Ambition: A Dark Billionaire Romance Anthology (25 page)

"All right," I said, slowly moving my arm around. It was going to be stiff, but it worked. "Let's get changed, and get to the clinic. Let's go meet your daughter."

W
hen Sophie told
me that she was going into labor, the first thought that crossed my mind was that fate could not have picked a worse time for it to happen. I mean, my fiancée had just been kidnapped by a criminal element that was most likely one of the strongest left in the city. The man I considered my brother was mounting a vigilante rescue mission, and my sister was still nearly three weeks before her due date.

"Grab a towel and help me get these pants off. You're probably going to end up delivering your goddaughter," Sophie told me when her water broke. I was glad that the carpet in the room was Scotchguarded, although I figured we'd still end up renting one of those steam cleaners by the end of the weekend. But that was the least of my worries.

First things first. Rushing out of the room, I clutched my wireless headset to my ear as I ran to the hallway closet, grabbing three of the big fluffy Egyptian cotton towels that Mark bought for the house, along with the first aid kit just in case. I loved the fine texture and material of the towels, and was glad our finances meant there was no regret in using them. If I was going to deliver my goddaughter, I was going to swaddle that baby in as much comfort as I could. I carried everything back into the entertainment room, where Sophie was already gritting her teeth and bearing down as another contraction hit. They were coming a lot faster than I'd expected, this little girl was in a rush to get out and say hello to the world.

"How's it going?" I asked as I arranged one of the towels in front of Sophie. She used my arm for support as she worked her way onto the towel, leaning against the small bean bag chair she'd been using.

"Glad that I chose this chair instead of the big one," she said, her face already flushed with effort. "How about Mark?"

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I said simply. Mark had gone radio silent, which I knew from what Sophie had told me meant he was focused and intense. "Just watch the monitor, you'll be able to see when he does his thing. Focus on that and the baby. Come on, you know he's a one man ass-kicking crew, it'll be better than watching a movie while giving birth. Not that I know anything about giving birth."

Sophie grinned and put on a fake Southern accent. "Why, I don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' no babies!" she said, imitating the line from
Gone With The Wind
. It was nice to see that she still had a sense of humor.

Switching back to her normal voice, she chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll coach you though the tough parts. Most of it is sitting around waiting for the baby to crown. I see you grabbed the first aid kit. Nice job."

"Don't I need to go boil water or something?" I asked. "Whenever I see this done on TV, the doctor sends someone to go boil water."

"The water's to wash your hands," Sophie replied, then smiled. "And I think it gives the fathers a job to do too. Just when I tell you, put on some gloves from the kit and wash down with a damp cloth soaked in peroxide, it'll do just fine. Other than that, right now I need you to hold my hand during the contractions. I need something to bear down on."

I sat down next to Sophie, my attention torn between the monitors and the woman next to me. Taking her hand in my left, I tapped my microphone with my right. "Okay Mark, where are you?"

"
You can't see me?
"

"No. The traffic cameras aren't pointed in the right direction to catch you, and the satellite imagery isn't refined enough to pick you out against the shadows," I said. I grabbed the wireless keyboard and took it over next to Sophie, waiting for Mark's reply.

"
I'm across the street, looking at the two men you told me about. No other movement visible. Inside, I can see through the windows. Three gunmen, a woman who I can assume is Melinda Pressman, and Patrick. He's alive, tied to an office chair. He seems to be doing what he does best.
"

"What's that?" I asked.

Mark's light chuckle told me more than his words. He was feeling confident. "
He's talking. I swear, that boy never does know when to shut up sometimes. Alright, I'm going radio silent, time to go to work.
"

“Okay. Good luck, Snowman." It was a little weird calling him that, but given that’s the persona he was taking on, it felt
right.

The radio clicked in my ear, and I reached over, taking Sophie's other hand. She squeezed hard, her body contracting again, her grunt of effort sounding eerily similar to how she sounded when she worked out in the gym. "I thought there was supposed to be more screaming and wailing?"

Sophie chuffed through her gritted teeth and shook her head. "I think that comes later. Besides, never underestimate the ability of television and movies to over-dramatize something to do with women's health. At least that’s what I’m hoping.”

I laughed. When the contraction passed, I got up and ran to the kitchen, getting her a bottle of water. "Here, you look like you could use a sip or two. Sorry I couldn't grab the Evian, we're going to have to slum it with the Poland Springs."

"Thanks," Sophie said in between small huffs, smiling as I returned her attempt at humor. "This is harder than I thought it would be, but I think I'm doing pretty good so far. A lot better than some of the ones I've seen."

"How many have you assisted with?" I asked. Before Sophie could answer, the traffic camera feed we had exploded in a hail of gunfire as Mark made his move. In two tight bursts he took out the gunners outside Pressman Contractors and shattered the glass-front. He then dashed to the side, diving and taking cover behind a dumpster before unleashing another burst.

