Chapter 21
Emily
I stand on the clubhouse steps with my arms wrapped around myself, the early morning air is cool enough to raise goosebumps along my skin.
Engines rumble in the yard, low and dangerous, vibrating through the soles of my shoes and straight into my chest. Sons of Rage are gearing up, their faces set hard with purpose.
Onyx stands in front of me, already helmeted, his cut snug across his shoulders. He looks like nothing in this world could touch him.
And that terrifies me.
“You don’t have to stand out here,” he says, his voice low, his gloved hands resting on my hips like he’s memorizing me. “Queenie’ll have your ass inside any second.”
“I wanted to say goodbye,” I reply, forcing a small smile.
His jaw tightens. “Em,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine. “We’ll be careful.”
I huff out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You’re going hunting for a man who’s already killed at least two people.”
Even though Onyx and his brothers try and keep club business away from us, there’s no way we could not know what’s happening.
Yesterday, they found two bodies and the cops were called in.
One was confirmed as Brennan’s missing ex.
Found dumped like trash, her name already splashed across the local news.
The other body is still waiting on identification, but the signs point the same way.
It’s probably the girlfriend from college.
Onyx’s hands tighten just a fraction. “That’s exactly why we’re going. I can’t stop thinking that you might have been number three if I hadn’t gotten to your cabin in time.”
I search his eyes, they’re dark and steady. I hate this part of him—the part that will walk straight into hell if it means making sure someone else doesn’t have to. I love it too, and that contradiction sits heavy in my chest.
“I don’t want you getting hurt,” I whisper.
He tips his helmet up just enough to press a kiss to my forehead. “I won’t.”
He doesn’t say I can’t. He’s not stupid enough to promise that. He just says it like a decision he’s already made. I’ve archived enough of the club’s history to know that Sons of Rage are a force to be reckoned with—but it still doesn’t calm the anxiety churning in my stomach.
Behind him, engines rev louder. Jasper calls something out. Slate laughs, sharp and brief. The men look ready. Dangerous. Controlled.
I swallow. “The club’s on lockdown.”
“Yeah,” he says. “If Brennan circles back, it’ll be here. Or he’ll try to draw us out using you.”
A chill skates down my spine. I nod anyway.
“I’ll stay put,” I say. “I promise.”
Onyx studies my face like he’s committing it to memory, then nods once. “You do that, darlin’. Hopefully, we’ll get the fucker soon and we can all start livin’ again.”
“Be safe,” I say.
He straightens, helmet lowering back into place. “I’ll be back.”
I watch him mount his bike, the engine roaring to life beneath him, and for one awful second, I want to scream at him not to go. To stay. To choose me over vengeance, over justice, over whatever this hunt really is, but I know he can’t. That’s not who he is.
Instead, I step back and let him ride away with his brothers.
Only when the last bike disappears down the road do I let myself breathe again.
***
The clubhouse feels strange without them. Even though it’s been the same routine for the past month, today it seems different. Maybe it’s the discovery of the bodies yesterday that’s finally made it real.
It’s no longer a game.
The women move around the kitchen, their voices low but steady, like routine itself is an anchor. I retreat to mine and Onyx’s room, closing the door softly behind me.
Our room.
The thought still feels unreal sometimes.
I move through my morning routine on autopilot. Shower. Teeth. I’m halfway through buttoning my jeans when a wave of nausea hits me so suddenly, I have to sit down.
I breathe through it, one hand pressed to my stomach.
“Get it together,” I mutter.
Nerves. That’s all. My adrenaline’s been running nonstop for weeks. Anyone would feel sick.
Still… something about it lingers.
I stand, grab my sweater, and pause.
My period’s late.
The thought slips in sideways, uninvited.
I frown at the wall, mentally flipping through dates like I’m sorting files in my head. Late, sure. Stress does that. Trauma, upheaval, fear—it messes with everything. It’s been my life since Brennan forced his way into my cabin almost three months ago.
Except…
It’s not just late.
It’s late late.
As in, skipped-a-whole-month late.
My stomach flips again, but this time it’s not nausea. It’s something sharper. I press my lips together, shaking my head. No. I’m overthinking. With everything that’s happened it’s normal for my body to be out of sync.
Isn’t it?
