Chapter Twelve
KAIA
Two Weeks Later
The After…
The warmth of sunshine kisses my skin as I stretch languidly beneath Hurricane’s protective embrace. His fingers trace lazy patterns across my bare shoulder, as the familiar smells of bacon and bourbon, mixing with Hurricane’s familiar cologne, tickle my nose.
“God, I wish I could fuck you right here,” he murmurs against my temple, his voice thick with contentment and love.
I turn in his arms, meeting those ice-blue eyes that never fail to make my heart skip.
“You would fuck me anywhere, you fiend, but we’re in the middle of the clubhouse…
” My hand finds his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
“And your daughter is right beside us, eating her breakfast.”
He grins, that cocky smile that made me fall for him despite every instinct telling me he’s trouble.
“True, but she’s young. She doesn’t know what Mommy and Daddy are doing yet. Seeing us fucking won’t scar her until she is at least…” he shrugs cockily, “… five, six? So we got time. At least until these little peanuts arrive.” His hand slides out, caressing my swollen stomach, carrying our twins.
I laugh, remembering our adventure with Oahu Defiance, the pregnancy test, and the twins. “Only we could turn a romantic getaway into a rescue mission and a baby announcement.”
“Speaking of babies…” Hurricane’s hand flattens on my stomach. “Do ya think they’re gonna be as stubborn as their mama?”
“God, I hope not. One of me is enough trouble for this family.” I lean up to kiss him, soft and sweet, tasting the promise of our future on his lips.
But something feels wrong…
The kiss tastes different…
Distant…
Like I’m trying to hold onto wafting smoke.
My eyes flutter open, and instead of Hurricane’s face, I’m staring at the familiar ceiling of our bedroom in the clubhouse.
The ceiling fan turns slowly, the same uneven wobble it’s had for months.
The walls are still painted black from when I moved in here, not the tropical elegance of our Hawaiian suite.
Bike pictures line the wall, a couple of old-style rock bands, too, but he also added pictures of us, pictures of Immy.
His wet bar full of alcohol is untouched, just sitting there waiting for him to drink, because we all know my beast of a man was an excessive drinker.
And as I lie in our giant king-size bed that takes up most of the floor space, I pull up the black velvet throw under my chin, needing the comfort, instantly his scent is all around me.
Confusion floods through my mind as I try to orient myself.
The dream was so vivid, so real.
I could smell the bacon.
Feel his touch.
He was right here with me again.
Tears well in my eyes before I clench them tight, wanting more than anything to go back there.
To be with him again, when a small hand pats my cheek.
Opening my watering eyes, I turn to Immy, whose beautiful eyes are looking at me with concern.
My three-year-old daughter is curled up beside me in bed, her wild curls even messier from sleep.
“Mama sad?” Immy asks, her little voice soft with worry.
That’s when tears roll down my cheeks, and the crushing weight in my chest threatens to suffocate me. The dream shatters like glass, and reality comes crashing back with the force of a tidal wave.
Hurricane is dead.
He died in a war, being the hero he was born to be.
I’m here in our bed, nearly nine months pregnant with twins who will never meet their father.
And Immy is with me because she’s been having nightmares since that terrible day two weeks ago.
She climbs into bed with me when the thunder in her dreams sounds too much like the explosions that took her daddy away.
My stomach is clenching, remembering it all too clearly…
Standing in the clubhouse, Immy on my hip, watching the entrance with my heart in my throat. The brothers had been gone for hours on what was supposed to be a routine operation. But nothing about that night was routine.
LA Defiance had uncovered a Cartel network threatening the entire United States, and it needed to be taken down. Unfortunately, that network had seeped its talons into other states, and it meant that LA needed help. This Cartel takedown required a full Defiance initiative.
With the intense planning, the burden of what would happen if all Defiance chapters didn’t succeed in their missions, we knew the risks. I just didn’t fully comprehend the cost.
Those few hours, waiting for our men to come home, were the hardest of my life.
We knew this war was going to be big.
We knew this war was going to be brutal.
It never occurred to me that this one was going to completely fracture my life.
In the early hours of the morning, the heavy clubhouse doors swung open, brothers filing in one by one. Lani and I were impatiently waiting.
