Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

FRANKIE

The emergency room hadn't allowed anyone to come back into the restricted access treatment area with me. Blakely had to wrap herself around Jax like a koala on a bamboo shoot to keep him from shoving his way through the locked doors when they wheeled me through the narrow opening. Their protectiveness is a balm on my soul and a reminder that this baby is going to be born into a true family who protects its own. Since I was young, my brother was the only person in my corner. Until now. From the moment Arlo brought me to the Ghost Born clubhouse and introduced me to his chosen family, they'd adopted me into the fold.

As pissed off as they were at Arlo for going rogue when he got arrested and sent to jail, none of them held it against me. Well, Cameron still looks at me like he's uncertain if I'm a sentient being, and Ace has a perma-scowl going. Arlo swears it's nothing to do with me. Honestly, I believe him. Ace is barely more than a child, despite not having much of a childhood, so his grudge against Arlo is understandable. Abbie, Cameron's girlfriend, says Cameron is suspicious of everyone. I can tell there's a story there. Maybe, one day, I'll know what it is.

Thoughts of the found family that's claimed me as one of their own helps to keep my brain from spinning into hysterics with worry. My fingers fiddle with the plastic admissions bracelet fastened around my wrist. The pain still comes in waves, and at first, I thought it was the practice contractions I read about in the pregnancy books.

One of the first things the nurse did, once she got me situated in this ER room, was to strap a fetal monitor around my stomach. It reads the baby's heartrate and measures contractions. So far, the resident who's seen me for triage says the baby's heart is perfectly fine, and they don't see any signs of Braxton Hicks contractions. The resident said an on-call OB-GYN would be by soon, but for now, they're confident neither the baby nor I are in distress, so it could be a while.

The door to the room is open, and I can't help but keep one eye on the shadowy hallway beyond it. As silly as it might be, I just want to see Arlo stomping his way back here to be by my side. My heart lurches at the realization of how much he's come to mean to me in such a tiny window of time. Mark never made me feel this way.

Not once in the eternity we were together did I ever feel as safe or cherished as Arlo has made me feel. The man makes sure I know he's claiming me as his own. He cares for me as if I'm his personal treasure. Dammit, why can't he be here, right now, standing between me and this terrible fear that something's wrong with the baby?

"You're sure it's not labor?" The hushed male voice in the hallway sounds familiar, and I'm pretty sure he's talking about me.

"Yes, sir. The fetal monitor shows mom and baby are both fine. No signs of contractions. Best estimation is that it's symphysis pubis dysfunction." That voice, I'm pretty sure, belongs to the resident who examined me.

"Lightning crotch? Oh, that's rich." The first man chuckles and the condescension dripping from it sparks my memories. I know who it is, and they're definitely talking about me.

"Alright, Drew, I'll take over Miss Holt's care from here," Dr. Lughan says.

Now, more than ever, I'm wishing Arlo would burst through the door to be by my side. Everything about Dr. Lughan gives me the creeps. And when Arlo met the man at the first prenatal appointment he attended with me, he agreed. Tomorrow's supposed to be my second appointment with the new OB-GYN recommended by Arlo's friend, Dr. Charmden. We both like Dr. Marcisi so much more, and he never gives me the ick the way Lughan always has.

"Miss Holt. I didn't see you for a six month prenatal visit, and how here you are seven months along. I'd say this meeting is fortuitous, wouldn't you? But a bit painful for one of us, yes?" Patronizing motherfucker.

"Would you please just tell me what's going on?" I ask. I don't have the bandwidth to play his games today. My crotch feels as if someone is jamming a souped-up bug zapper against my cervix while simultaneously punching my ovaries. And of course, I can't forget the nonstop in utero tap dance on mama's bladder that the baby has decided to do all day.

"I don't recall you being this surly. That'll need to be conditioned before you—" He pauses thoughtfully. "—reach your final destination."

Before meeting Arlo, Dr. Lughan's weird comments went right over my head. Like the wizard behind the curtain, things learned can't be unlearned. Now that I've been around the Ghost Born men long enough to pick up on some of their suspicions about the trafficking problem, the things Lughan says have a much darker meaning. And his comments aren't going over my head anymore.

"Please, doctor. Can you just tell me if the baby and I are okay?" I hate having to be polite to him, but I hate not knowing exactly what's going on even more.

"You and the baby are fine, Miss Holt. Now, get up and come with me. Walking will assist with the symptoms, and now that you're my patient once more, we have someplace to be." He's rough as he unhooks the fetal monitor and tosses it to the bed by my hip. His hand wraps around my upper arm, and he tugs me from the bed.

Before I know it, he's ushered me through a labyrinth of hallways and into a parking garage beneath the hospital. I didn't even have a chance to put on my clothes or grab my purse with my phone. I guess I can be thankful I was able to keep on my shoes when I changed into the hospital gown.

"Where are we going? This can't be right. Stop, Dr. Lughan. Stop!" Even with my heels dragging and every effort I can safely make, there's no pulling away from my creepy ex-doctor's grip.

The side door of a van parked in a reserved stall slides open. Yellow light illuminates the gloomy darkness, and my worst nightmare becomes reality. Mark Benson leans out of the van. Rope in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other. Lightning crotch, whatever it is, is definitely not my biggest problem now.