13. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Ginger
I pulled the covers over my head, but the insistent knocking continued.
"Ginger? You awake in there?" KiKi's voice filtered through the door.
"I am now," I grumbled, rolling over to squint at the bedside clock. Eight thirty. Not exactly the crack of dawn, but still earlier than I'd planned on starting my day.
The door opened and KiKi poked her head in. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead. I'm starving, and Reno said y’all needed to buy groceries. I don’t think I’m up for seeing everyone in the main kitchen downstairs. Want to get something out somewhere?"
I sat up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. "Give me twenty minutes to look human?"
"Deal. Meet you in the main room." She grinned and disappeared.
Nineteen minutes later, I'd managed a shower, some mascara, and an outfit that didn't scream "I just rolled out of bed." KiKi was waiting by the front door, scrolling through her phone.
"There's a café about two blocks from here," she said.
"Sounds perfect."
We were halfway out the door when a familiar voice called out behind us.
"Ladies. Where are we headed?"
I turned to see Bronx, looking annoyingly alert for this hour, his gaze scanning the area like he expected trouble to materialize from the shadows.
KiKi shot him an exasperated look. "We're going to breakfast. Alone. Girl time."
Bronx crossed his arms. "After those men demanded we hand over Ginger? Not a chance. She doesn’t leave here without protection, and no offense, you’re not badass enough."
"It's broad daylight," I argued. "And we're going to a public café. Don’t you think it would be okay?"
"Perfect. I love cafés." His expression made it clear this wasn't up for debate.
"Fine," KiKi huffed. "But you're sitting at a different table. I don't need you glowering at me over my breakfast."
Bronx's mouth twitched. "Wouldn't dream of it."
When we stepped outside, KiKi walked over to a small sedan, popping the locks with her key fob. I started to follow, but Bronx grabbed my arm.
“Not you. Only way you’re getting there is on my bike.”
I followed him to a big Harley Davidson. He got on first and started the engine, then held out his hand to me. I grabbed it and swung my leg over the seat, settling behind him. Once I had my arms around his waist, he eased out onto the street, following KiKi.
Just as she’d said, it was two blocks away. We parked beside her, and she waited on the sidewalk for us. KiKi looped her arm through mine and led me into the cafe with Bronx following behind us.
The café was busy but not packed, with mismatched chairs and local art on the walls. True to his word, Bronx took a table near the window, positioning himself where he could see both us and the door. He ordered coffee and pretended to be engrossed in something on his phone.
"Is he always this intense?" KiKi whispers, hiding behind her menu. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”
I stole a glance at our self-appointed bodyguard. "Pretty much."
"It's kind of hot," she admitted, "in an overbearing, paranoid sort of way."
I snorted into my water glass. "Don't let him hear you say that. His ego barely fits through doorways as it is."
I followed her gaze to where Bronx sat, his shoulders tense despite his casual pose. There was something about the way he scanned the room every few minutes, the way his fingers drummed against the table when someone new walked in. I'd spent enough time around him to recognize the signs – he wasn't just being overprotective. He was genuinely worried.
"So," KiKi said, mercifully changing the subject as she set down her menu. "Have you talked to Vegas about what happened at the club?"
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Not really. Houston tossed me a lifeline that night, then Bronx and Reno said they were claiming me."
"Mmm-hmm." KiKi's knowing look made me want to slide under the table. "And I’m sure those two were just doing you a favor."
"I didn’t say that," I protested.
The waitress arrived to take our orders, saving me from KiKi's interrogation. I ordered pancakes with a side of bacon, while KiKi opted for an egg-white omelet. At least she was trying to eat healthy for the baby.
"You know," she said once the waitress had left, "I’ve never seen those two act like that before. I can tell they genuinely care about you."
I sighed, tracing patterns in the condensation on my water glass. "It's complicated."
"I’m sure it is." KiKi leaned forward, lowering her voice. "But Ginger, I've known about Reno and Bronx for a while now. I never thought there would be room for a woman in their life."
"I didn’t either. When they decided they wanted me, I was so shocked," I said.
She glanced over at Bronx again, who was now openly watching the door, all pretense of casualness gone. "I’m glad the three of you have each other. It will keep the heat off the two of them with the club, and you’ll have someone to watch over you."
I smiled a little, but it faded fast. “What if you had someone like that too?”
KiKi rolled her eyes. "Sure. They’ll all jump at the chance once they find out I’m pregnant. I’m sure everyone will avoid me like I have the damn plague.”
"You won’t know unless you try."
"Your food, ladies," the waitress announced, setting down our plates.
I dove into my pancakes, grateful for another interruption. Clearly, neither of us wanted to talk about our issues, and I wasn’t sure what else we could discuss. It wasn’t like we were best friends.
"You know what your problem is?" she asked, cutting her omelet into precise triangles.
"I have a feeling you're about to tell me."