“I’ve watched it done three times, once in person," Sophie said before her voice raised as a wave of pain hit. It felt like she was nearly crushing my hand she was squeezing so hard, and I could see the cords of her neck and forearms standing out against her skin.

I had to turn my attention away from the video screen, focusing instead on Sophie and her immediate situation. I couldn't help Mark, but I could help her. "That's it babe, come on. Come on, you can do it. Just bear down, push as it comes. I'm here for you."

By the time Sophie's contraction passed, Mark had moved again, and I couldn't find him on the screen. It took me a moment to see him across the street, this time behind one of the Pressman trucks, firing in short little spurts. "Why isn't he firing more?"

Sophie huffed and gasped from the efforts of her labor. "He... automatic rifles are impossible to control with just your hands in long bursts," she said. I unscrewed the top of the bottle again and gave her a sip. She used the water to calm herself, getting her breathing under control. "You can't aim properly. That's why the big guns all have bipods and mounts. So he shoots in small little bursts that he can aim."

"Some time, you're going to have to teach me about all this crap," I replied. Mark dashed forward again, firing as he ran, and disappeared from the screen as he ran into the building. We both held our breath as another burst of gunfire flashed against the light, and then there was silence.

"Mark?" I whispered into my microphone, only to be greeted with silence. I tried again, before remembering that Mark had said he was going radio silent. While my unit could stay on, he had probably muted his end totally to allow him to focus on the task at hand.

"I'm sure he's okay," Sophie said. "Both of them."

Another contraction started, and I turned my head away from the screen as Sophie's eyes slitted and she pushed as hard as she could. The contractions were coming closer and closer, worrying me. I thought this was supposed to take hours, she'd been in labor less than thirty minutes.

"
Tabby?"

"
I'm here Mark," I said, smiling at Sophie. "What's going on there?”

"
I've got him. Dislocated shoulder, but other than that okay,
" Mark said. I grinned and gave Sophie a thumbs up.

"Good. Now get your ass back here, on the double mister, or else you're going to miss it."

"
Tabby?"
Mark said, clearly confused.

"Your wife is in labor, and I think she's a few minutes from giving birth to your daughter."

"Wha....what?!?!?"

A
s it was
, I was the one to deliver Andrea Tabitha Bylur into the world. According to the clock on the wall, it was eleven thirty seven at night, December twenty first. A winter solstice baby. Sophie had told me her name as soon as she was out, my vision doubling momentarily as I cried in happiness. The honor of being named not just her godmother but to even have her share my name with me? Perfect.

The ambulance to take Sophie to the clinic arrived less than two minutes after she had delivered Andrea in a rush of blood and fluid that more or less soaked the towel beneath her, and I had barely wrapped up the beautiful little girl in another clean towel to hand to her mommy when they came in. "Well, we missed all the fun," the first paramedic said, carrying his large bag. He'd come in through the back door, which I had told them would be unlocked. "How long?"

"Just a minute or two," I said, while Sophie was so enraptured by her daughter that she didn't even act like she'd heard anything. I could understand why. Despite being a little early, Andrea was shockingly beautiful, with a pale mound of straw colored hair and eyes as arresting as her mother's. She was still messy and red, but nothing out of the ordinary from the pictures Sophie had shown me, and I knew that she'd be a beautiful little girl once she got cleaned up and used to the world. Sophie had pulled open her shirt as soon as the delivery was complete, and at the moment the medics came in was holding her daughter against her chest so that the baby could hear the familiar sound of her mother's heartbeat. After squalling for only a few seconds, Andrea had calmed down to look at Sophie.

Despite knowing that a newborns vision is very minimal, her face had an expression on it I'd never forget. "Hi," it seemed to say, and the barely minute old baby blinked. "I love you. So, what's next for us?"

"Well, let's get some of the basics done, and we'll get mama and baby to the clinic safely," the medic said, as he was joined by his partner. "Now... it's Missus Bylur, right?"

"Yes," I answered. Sophie was still pretty exhausted and shook up by the whole experience, and I didn't want her to blank out and say Sophie White. "Joanna Bylur."

"All right. Missus Bylur, can you talk, or are you still wore out?" medic number two asked, opening her case and pulling on gloves. "May I give your daughter a quick once over?"

"Quickly, please," Sophie said, her voice still wrung out. Andrea wiggled as the medic took her, but put up with the pokings and proddings pretty well, all things considered. The medics clamped the cord about five inches away from her belly and then snipped it off before wrapping her back up in her towel and handing her back to Sophie. Andrea squalled a little bit, but quieted again when she felt Sophie's warm skin against her cheek.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen," the first medic said. He pointed towards the rolling gurney they had brought down the hallway. "You still have one more thing to push out Missus Bylur, your birth sac and womb lining, but that can take fifteen to thirty minutes. We're going to get you on the gurney and into the ambulance where we can monitor both of you there. Your doctor's been contacted, he'll meet you as soon as we get to the clinic."

