Lucy
There’s no way this is legal. It’s my first thought as I pull up to where I’m supposed to pick up a refurbished stroller and car seat system. By all accounts, the shop is empty. Dark windows stained with dust face the street, and I’m the only car parallel parked out front. I knew it seemed odd that a children’s thrift shop would be in Woodbury, of all places—a town where there are more antique and health food stores than people. People have money around here and just buy their travel systems new on Prime. Plus I’m pretty sure car seat regulations don’t even allow for “refurbishing,” or whatever it is this shop does. But I’m desperate.
I did it to myself. I could be one of those suburban moms with the latest, most expensive baby gadgets if I hadn’t broken up with my baby daddy when he proposed. I’m certifiably insane for even thinking of leaving a man who throws money at every problem with barely a thought. The thing is, I think he saw me as a problem, or he would eventually if I married him. I didn’t want to be his trailer park teacher turned housewife, even it came with a perfect white SUV to drive around our perfect five kids. I didn’t want to be a mom. I became a teacher to give kids like me a safe space from their monsters, to keep kids like my cousin Cliff out of prison. When Benjamin proposed, I knew if I said yes, next he’d ask me to have a baby, and soon after that, quit my job. He’d tell me what to wear, which PTA moms to befriend, and how to spend my “allowance.” Worst of all, I’d be bored.
So of course, when I said no, a few weeks later, a pregnancy test said yes.
I didn’t want my baby to grow up in a family like mine, full of abusers and enablers. I barely made it out of childhood, and poverty was the least of my traumas. I didn’t want her to grow up under Benjamin’s thumb, either.
I needed that travel system because it converted from a car seat to a stroller and was lightweight and foolproof enough that I could do it all myself. That overpriced brand was actually a beacon of freedom, a way to raise a baby I hadn’t planned in the environment of my choice: mine.
The place is probably closed, anyway. All I have to do is try the door, admit defeat, and get back in my car. Easy. Then I can go back to doomscrolling through more fake secondhand baby paraphernalia in the comfort of AC. Pregnancy’s got me sweating in places I never knew I could sweat, and doesn’t play well with the late summer heatwave we’re in. But when I turn the knob and push the door, it opens with a long, dusty creak.
The shop is even emptier than it looked from the street. A single brand new travel system sits in the middle of the small store, still unopened. Part of me is relieved. It fell off a truck, much like most of the things from my childhood: chicken cutlets, satellite cable, my adopted sister Olivia. At least I know it’ll be safe for my baby.
“Hello?” I run a finger over the box and leave a trail in the dust. The factory seal is unbroken, the box isn’t even dented. I came with exactly enough cash, so this should be quick. I won’t even have to tell my sister or cousin how I got something so expensive. I’ll wrap it and pretend someone from work bought it for my shower—a Sip and See my sister started organizing late because I waited until the eleventh hour to tell them I’m pregnant. We had enough going on without me adding any more of my problems.
I know my fears are unfounded. Olivia and Cliff are my people, the only people I need, really. Besides, they were busy keeping their own secret: banging each other. They think I don’t know, like I didn’t figure it out the night they left me at a dive bar for over an hour to “get cigarettes.” Olivia came back with that look in her eye, the addict floating from her fix. Cliff just looked guilty.
Cliff and I are cousins, but Olivia isn’t biologically related to us at all, so it’s fine. It’ll burn out just like every other boy toy Olivia has brought home, leaving my cousin—who’s a big ol’ softie hidden that tall, dark, and scary disguise—lovesick. I’m not looking forward to the fallout. Cliff’s touch her and die vibes have always gotten him into trouble. The last time he tried saving someone hopeless, he went to prison.
I thought it was the end of it this summer. I was even a little bummed when they split. They make a cute couple and when they’re ignoring that they both want very different things, they’re good together. When they’re on the outs, everything in their vicinity is at risk. But I can’t get distracted making sure Olivia doesn’t kill Cliff, not when the baby inside me is growing faster than I imagined.
“Hello!” I call again, this time louder, more insistent. Everyone has always referred to me as “fiery,” and it’s not just because of my curly red hair. Growing up the way I did, I learned quick that monsters tend to leave crazy be. It’s vulnerable and meek that they target.
Maybe if I’d learned a little sooner, Cliff wouldn’t have gone to prison.
“Yeah, yeah.” A man covered in tattoos strolls out of the back, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. He rakes dirty blond hair streaked with silver and red back from his face.
I look pointedly at the box, down at the small and heavy watermelon I’m hauling around, and back to him.
He drops the butt onto the floor and grinds it out with a steel-toed boot, staring at me with pale blues. He rubs his beard, those eyes searing into me.
My pulse quickens and a fluttering flickers low inside me, and it’s not fear. It’s hormones. I’ve officially reached the horny stage of pregnancy, and it’s insatiable. Doesn’t matter which toy I use or which hand. The second I come, my body demands more, now, again. I’m worse than a teenage boy.
The man taps the box, drawing my attention. “Need help getting this loaded?”