"You're afraid to be happy." She pointed her fork at me. "I noticed it the first day you arrived. Emotionally, you keep your distance. So I really hope you give yourself a chance to fall in love with Bronx and Reno. I want the three of you to have a happily-ever-after."
I stared at her. "That's rich coming from you. You won't even tell anyone who your baby's father is."
"That's different," she said, her voice dropping. "I have my reasons, and I’ve already told you about them.”
"You're right. I'm sorry."
KiKi's eyes softened. "It's okay. We're both dealing with our own messes."
We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Through the window, I noticed a black SUV pull up across the street. Something about it made the hair on my arms stand up.
"So," KiKi continued, oblivious to my sudden tension, "do you think Vegas will let you have a happy ending with your men? Or will he cause problems?"
I forced my attention back to her. "I don't know. It seems like Houston is on our side."
"Well, I hope you’re right." She looked over my shoulder. "Shit."
I turned to see what had caught her attention. Vegas himself was walking through the café door, flanked by Miami. Their appearance couldn't be a coincidence.
Bronx was on his feet in an instant, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sound drew Vegas’ gaze, and his eyes narrowed when he spotted us.
"Ginger," Vegas nodded coolly as he approached our table. "KiKi."
"Morning," I managed, my mouth suddenly dry.
Bronx positioned himself between Vegas and our table. "Problem?"
Vegas’ lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just grabbing breakfast. Small world."
"Small indeed," Bronx replied, his voice deceptively calm.
KiKi cleared her throat. "Why don't you join us? Since you're here anyway."
Vegas didn't wait for another invitation, sliding into the empty chair beside me while Miami pulled up another from a nearby table. Bronx remained standing for a moment, jaw clenched, before returning to his own seat where he could still keep an eye on us.
"How'd you know we were here?" I asked.
Vegas flagged down the waitress and ordered coffee before answering. "Houston mentioned KiKi stayed at your place last night. When I couldn't find either of you at the clubhouse, I had a feeling you might be here."
"You were looking for me?" KiKi asked, surprise evident in her voice.
"Both of you, actually." His gaze settled on me. "We need to talk about what happened. Something tells me Ginger knows more than she’s admitted."
I felt my heart rate accelerate. "I don't know what you’re talking about."
"Really?” The waitress brought his coffee and he took a swallow. “Because you seemed to know KiKi here was pregnant. Makes me wonder what else you know about the situation.”
I remained quiet, knowing I shouldn’t said anything.
Vegas leaned forward. "I don't like mysteries in my club. Now, one of you needs to tell me… who the fuck is the father of that baby?”
I swallowed hard and dropped my gaze to the table. I couldn’t betray KiKi by saying anything. I wouldn’t.
“I told you I’d leave,” KiKi said. “I just need a month. Give me enough time to get a job and a place to live. I’ll be gone without any fuss. I swear it.”
Vegas’ eyes narrowed as he studied KiKi. "That's not an answer. And I'm not sure I want you to leave."
The tension at our table was thick enough to cut with a knife. I glanced at Bronx, who was watching the exchange with calculated intensity, one hand resting on his thigh where I knew he kept his knife.
"Why would you want me to stay?" KiKi asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Because," Vegas said, twisting his mug slowly, "you've been a valuable part of this club for years. And because I want to know who in my ranks is irresponsible enough to get you pregnant and then leave you to deal with it alone."
Miami, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. "We take care of our own. Always have."
KiKi's hand trembled slightly as she set down her fork. "I appreciate that, but—"
"But nothing," Vegas interrupted. "This isn't just about you anymore. There's going to be a child with MC blood. That makes it club business."
I felt KiKi's foot press against mine under the table, a silent plea for help. I cleared my throat. "Maybe this isn't the best place to discuss family matters."
Vegas’ attention swiveled to me. "You're right. Which brings me to the other reason I'm here." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "Those men who came looking for you? They're back."
My stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"
"They approached one of our prospects last night, offering money for information about you. A lot of money." He took another swallow of his coffee. “They mostly wanted to know when you’d be alone, and when you’d leave the clubhouse.”
Bronx pushed away from his table and came to stand behind me, his hand resting possessively on my shoulder. "What did the prospect do?"
"Told them to fuck off, naturally," Vegas said. "But they'll try again. They're not giving up."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "What do they want from me? I mean, I know what they say they want, but there has to be more to it, right?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Vegas replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "Because men don't offer that kind of cash unless they're desperate."
The café suddenly felt too small, too exposed. Through the window, I could still see that black SUV parked across the street. Had it been there when we arrived? I couldn't remember.
"I don't know what they want," I whispered.
Vegas leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Then we have a problem. Because I don't allow problems I don't understand in my club."
"She's with us," Bronx stated firmly, his fingers tightening on my shoulder. "That makes her club business too."
Vegas’ eyebrow raised slightly. “Seems like you think you make the rules.”
“You accepted me as their old lady,” I said. “Are you taking it back now?”