The second medic turned to me. "I'm sorry, you are?"

"Tabitha Williams," I said. "Missus Bylur's, ah, employer."

"Bullshit," Sophie said. "She's my sister. She rides with us in the back."

I wasn't sure who was crying more, Andrea, Sophie, or myself.

F
our days later
, our new family celebrated Christmas with Sophie coming home from the clinic. While we had originally wanted it to be a home delivery, Andrea's rush to get out into the world made the doctor want to keep mother and baby in the clinic for a few days. It's times like that it is useful to have a well-padded bank account that could pay for a private room where the two of them could rest together. In fact, most often when I came in, I found Andrea lying on Sophie's chest, either feeding or resting her head on the warm comfort of her mother's skin.

The biggest challenge of coming home was bringing Andrea out of the clinic, and in hindsight, understandably so. A stiff winter wind had picked up, and while it created the effect of a (barely) White Christmas on the ground, it meant that Andrea was now faced with the daunting task of wearing clothes and having a cold wind in her face for the ten yards we had to walk to get her in the car. Add to that the fact that she had to ride in a car seat, another cold and uncomfortable first, and I was glad that Tabby drove. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to put up with the fifteen minutes of infant screaming that came from my daughter.

"Well, at least we know she has good lungs," Tabby quipped when we reached the house and we got everyone inside. I nodded and rubbed my temples, thinking that I also knew that my daughter was very strong-willed, some might say stubborn. I wondered if she got that from her mother or myself, and then grinned. It didn't really matter.

Sophie had immediately taken Andrea back into her arms as soon as we had her inside, and Andrea calmed down almost immediately. Cooing, she snuggled against Sophie's chest and yawned, already tired and wanting another nap. "See? All she wanted was Mommy."

Sophie and I were both shocked when we came into the entertainment room and found Patrick. I had spent the night before sleeping at the clinic with Sophie and Andrea, so walking into the house to find it so changed from what I had left it the morning prior was happily pleasant. The far corner of the room, which normally contained some spare bean bags, had been converted into a total Christmas tree wonderland, complete with a six foot tall tree bedecked with lights, ornaments, and just about every other little thing you can think of. There was even a star on top that glittered in the light. Around the tree were at least two dozen various boxes, including a few that I recognized from the little bit of holiday shopping I'd done earlier in the month.

"Merry Christmas, and welcome home," Patrick greeted us, holding up a tray with three steaming mugs on it. "Cocoa?"

I'd never been one for holidays. As a child, my father spent too much time drunk around them, presents were few and far between once my mother died, and I often ended up eating nothing more than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while watching football on the TV. Once my father died, I was already into the Confederation life leading up to being a hitman, and until I met Sophie there hadn't seemed a point. Christmas was just another day on the calendar. I'd even done work on a Christmas five years prior, although it was only setup for something I did later. Despite not having stepped foot in a church since I was ten, unless you counted the chapel Sophie and I had our Vegas wedding in, there were some lines I didn't want to cross.

So at first, having the whole Christmas spread was a bit strange. As I relaxed and got into it though, I enjoyed myself. "This whole thing was Tabby's idea," Patrick said after Sophie had settled in with Andrea, and he handed Sophie the first wrapped present. "So don't blame me if we went overboard."

"I'm just happy you got the carpet steam cleaned already," Sophie quipped. "That had to have taken you guys a couple of hours."

I was impressed by everything Patrick and Tabby had done over the week, actually. Tabby had handled communications for the rescue while at the same time helped Sophie with the delivery, and I owed the woman more than I could ever repay. After all, she'd brought my daughter into the world. "I can't blame you for anything," I said instead, smiling. "So, Sophie told me she ruined the surprise about our gift to you?"

"What gift?" Patrick asked. Sophie looked at me and smiled. I conceded to her.

"Well, we were thinking about one of two options. Either expanding this building to put in another full sized wing, or maybe building another separate house. This is supposed to be the house of one of the wealthiest people in the city, remember? It might as well start looking it besides being just eccentric. We'd give you guys the option of either one to live in, of course."

Patrick blinked, stupefied. "Really?"

"Really."

"Wow, that's going to make your first gift seem like crap," he muttered, then grinned to himself. "I've gotta start upping my gift-giving game."

In fact, the first gift opened was adorable, three sets of easy to open infant pajamas, all in feminine pastels. "I figure she's going to know how to kick my butt by the time she's eight, so I've got to work on her girly-girl side immediately," Tabby commented. "That's my job, after all."