Grit came in battered and bloody, and my sister ran to her man. I smiled so wide as I continued to wait. Watching as Bayou came in, his face pale and drawn. City next, blood on his cut, his usual swagger completely absent. Hoodoo, Raid—all of them looking like they’d seen the end of the world.
But no Hurricane.
I kept waiting, my eyes fixed on that doorway, expecting him to come through any second with that crooked grin and some ridiculous story about how he’d saved the day. Expecting him to sweep Immy into his arms and kiss me breathless like he always did when he came home from the fight of his life.
But the seconds stretched into an eternity, and when City and Bayou approached me, their faces grave and broken, I knew.
I knew before they said a single word.
“K-Kaia…” City’s voice cracked.
I didn’t let him finish.
I couldn’t.
The world tilted, and I felt myself falling. Immy’s frightened cries echoed as gravity claimed me.
Strong arms caught us both…
But they weren’t Hurricane’s arms.
They would never be Hurricane’s arms again.
“He promised me! He fucking promised!” I screamed.
The rest was a blur of voices, tears, and the terrible understanding that the man I loved more than breathing was gone.
Not just gone—obliterated.
Lost in an explosion that left nothing to bury, nothing to hold onto except memories and the two babies growing inside me who would never know their father’s laugh.
“Mama?” Immy’s voice pulls me back to the present. She’s sitting up now, her small hand resting on my enormous belly. “Babies coming today?”
Today.
The funeral.
Hurricane’s funeral, even though there is no body to lay to rest. Just an empty casket and too many flowers and words that will never be enough to capture what he meant to all of us.
A gentle knock at the bedroom door saves me from having to answer. “Kaia? It’s Lani. Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice hoarse from too much crying.
The door opens, and my sister slips inside. Even in the dim morning light, I can see the exhaustion etched on her face. She’s been my rock these past months, always here to help with Immy and helping us prepare for the twins.
Us? There is no us now!
But I know this is killing her.
She loved Hurricane like the brother she never had.
“Hey,” she says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. She’s already dressed in the black dress we picked out together, her hair pulled back in a simple bun. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I want to crawl back into that perfect dream and never wake up,” I admit, struggling to sit up as my belly makes everything awkward. “I was here, at the clubhouse with him. Everything was perfect. Normal.”
Lani’s eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them away. She’s been so strong for me, for all of us. “I know, sis. I know it hurts.”
Immy crawls over to her aunt, and Lani scoops her up, pressing a kiss to her wild curls. “Good morning, princess. You ready to help take care of Mama today?”
Immy nods seriously. At three, she doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but she knows that Daddy isn’t coming home, and that makes Mama cry a lot.
“Kaia…” Lani says gently. “You have to get ready. People are gonna be here soon, and…” She takes a shaky breath. “And Hurricane would want you to be there. He’d want you to say goodbye properly.”
I want to scream that there’s nothing proper about any of this.
Nothing proper about being a widow in my thirties.
Nothing proper about raising three children alone.
Nothing proper about having a funeral without a body to mourn over.
But Lani is right.
Hurricane would want me there.
He’d want me to stand tall, surrounded by his brothers and his family, and show the world what he meant to us.
What he will always mean to us.
“Okay,” I whisper, my hand moving to my belly where the twins are active, as if they can sense my distress. “Okay,” I repeat as if the second time it will give me the strength I need.
The next hour passes in a blur of mechanical motions. Shower. Dress. Hair. Makeup to cover the worst of the exhaustion and grief. And as I stand at Hurricane’s desk in our room, I need to take a moment to rest. I get exhausted far too easily these days, so I pull out his chair and sit.
I just need a moment.
Letting out a long breath, my eyes wander over the chaos of his desk. I haven’t had the willpower or energy to look over his things in these past two weeks, but while I am sitting, taking a breath, I may as well see if there is anything on his desk that needs tending to.
As his wife, I know I am going to have to start taking care of his business sooner or later.
Rifling through his paperwork, there are bills, notes from brothers about club business, and pictures that Immy has drawn for him. They make me smile. But then something catches my eye. An envelope, with his handwriting on it, and my nickname scrawled across the front.
Sha.
My heart begins to race rapidly, and I bite my bottom lip, tears threatening to fall before I even pick up the envelope. Emotions race through me.
Do I have the strength to read this right now?
What even is in the letter?