Home > Rogue's Retribution : Twisted Iron MC

Rogue's Retribution : Twisted Iron MC
Author: Liberty Parker







“Oh. My. God! Your child is as stubborn as you are!” I scream out in agony from the pains of labor. “She doesn’t want to come into this world, she’s happy right where she is. Can’t we let her stay snuggled there for just a bit longer?” I ask, exhaustion laced thick in my voice to the stand-in doctor currently down between my legs. Conveniently, my doctor happens to be on his bi-monthly vacation getaway. He’s as useless as the grin on his face. “I’m not entirely sure what’s so funny,” I begin before the pain yet again slams over my body like an angry wave crashing to the shore. “Rogue!” I cast my glare to him as I grab him by the stitched leather on his cut. “Do something, please!”

“You’re doing great, Aurora,” the doctor tells me, causing me to shift my gaze back in his direction as I let go of Rogue’s cut. I want to kick my foot up and have it accidentally smash into his face. He calls this great? I’ve been doing this for hours, and I can feel my body beginning to grow tired and slowly fall apart as my eyes begin to grow heavy.

“You’ve got this darlin’,” my old man, Rogue, whispers in my ear for some encouragement, jolting me back to this harsh reality and the excruciating pain I’m in. “You’re the bravest person I know, if anyone can do this, it’s you. You aren’t now, and never have been, a quitter. Don’t give up on our baby, bring her into the world. Together, we’ve got this.”

“We? I don’t see you pushing this kid into the world, now do I? And after this one? Oh, you can bet your sweet ass you’ll never fucking hold my hand without wearing a condom!” I holler out at him as another contraction hits me. I notice him out of my peripheral scoot a few inches away and my heart sinks. Christ, who the fuck am I? I grab his hand and squeeze with what energy I have left. “I-I didn’t mean it. Don’t go anywhere.” Suddenly, I’m struck with the ferocity of such pain that I instinctively throw myself forward and have a desperate need to push. “Never. Mind. You. Fucking. Ass!” I grunt and grind out each word as I yank my hand away from his.

“Baby’s crowning,” the doctor states calmly. “Just a few more pushes, Aurora, and we’ll be bringing your baby into this world.” We have no solid proof it’s a girl, I just have this deep-seated feeling that she is in fact a female and have proclaimed that’s how everyone will refer to our child unless I’m proved wrong. Well, I never could get the doctor officially on board unless I agreed to let him disclose the gender from one of my ultrasounds. As much as I know I’m having a daughter, I refused to let any machine challenge me. I’m right, and I will prove it when she’s safe in my arms.

As always, my old man does everything he can to give me my way and has abided by my wishes. We even have a name picked out for her, it’s beautiful and sassy, just as I know she will be with all the rough and gruff uncles she’ll grow up with. Not to mention my husband, my old man, the love of my life who is also the president of the Twisted Iron Motorcycle Club. He’s not an easy man to love, but he’s mine, and I’ve learned how to deal with his mannerisms or sometimes lack thereof. He has mood swings to rival any woman in the throes of Mother Nature, and apparently labor doesn't faze him in the least.

“Come on, Rora, just a few more pushes,” he attempts to console me. I really wish everyone would stop saying that to me, since I’m the one in pain and having to do all of the heavy lifting, or pushing in this case.

“Bite your tongue, Rogue!” Clamping his lips firmly closed, he obliges my command, lifting me up to get me prepared for another push.

“Now, Aurora, give me one huge push. Bear down. That’s it, I see the baby’s head!” This gives me the motivation I need to finish this once and for all. I push several more times, not really hearing the conversation going on around me as I concentrate on my body, and what it’s telling me I need to do. I hear, “The shoulders are out.” The next thing I know, I feel my baby slide out and have instantaneous relief. “It’s a girl!” the doctor shouts out. I don’t say anything as I feel the tears slide seamlessly down my cheeks. I knew who she was before anyone else, but I see Rogue stumble back in utter shock. He really should learn to trust in me and my instincts. I told him this baby I carried was a girl. The doctor does what he needs to do with me while my eyes never stray from my baby girl and what the nurses are doing with her.

“A girl,” I hear Rogue mumble, “what the hell am I supposed to do with a daughter?” I know he’s speaking to himself and not me, so I keep my mouth shut and open my arms as my baby is gently placed in them.

“Congratulations, Momma,” the nurse says, as she stands off to the side. Our daughter lets out a little muffled cry that is so cute, but catches Rogue’s attention.

“What’s wrong? Is she okay?” he asks me, a look of panic crosses his face as he’s clearly alarmed by something so tiny. This man has no problem dealing with and taking on dangerous and life-threatening situations daily, yet the mere cry of his daughter seems to frighten him.

“She’s fine,” I tell him with a soothing tone in my voice, “she’s just clearing and stretching her lungs. Sounds strong and healthy to me.”

“She’s so small,” he states, running his finger over her pinkened cheeks. “I vow to protect you, always,” he whispers to our daughter, turning my heart to putty at his words. “You both are my entire world, Rora. I love you, baby,” he says, as he leans over me, laying a sweet kiss to my lips.

“Love you too, handsome,” I reply as I feel a smile emerge as his lips make contact with mine. Then our daughter makes another small whimpering sound that turns into downright wailing and anger. “Thinking she’s hungry,” I state, looking to the nurse to see if she thinks I’m correct in my assumption. The nurse helps me get situated and shows me how to breastfeed. She latches on and takes to it as if she’s been doing it for years instead of seconds. She feeds for roughly ten-minutes before she unlatches and I then lift her up to my shoulder and burp her. We then switch sides and the process begins again.





I know that my brothers are in the waiting room of the maternity ward awaiting information from me on the condition of Rora and our daughter, a damn daughter. What the fuck am I to do with a girl? I know nothing about raising a little girl. Hell, I know nothing about raising any child, but a girl? As in female? The palms of my hands make contact with my face and I can feel the tiny beads of sweat that have now formed. I pull out my extra bandana and wipe my face before placing it back in the pocket of my jeans. I was certain she’d somehow be wrong, but went along with what she kept calling ‘her mother’s intuition’. There was a fifty-fifty chance she’d be wrong, yet here I stand. The proud father of a baby daughter. This is gonna be all on Rora. I’ll be there and do my fatherly duties, but I ain’t playing no dress up or participating in no damn tea party. I can teach her all about fishing, riding a bike and shooting a gun. However, that girly shit just isn’t me, I know more about motorcycles and football than I do dolls and makeup.

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