Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
DAGGER
The smell of blueberry pancakes and crispy bacon lingers in the air, warm and familiar, as I lean back in Chloe’s kitchen chair, sipping the last of my coffee. The sunlight streams through the windows, catching on the small specks of flour still dusted on the counter. Chloe’s perched across from me, her chin resting in her palm, watching me with those big, curious eyes that always seem to see more than I’m saying.
Beast, our growing ball of fur and chaos, is sprawled out in the middle of the kitchen floor, his belly rising and falling in contentment. He’d already swiped a slice of bacon off the edge of the counter when I wasn’t looking, and now he’s sprawled out, fat and happy, not a care in the world. Lucky bastard.
“You really outdid yourself this morning,” Chloe says, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, teasing, the edges of her lips curving into a smile. “I could get used to this.”
“You mean the pancakes or the bacon?” I ask, cocking a brow. “Because I’ll have you know, those pancakes were a labor of love. Took me a whole ten minutes to perfect the recipe.”
She laughs, that light, carefree sound I don’t hear enough of. “I mean you being here. Cooking. Doing this.”
I glance across the table at Chloe, who’s sitting there with one hand curled around her coffee mug and the other resting on her belly. It’s getting bigger every day, a curve that speaks to the little life growing inside her—our son.
My son.
The thought hits me like it always does: equal parts pride and disbelief. I never imagined this would be my life—sitting here, making breakfast for the woman I love while she carries my child. But now that I’m in it, I can’t imagine wanting anything else.
Chloe catches me staring and arches an eyebrow, her lips quirking into that soft, knowing smile of hers. “What?” she asks, her voice light and teasing. “You’ve been staring at me for like a solid five minutes. Do I have syrup on my face or something?”
I shake my head, a slow grin spreading across my face. “No syrup. Just… you. You’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks flush a delicate pink, and she rolls her eyes, but I can tell the compliment lands by the way her fingers drift over her belly. “You’re getting sappy on me, Dagger.”
“Not sappy,” I argue, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. “Just honest. You look incredible, Chloe. You’re carrying my son. Hell, you’re glowing.”
Her hand lingers on her stomach, her smile softening as she looks down at it. “He’s been kicking like crazy,” she says. “I think he likes the pancakes as much as you do.”
I chuckle, reaching over the table to place my hand over hers, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her belly beneath my palm. It’s warm, alive, and it makes something deep in my chest tighten. “He’s a smart kid,” I say, my voice low. “Knows good food when he tastes it.”
Chloe laughs at that, the sound light and full of something I can only call joy. Beast groans from the floor, sprawled out on his side with his belly full, and I can’t help but think how perfect this moment feels.
“I can’t believe this is real sometimes,” I admit, my eyes locking onto hers. “You. Him. This.”
Chloe’s smile grows, and she leans forward, her free hand brushing against mine. “It’s real, Dagger. And it’s ours.”
Her words hit me hard, settling deep in my chest, and I lean across the table to press a kiss to her lips, slow and lingering. “Damn right it is.”
This whole scene feels surreal—like something I didn’t even know how to want until I had it.
“You’ve been quiet,” she says, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I shake my head, smirking. “Just thinking how I ended up here, eating pancakes with you and this spoiled mutt while my kid grows inside you.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh, but she doesn’t call me out on the sentiment. Instead, she tilts her head, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “You know,” she starts, her tone casual, too casual, “you’ve been here every night for weeks now.”
“Yeah?” I say, cautiously, not sure where she’s going with this.
“Yeah,” she echoes, taking a sip of her coffee. “And every morning, I wake up to you making breakfast, or hogging the bathroom, or stealing all the hot water.”
“Sounds like you’re living the dream,” I tease, trying to keep the mood light, but there’s a note in her voice that’s got me on edge.
“I am,” she says, and the seriousness in her tone makes me pause. She sets her mug down, resting her hands on her belly as she looks at me. “So, when are you going to move in?”
The words hit me like a gut punch. I stare at her, my brain scrambling to catch up. “Move in?” I repeat, my voice coming out rough.
“Yes, Dagger. Move in,” she says, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table. “You’re here every night. Half your stuff is already in the closet. Beast thinks you belong here, and honestly? So do I.”
I rub the back of my neck, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t want to push you into anything,” I admit. “You’ve got enough going on with the baby and—”
She cuts me off with a look, her eyes soft but unwavering. “Dagger, if I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have let you stay the night once, let alone every night. I want you here. For me. For him.”
Her hand drifts to her belly, and something in me cracks wide open. All my reasons for holding back suddenly feel stupid, like I’ve been waiting for permission to want something that’s already mine.
I lean back in my chair, letting out a slow breath as I nod. “Alright,” I say, my voice steady. “I’ll have all my stuff moved in by the end of the week.”
Chloe’s face lights up with a smile that’s brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Good,” she says simply, like she never doubted the answer for a second.
I stand and round the table, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips, then one to the top of her head. “You win, woman.”
“I always do,” she says, smirking up at me.
Beast groans dramatically from the floor, rolling onto his back like he’s staking his claim on the whole damn house. “Looks like he’s on board too,” I mutter, scratching behind his ears.
Chloe laughs, her hand finding mine again. “Welcome home, Dagger.”
I squeeze her hand, my gaze dropping to her belly, where my son is kicking away. Home. Yeah, it’s about time.
Beast groans from the floor, rolling onto his side. I chuckle, reaching down to give his belly a quick scratch. “Looks like the king approves.”
The moment’s interrupted by the buzz of my phone on the counter. I reach for it, frowning when I see Son’s name flashing across the screen.