Vegas sighed. “No. I just need to settle at least one issue. KiKi’s pregnancy seemed to be the easiest one to tackle. But if she’s not going to talk, then that puts you on my radar.”
The air between us crackled with tension. KiKi's eyes were wide, pleading silently with me not to say anything.
"I think," I said carefully, "that KiKi deserves the chance to handle this her way."
Vegas’ jaw tightened. "And I think I'm the President and I call the shots."
"Let's all calm down," Miami interjected, his voice reasonable despite the hardness in his eyes. "We're in public."
I glanced around, noticing several other patrons were watching our table with undisguised interest. Great. Just what we needed—an audience.
"Fine," Vegas said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "We'll discuss this back at the clubhouse. Both of you."
KiKi looked like she might be sick. "I have a doctor's appointment at eleven."
"Then we'd better make this quick," Vegas replied, standing abruptly. He tossed some bills on the table. "Breakfast is on me. Let's go."
Bronx's hand remained firmly on my shoulder. "We'll follow you."
The look Vegas gave him could have frozen hell. "Make sure you do."
As they walked out, KiKi grabbed my wrist. "I can't do this," she whispered frantically. "I can't tell him."
"You might not have a choice anymore," I said gently. "Maybe it's time."
She shook her head, panic etched across her face. "You don't understand. It's not just about me."
While she hadn’t outright told me who the father of her baby was, I’d had this gut feeling it was either Houston or Vegas. She said she’d been knocked up by Vegas once before, and she’d gotten rid of the baby before anyone found out. What if it had happened again?
Bronx leaned down between us. "Whatever you two are whispering about, save it. We need to move. I don't like that SUV across the street."
I jerked my head toward the window. The black vehicle was still there, engine running. "You noticed it too?"
"Hard not to," Bronx muttered. "Let's go. Stay between KiKi and me."
We left the café, and I could feel eyes watching us from the SUV. Bronx kept his body angled slightly toward it as we crossed to the parking lot. Vegas and Miami were already on their bikes, engines rumbling.
"I'll meet you there," KiKi said, her voice strained as she headed for her car.
"No," Bronx called after her. "Stay with us. I don't like this."
As if on cue, the SUV's doors opened, and three men stepped out. I recognized two of them immediately—they were two of the men who’d tormented me before I came to the club.
"Get on the bike," Bronx ordered, pushing me toward his Harley. "Now."
Vegas and Miami cut their engines, both dismounting in one fluid motion. They moved to flank us, creating a wall of leather and muscle between us and the approaching men.
"You boys lost?" Vegas called out, his voice deceptively casual.
"This doesn't concern you," the tallest of the three men replied. He wore an expensive suit that seemed out of place for a breakfast run. His eyes locked on me. "Ginger. It's time to go home."
My blood turned to ice. I gripped Bronx's arm, my nails digging in.
"She is home," Bronx growled, his body coiled like a spring ready to release.
The man in the suit smiled thinly. "Mr. Rayburn has been very patient. His patience is running out."
Vegas stepped forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes deadly. "I don't know who the fuck Mr. Rayburn is, but this woman is under my club's protection."
KiKi had frozen halfway to her car, caught in the open with nowhere to hide. Miami noticed and subtly shifted position to keep her in his sightline.
"We don't want any trouble," the suit continued, his gaze never leaving me. "Just the girl. Mr. Rayburn is prepared to compensate you generously."
"Not interested," Vegas replied flatly.
The second man—shorter, with a boxer's build and a scar across his jaw—moved his hand inside his jacket. In an instant, every biker had a weapon drawn. Bronx pushed me behind him so fast I stumbled.
"That would be a mistake," Miami said quietly, his gun pointed steadily at the man's chest.
The parking lot had gone eerily silent. Even the birds seemed to be holding their breath.
"Here's what's going to happen," Vegas said, his voice carrying in the quiet. "You're going to get back in that fancy SUV and tell your boss that Ginger belongs to us now. She's not for sale, not for trade, not for anything."
The suit's expression hardened. "You don't understand who you're dealing with."
"Neither do you," Vegas replied.
For several heart-stopping seconds, no one moved. Then the suit nodded almost imperceptibly, and the men backed toward their vehicle.
"This isn't over," he called as they climbed inside. "Mr. Rayburn always gets what he wants."
The SUV pulled away slowly.
My legs gave out, and Bronx caught me before I hit the ground. "I've got you," he murmured against my hair.
Vegas turned to face us, his expression thunderous. "Clubhouse. Now. And when we get there, you're going to tell me exactly who the fuck Mr. Rayburn is and why he's so interested in you."
KiKi hurried over, her face pale. "You can ride with me."
"No," Vegas cut in. "You'll ride with Miami. Ginger is with Bronx. I don't want you two cooking up stories before we get back."
It looked like I’d have to told them even more of my ugly past than I already had. I only hoped Bronx and Reno would still want to stand beside me afterwards. They were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was terrified I’d lose them.