An image flashes through my mind anyway.
Tessa and Christina laughing at the family meals with their kids, Christina with one hand resting unconsciously on her pregnant belly.
Slate hovering close to her like a guard dog.
Jasper carrying his son around like he’s the most precious thing in the world.
Would Onyx be like that? The answer comes instantly, without hesitation.
Yes.
He’d be terrifyingly good at it. The thought makes my chest ache in a way I’m not ready to examine. I shove it down, hard, and finish getting dressed.
One thing at a time.
Breakfast is loud but warm. We’re all trying to make things as normal as possible, though underneath I can see that the other old ladies are nervous. Even Silver and Heaven seem more subdued today.
Queenie’s already holding court at the table, coffee in hand, directing the flow of conversation like a general.
The old ladies drift in and out, plates clinking, chairs scraping.
Tessa’s arguing about supply runs, and one of the club girls whose name I don’t know, is complaining about a prospect who can’t tell the time.
I slide into a seat beside Christina, accepting a mug of coffee I probably shouldn’t drink given my upset stomach, but do anyway.
“You look pale,” she says, her brow creasing.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
She nods absently like she doesn’t quite believe me but lets it go.
Conversation turns to the lockdown, to security rotations, to who’s pulling kitchen duty tonight.
Mundane. Necessary. Comforting in its normalcy.
I take a bite of my dry toast, forcing it down, and trying to ignore the nausea.
My eyes go over to the corner of the large room.
Christina and Slate’s daughter, Katie, finished her breakfast and is playing with her pet dog, Bertie. It could be a normal day.
Except we all know what’s happening somewhere miles away, where our men are hunting down a fugitive.
I clear my throat. “Can I ask something?”
Queenie looks at me over the rim of her mug. “You already are, honey.”
I smile faintly. “How do you all feel about kids growing up here?”
The table goes quiet for a second.
Christina tilts her head. “Why?”
“I’m just curious,” I say quickly, in case they think I’m judging them. “I mean, this place—it’s not exactly conventional.”
Queenie snorts. “Neither are most families.”
Tessa smiles. “My kids will know exactly who they belong to. They’ll grow up surrounded by people who’d die for them.”
Christina nods. “They learn early how to stand their ground. How to read people. How to protect themselves.”
“And,” Queenie adds sharply, “they know they’re loved. No confusion there.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest, tangled with fear and possibility.
I nod, swallowing. “That… makes sense.”
No one pushes further.
***
After breakfast, I lose myself in the archives again, cataloguing documents, cross-referencing names, building timelines. There’s comfort in order. In knowing where everything fits.
I’m halfway through a box when Christina appears in the doorway.
“Hey,” she says lightly. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.” I swivel my chair to face her.
She steps inside, closing the door behind her. Her gaze is kind but assessing, the way it always is.
“You were a little… distant at breakfast,” she says. “Everything okay?”
I hesitate. Then I shrug. “Just a lot on my mind.”
She nods like she expected that. “I know I’m still fairly new here,” she says, smiling self-deprecatingly. “But if you’re having trouble fitting in, or if something’s bothering you… I can help. Show you the ropes.”
The offer loosens something in my chest.
“It’s not that,” I say softly. Then I take a breath and decide, abruptly, to trust her. “I think I might be pregnant.”
Christina’s eyes widen. Then her face lights up so fast it’s almost comical.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Emily.”
“Shh,” I hiss, panicking. “Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t even know for sure, yet.”
She presses a hand to her mouth, visibly vibrating with excitement. “Sorry. Sorry. Of course. Secret.”
My heart is pounding. “I haven’t said anything to Onyx. I don’t want to, until I’m certain. There’s so much going on right now.”
Christina nods seriously. “That’s fair.” She pauses, then grins. “I’ve got test kits. In my room.”
My breath catches. “You do?”
“Several,” she says and gestures to her softly rounded belly. “I didn’t believe the first test so Slate went out and ended up buying way more than I needed.”
Relief and terror crash together inside me.
“Could I…?” I trail off.
She’s already turning towards the door. “Come on. Let’s go get them.”
I stand, my legs a little unsteady, and follow her out.
The hallway feels longer than usual.
Whatever’s waiting on the other side of that door will change everything.
I just don’t know how yet.