“Give me a sec,” I mutter to Chloe, answering the call. “Yeah?”
“Church,” Mason says, his tone sharp and urgent. “Get your ass to Perdition. Now.”
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, glancing at the clock. “What’s going on?”
“Just get here,” he says, then hangs up without another word.
I set the phone down, sighing as I push my chair back. Chloe’s watching me, her brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”
“Urgent church meeting,” I tell her, rising to my feet. “I’ve got to go.”
She stands too, following me to the door. “Leave the dishes,” I say, pulling her into a quick kiss. “I’ll take care of them when I get back. Go rest.”
Her smile is small but understanding. “Be careful.”
“Always,” I promise, grabbing my keys and heading out.
When I pull into the lot at Perdition, my gut tightens. The place is packed—bikes lined up like soldiers, chrome glinting in the sunlight. It’s not just the usual crew; this is everyone. Shit. Whatever’s going down, it’s big.
I kill the engine and swing off my bike, scanning the lot for familiar faces. The air feels charged, like a storm’s about to break, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking into something I’m not ready for.
Inside, the clubhouse is alive with noise—boots stomping, voices raised in conversation. The smell of leather, beer, and old wood is as familiar as my own skin. The second I step in, heads turn, and the noise quiets just a fraction.
“Look who decided to show up,” Mason calls from across the room, his tone laced with that trademark sarcasm. He’s leaning against the bar, a beer in hand, his eyes sharp as ever. “Thought maybe you’d gone soft on us, Dagger.”
I shoot him a look, but there’s no heat behind it. “Nice to see you too, asshole.”
He grins, pushing off the bar and crossing the room to clap me on the shoulder. “Four months,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to carry weight. “You disappeared on us for four goddamn months.”
“I know,” I say, meeting his gaze. “And I’ve been busting my ass to earn back the trust I lost.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods, like he’s satisfied with what he sees. “Good. Because the club’s got no room for half-measures. You’re either in, or you’re out.”
“I’m in,” I say firmly, and I mean it.
A slow smile spreads across his face, and he reaches into his back pocket, pulling something out. My breath catches when I see it—the VP patch I’d worn for years, before everything went to hell.
“Welcome back, brother,” Mason says, holding it out to me.
For a second, I can’t move. The room’s gone quiet, every eye on us, and the weight of what’s happening sinks in. Mason’s giving me back my patch—my place in the club—and it’s more than I expected, more than I feel like I deserve.
“Take it, Dagger,” he says, his voice low. “You earned it.”
I reach out, my fingers closing around the worn leather. The moment I do, the room erupts—cheers, whistles, hoots of approval filling the air. My brothers crowd around me, slapping my back, pulling me into rough hugs, their voices blending into a cacophony of acceptance.
It’s overwhelming, and for a moment, I can’t speak. All I can do is hold that patch in my hand, the weight of it grounding me, reminding me who I am and where I belong.
Mason claps me on the back one last time, his grin as sharp as ever. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, and for the first time in a long time, I mean it.
The clubhouse is loud, the kind of chaos only a packed room of rowdy bikers can create. The cheers and laughter echo off the old wood-paneled walls as my brothers crowd around me. Hands clap my back, fists bump into my arm, and voices rise over each other, congratulating me like I’ve just won a damn prize. In a way, I guess I have.
The VP patch feels heavier than I remember as I hold it in my hands. It’s worn, familiar, but it might as well be brand new to me. After everything that’s happened, I didn’t expect to get this back—not really. Now, Mason’s standing next to me, holding a bottle of whiskey like it’s some kind of ceremonial torch.
“This calls for a toast,” Mason announces, raising the bottle high. The room quiets just enough for his voice to carry. “To Dagger—welcome back, brother. You’ve earned it.”
“To Dagger!” the brothers echo, their voices loud and full of conviction.
Mason starts pouring shots, the golden liquid splashing into glasses that seem to appear out of nowhere. The moment my own glass is in my hand, he raises his.
“Here’s to second chances,” Mason says, his voice steady.
“And not screwing them up,” I add, earning a round of laughter.
We all throw the shots back in unison. The whiskey burns like hell, but it’s a good burn, the kind that settles in your chest and makes you feel alive. The moment I lower my glass, more hands clap my shoulder, more voices chime in. It’s a whirlwind of noise and heat and brotherhood, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Amid the noise, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I slip it out and glance at the screen. Chloe’s name pops up, and I can’t stop the small smile that pulls at my lips.
Chloe: Everything okay?
I type back quickly, leaning against the bar as I scan the room one more time.
Me: Yeah, everything’s good. Better than good. I’ll be home soon.
The second the message sends, Mason’s voice cuts through the din beside me. “Who’s got you smiling like that?”
“Who do you think?” I reply, tucking my phone back into my pocket.
“Damn,” Mason says, shaking his head with a grin. “She’s got you tied up already.”
“Maybe,” I admit, shrugging. “Not a bad place to be.”
He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he pours another round of shots for the table. “Don’t get soft on us now, VP. You’ve got a job to do.”
“I know,” I say, straightening up. “And I’ll do it.”
The weight of the patch in my pocket grounds me, reminds me of who I am and what I’ve worked to rebuild. But even with the club back at my side, my thoughts drift to Chloe—sitting at home, her belly growing with my son, waiting for me.
I grab the next shot Mason passes my way, lift it high, and throw it back. Because no matter how much I’ve gained tonight, I know exactly where I belong. And the second this meeting is over, that’s where I’ll be.