I venture closer, telling myself it’s so I can pass him the money. There’s no cash register, so I guess we’re doing this like a drug deal. But closer is immediately too close, my pupils dilating and my heart racing as I inhale him. He smells like smoke and leather and ash, but there’s something sweet in there, too, sweet enough that I lean in and take a big whiff.
He steps back. “Are… are you smelling me?”
“No,” I sputter. “Just checking to make sure the box doesn’t smell like weed.”
“You won’t draw any attention,” he says, lifting the box and striding toward the door. “False bottom, the package is inside. You’re just gonna drive to the drop. I’ll tail you a few cars behind. Ready to roll?”
He frowns at the door and at me, and I realize I’m supposed to open it for him.
“Drop? Tail?” I repeat, hurrying after him.
“This you?” He nods at my beat up car.
“How’d you guess,” I say dryly. Mine is still the only car here. While he slides my prize into the back seat, what he said hits me, this time landing. “Why do you have to follow me? Don’t I just slide you the money now?”
He looks at me like I’m stupid. “The package gets delivered, then you get paid. We just needed a pregnant lady, not someone with all these questions.”
My shoulders fall. “So you’re not selling me this? I’ve got the money.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” His blue eyes blaze, and though I should be afraid, it just turns me on more. Despite his annoyance, his gaze drop to my lips and his eyes aren’t angry, they’re hungry.
I cross my arms. “The post said you had a refurbed stroller for sale and to pick it up here.” Now I’m talking to him like he’s the idiot. I rattle off the address.
“Don’t move,” he orders, pulling a cell from his pocket. It’s not an iPhone, Android, or any other smartphone, though. It’s a freakin’ flip phone—a burner. When he speaks next, it’s not me he’s talking to. “Your mule didn’t show. There’s a lady here wanting to buy a used stroller. Yeah, I know there’s no such thing.” He gives me a pointed look. “She says someone posted it.” His hand clenches around the phone. “Yeah, ‘oops.’ Take that shit down, now. Better yet, get Vaughn to scrub it.” He massages the bridge of his nose. The space between his eyes seems a little narrow, giving him that predatory look. “And no more gummies and tequila on the clock, you dipshit.” He snaps the phone shut, glares not at me but through me. His eyes are small, I realize—that’s why it seems like there’s less than the space of an eyeball between them. “What’s your name?” he asks.
I swallow. “Lucy.”
His eyes narrow.
I realize my mistake right away. I should’ve given him a fake name. Actually, I should already be driving away, without whatever’s in that box.
He’s not looking at me like a home invader assessing his next target, though. He squints, making his eyes look even tinier, his face comically confused. Then something else dawns: recognition.
“You’re Cliff and Olivia’s Lucy,” he says. “I’ve seen you in the bar. The Wet Mermaid?”
“You’re a River Reaper?” At least now I can stare at him as long as I want. I assess lips that, even though they’re partially hidden under a mustache needing a trim, look soft and kissable. His cutoff Pink Floyd tee shows off tattooed muscles. I should recognize him; I’m in the Mermaid more than I’d like. I try not to pay attention, though. It reminds me too much of standing behind my parents while the bartender slipped them a bag of coke with their shots. “I remember you,” I lie.
“Stixx,” he supplies with a wry smile.
“Pregnancy brain.” I shrug. “What can ya do?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose again. “A’ight, Lucy, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna give you an address, you’re gonna put it in your GPS, and we’re gonna take a ride. You won’t be harmed—you’ll be paid. More than enough to buy the real thing. And you’re gonna keep your mouth shut,” he adds. “You can’t tell Cliff and Olivia about this.” He rattles off the address and ducks back into the store before I can ask why.
I should wrestle that box out of my car myself. I should call Cliff or at least drop a pin to Olivia and tell her if I’m not home in thirty minutes, to call the police.
But I need that car seat, and this baby’s gonna need a whole lot more. There’s formula, and diapers, and clothes, and that’s just for starters. My job barely keeps me in wine and in my condo. Stixx is a River Reaper, which means he’s Cliff and Olivia’s family. He won’t let anything happen to me. Probably.
I’ve got maybe a minute before he comes back out, probably less, but still enough time to get the fuck out of here. I dig my phone out of my bag and get typing.
“Starting route,” the GPS says, and Stixx comes back out, not from the front door but the alley, the roar of his motorcycle drowning out the pounding of my heart.
“Don’t drive too fast,” he warns, pulling on a leather vest covered in River Reapers MC patches.
“Wait,” I call, glancing up from our destination. “Are we going to the distribution center?”
He stares at me, his expression somewhere between a frown and intrigue. “Don’t fuck this up,” he says. “Let’s ride.”
And for the first time in my life, I do what I’m told.
The above excerpt is unedited and may not reflect the final published product.
Copyright 2026.
These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic or mechanical—without permission in writing from the author.
Arsonist’s Lullaby
Available fall 2026
Surprise! After five years of writing, rewriting, health challenges, and a few personal dark nights of the soul, the Stixx and Lucy standalone is the next installment in the River Reapers MC world.
So what’d you think of Chapter 1? Leave a comment or give this post a like to let me know!
Photo by Adrian Ordonez on Unsplash