I only mock groaned, knowing that regardless of how feminine or tomboyish we raised Andrea, she'd always be her own free spirit. Besides, having influences like Tabby and Patrick as well as Sophie and myself was important to our parenting plan. Our daughter was going to have more than just Sophie and I as parents if I had my say-so.

The rest of the gifts ran the gamut, from useful (Patrick got me a set of weightlifting shoes I'd been eyeing) to frivolous (Sophie gave me a coffee cup that read "World's Sexiest Dad," much to everyone's laughter) to the outright humorous (Patrick got a t-shirt that read "I'm the side kick. Shoot me!"). Andrea, for someone only four days old, enjoyed it all, smiling and watching in amazement before dropping off for a nap on the cushion.

"It's perfect for her," Sophie commented as she tucked her brand new Winnie-The-Pooh fleece blanket around her. "The cushion supports her well, and she has no risk of rolling off or out. She can't sleep here overnight, but it is perfect for naps."

"I'll try and not make too much noise while I clean up," I said, grabbing the first of the papers we'd strewn over the floor. Getting an armful, I headed out towards our garbage cans, only to hear Patrick behind me. "Relax man, I've got this. Your arm must be killing you."

"It's not that bad, I got it checked out two days ago at a drop-in clinic just to be safe. Doctor there said I probably stretched the tendons some, but that nothing seemed torn. I told him I fell doing martial arts practice."

I balled up the paper in the kitchen, the rattling covering about half of what I said next, and I had to repeat myself a little louder. "Nice cover. But still, take it easy until after the New Year. I think you earned it."

"I'm trying, but to be honest, I'm kind of having trouble letting it go," he said. We went out the back door and went over to the flip-top rolling canisters that the city insisted we use. Lugging those down to the curb once a week sucked. At least sorting the trash was easy, we did that usually in the kitchen. Cans in one, plastic in a second, food and paper in a third. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Good," I replied, causing Patrick to do a double take. I nodded, reaffirming my point. "You should be upset about it. Patrick, I saw her injuries as much as you did. You know Melinda Pressman didn't die from the gunshot wounds. And I don't think she got knocked out from just landing on the chair wrong, did she?"

Patrick shook her head. "No, but still, I mean, I was defending myself. Shouldn't I feel at least a little less guilty about it?"

I sighed and shook my head. "Did you know that night I reached a milestone? One hundred people have died by my hands. One hundred people's blood stains my soul. That's a mark that a lot of hitmen never reach, and those that do, well, usually they're the sort of person that I wouldn't trust within ten miles of my daughter.

"I told Sophie when we met that I have always refused to kill innocents, but that doesn't mean all one hundred were total bastards deserving of the death penalty. Jail, sure. A bullet in the head, or poison, or a bomb in their cars? No, not all of them. And I've injured or even crippled dozens more. Before you ask, the answer is yes, most of them were before I met Sophie, so they weren't in pursuit of a good cause."

It was good to unload some of my burden to Patrick, who watched me with somber acceptance in his eyes. It wasn't that he was a man, and that Sophie was a woman. It was that Sophie was my wife, my soulmate, she'd always accept me. Patrick wasn't, so to have him accept what I was saying meant something a bit different, and in its own way a bit more relieving. I guess that's why men for millennia have gone down to the local bar, pub, tavern, or whatever not so much to drink, but just to unload their mental burdens with others who think like they do.

"So does it get easier?" Patrick asked me, his eyes carrying a shadow I had grown all too familiar with. His question caused me to pause, and to shake myself out of the rapidly darkening funk I was getting into.

"God I hope not," I finally replied. "I guess what keeps me going is that there is something to fight for now. They're inside, waiting for us to finish cleaning up. Although you and I have another way to fight, too."

"How's that?" Patrick asked. He looked so earnest, yet so unaware. While only by a year or two, it was hard to believe that he was older than me. I guess experience had aged me more than I wanted to admit.

I chuckled, thinking about the hours I'd talked this subject over with Sophie and even Tabby. "I've got to get you reading more. Von Calusewitz. War is the continuation of politics by other means. You and I, we have other means. You have politics, in case you forgot. I have money, a lot of it. Combined, it makes the four of us very, very powerful.”

Patrick nodded, then thought. "You know, next year's mayoral election might be too early, but five years from now....."

I clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "Exactly. Think of what MJT money and your politics can do in those five years. But for now, let's go enjoy Christmas. I think there's another gift in there for you, at least Sophie mentioned it to me."

"Really? What, a new car?"

I shook my head, thinking Tabby's gift would be a lot more memorable than a new car. "Nope. We'll check around, see if we can find it under the tree or something. Just no waking the baby."