say when she trails off and grabs my hand to drag me into her office.

“What’s going on and don’t even mention that mother of yours because I’m a nun and I’d hate to blow my shot at the Pearly Gates for that…specimen,” she spits out, throwing a towel around my wet shoulders and bustling to her sideboard to get me a Styrofoam cup filled with weak, hot tea.

“I did something really stupid, Sister. Like brain dead stupid. And now…I lost my job and my apartment and Mom kicked me out when she found out about…” I close my eyes and bite my lip. “I’m pregnant.”

“Don’t cry. Please. Or I’ll drop this habit and go find your mother.”

That makes me laugh, and I grin at her scowl around the rim of the cup.

Sister Fran is one tough-talking, straight-shooting bride of the Church, and for some reason, she took a shine to Alec and I the few times we’d come to church.

I’m not even Catholic, so you can understand how much this nun must like me to even consider me a good bet. A lot of Catholics think the rest of us are going to Hell just on principal, but to hear Sister Fran talk, a lot of her own flock is headed for the hellfire.

At any rate, she’s my last hope.

“Is there any room here at the shelter? I have some money, but nothing that’ll last me more than a few weeks if I’m frugal and…I need some time to track down the father, so I can’t start working just yet.”

“I can give you a month before the new rotation starts. The program requires all of the women to make an effort to find employment and housing, but I can give you some work right here in my office while you’re trying to look for the man.”

I thank her and finish my tea while she teaches me how to curse like a God-fearing nun. She’s creative about it, I’ll give her that, but nothing replaces a good “Fuck you!” or my personal favorite “Go fuck yourself!”—and that’s exactly what I’m planning to say to Robert when I finally find that bastard.

Cam

I’ve had about three hours’ worth of sleep in as many days, and I’m still nowhere near my goal when the jet finally touches down at the private airstrip near New York City.

I’m pissed off and ready to start nailing heads to the wall by the time I disembark and the car takes off, getting ever closer to my destination.

I don’t want to do this, not now when the pain and loss is so fresh, but I’d seen Mum crying for the umpteenth time yesterday, and it had gutted me enough that I’m willing to travel all the way across the ocean to check out this paternity issue that Shaw Mallory has brought to our attention.

I remember that conversation so clearly; I feel a vague sense of discomfited guilt before I quash it and focus instead on what I must do.

I don’t believe that Rob would have dropped his standards so low that he would consider taking Miss Mallory. My brother was a man of refined and very specific tastes, and Shaw Mallory in no way fits that image.

She’s a little on the heavy side, her hair is an unremarkable shade of brown, and if it weren’t for her unique blue-purple eyes, I myself wouldn’t give the girl a second look.

And now she wants me to believe that my playboy brother, the man who’d said the only shade worth seeing is blonde, has left her pregnant and stranded.

I refuse to believe it, but Mum is so insistent about it that I’ve finally said screw it, and I’m investigating her claims. If she’s lying, I’ll make her suffer so terribly she’ll wish she never heard the name Stone.

But what if she isn’t? What if, for some reason, God is blessing us with a final piece of the man we’d lost just last month?

I can’t risk that being the case and turning my back on her, so I’m doing my best to keep an open mind while I get at the truth. It’s hard though. With Rob’s death still so fresh, it’s bloody hard to hear these accusations and not retaliate swiftly and brutally, as I am wont to do whenever anything threatens the security and happiness of my family.

My conscience is a bloody bastard, and it keeps reminding me of the way I’d spoken to the woman when she’d finally managed to get through to my office. Helen, my secretary, had put her through after she’d gotten hysterical on the phone, and I’d answered only to hear the person capable of ruffling my usually stone-cold Helen.

“Your deadbeat brother knocked me up and left me holding the bag. I need his number please.”

To the point and matter of fact.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Look Mr. Stone. I’ve been trying to find Robert for three months now, and he’s nowhere to be found. His cell number isn’t working, and I think he’s ducking my calls. I need to tell him about the baby, and I need him to help me. I lost my job, and my mom kicked me out, and—”

I put the phone down without batting an eye and went about my day the way I always did. Focused and unruffled. Unfortunately, she managed to get hold of Mum’s home number, and I’d arrived home to find her crying hysterically while my father stood scowling.

“Do something about this. She won’t stop bloody blubbering!”

Dad loves Mum. A lot. So her tears have the nasty effect of turning him into a raging lunatic, ready to trample anyone and anything that even remotely upsets the poor dear.

“She’s lying. She must be.”

I knew the minute the words left my mouth that I was only lying to myself. Rob, while being a great bloke and jolly good fun, is and has always been a cad of the first order.

Dad joked that Rob must be blessed because he’s never knocked one up through all his fifteen years of philandering.

Until now.

If she’s to be believed.

“We’re here, sir.”

I look out of the window and grimace when the dreary stone façade of St. Mary’s stares back at me, the dark grey mortar giving the place a sad air of desperation.

“I’ll be out shortly.”

The inside is no better, having that classic poor lighting that seems to make up such establishments.

“Hey, you can’t come in here. Only women allowed.”

I tower over the short, frumpy receptionist and glare for all I’m worth, silently crossing myself in case she’s a nun and raise a brow.

“My name is Cameron Stone. I’m here for Shaw Mallory. She’s expecting me.”

I grin when the little mouse scuttles away and comes back minutes later, followed by a short, thin corpse instead of the plump plain Jane I’m expecting.

Shaw Mallory must be sick because no healthy person can carry that pallor and still be walking.

“Mr. Stone?”

Her voice is so relieved and hopeful that I tense and force myself not to react outwardly in any way. Never show them emotion and they won’t have weapons to use. It’s my creed and one that has served me well for the ten years since I’ve taken my family’s business—and not only saved it but turned it into one of Britain’s leading telecommunications firms.

“Miss Mallory. We have a doctor’s appointment. Please collect your things and come with me.”

Her eyes go wide at the command, and I see a spark of rebellion there before she squashes it and nods once.

“I’m so glad you believe me. I only have two more days left here before I have to find another place to stay.”

I don’t say a word until she’s collected her two bags and is seated beside me in the car.

“I would like to inform you that if you are indeed lying about the paternity of this child for the purpose of extorting money from my family that I will personally end any semblance of a life that you have, Miss Mallory.”

Her gasp gives me a short-lived spurt of satisfaction, and I thin my lips to keep from smiling.

“The doctor will be doing tests which will either confirm that you are lying or that the child you carry is a Stone. If you’re telling the truth, I will make arrangements for your care. If not, I will be setting my legal team on you and believe me,
that
you do not want.”

Those eerie lilac-blue eyes focus on me for the longest time before she turns her head away and stares out at the misty drizzle.

“I’m not lying, but then it doesn’t seem as if that will matter much until you have your proof. I had a decent life before your brother. I had a good job and a chance at the life I worked hard to get. He fooled me into believing something that wasn’t true and then left me to deal with the fall out.”

Her words are a shot of acid to the open wound in my chest, and I react poorly, pinching her chin between fingers that are too hard and too forceful against such delicate skin.

“You will never speak of him that way again. Understand? You are nothing more than a down-on-her-luck con artist, and when I prove it, I am going to make you eat those words. Now shut up. We have nothing to say to each other till I have my proof.”

If her wounded eyes tear the slightest bit, I refuse to notice, and if the dark circles under her eyes, coupled with the sunken hollows of her cheeks, make me feel like a brute attacking a weak, sickly female, I refuse to admit it.

All I know is that this woman has made my already grieving mother insane with grief over a child that likely isn’t one of ours. If that is the case, I will finish her.