Chapter 23
23
Verity
“Load the girls up!”
Mama and I jolt back, her eyes flying wide. “No,” she says, swinging around to watch as DKS members begin yanking guns out of their pants and jackets, handing them off to the nearest cutslut. “Not here. Not now!”
I spin as Maggie rushes past me toward the lounge, loaded up with three pistols. Behind her, the other girls scurry in the same fashion, and I don’t need to ask what’s going on. I was one of them once. A call of 237 to load the girls up?
Wick slams out of the kitchen with Kaz, his blue eyes meeting mine. “What is it?”
I run to him, wincing as my stomach clenches. “It’s a raid. They’re coming to?—”
A deafening crash echoes as the front doors splinter open, the heavy thud of boots reverberating through the building.
“Everyone, down on the ground!” a voice bellows, and suddenly there are a dozen guns pointed at the room.
What erupts next is the embodiment of 237.
Mayhem.
Nick Bruin takes out his gun first, stepping in front of Lavinia as he points it at the cops. Weasel and Kent follow, drawing their pistols, and I’m stiff with panic as Wicker pulls me behind him. I don’t even realize Remy’s up in the loft section until he suddenly drops down, landing beside me, Kaz, and Wicker, poised to strike.
Shouts fill the room from either side, DKS enraged as the officers bark orders with a precision that doesn’t even begin to cut through the chaos.
Not until Mama’s voice rings out over the loudspeaker. “Every cub in this room better lower his fucking gun right this instant!” There’s a tense beat where my heart hammers wildly, Wicker backing up into me as if he could hide me. Slowly, DKS begins obeying, guns being lowered with tense jaws and flared nostrils. Glancing over to the box seats, I catch sight of Mama leaning over the betting table, growling at the police through the microphone. “This is a vigil for one of our own. How dare you choose today to come bursting in here, guns blazing? Show some fucking respect.”
“Sorry for your loss, ma'am.” Agent Knight, not even bothering to remove his sunglasses, steps over shards of the gym’s broken door and struts past the line of heavily armored enforcers. “But that’s exactly why we’re here today. We would have preferred to have apprehended our suspect peacefully.” He throws a pointed look at Sy. “Inconveniently, that was made impossible since our entry into West End was obstructed. Something about a heavy barricade of stalled vehicles in the roadway?”
Sy offers him a cold grin. “Don’t know what you mean.”
Agent Knight doesn’t look impressed. “Well, I’m sure you can understand how a premeditated defense might make us a little twitchy. Like you’re trying to buy time,” he glances over at the guns, “or hide something.”
Wicker twists his head to glance at Remy, mouthing, “Stalled vehicles?”
Remy inches closer to Nick and Lav, whispering, “Failsafe. Our guys block the roads to buy us time to secure the gun stash.”
Kaz adds, “The cutsluts are dumping any loose pieces they managed to snag.”
Agent Knight’s gaze sweeps over the men in the room, skating over Wicker before skittering back. “An Ashby in the bear den. Interesting. Mr. Perilini,” he says, gesturing to Sy. “If you’d politely instruct your… cubs… to comply with procedure, I’m confident we can leave here promptly and without any loss of life.”
Sy’s lip curls, and for a moment, I’m terrified he’s going to resist. I wouldn’t even blame him. But in the end, Simon Perilini was made King for a reason.
He knows what’s best for his boys.
Making a big show of it, Sy goes down to his knees, and in a breathtaking unison, every man around him follows, each of them going down to their front, flat on the ground.
With an annoyed sigh, Wicker does the same. “Can’t keep a shirt clean to save my goddamn life. I don’t know why I bother anymore.”
“Versace?” Remy asks, looking him up and down.
Wick nods.
“That’s why I stick to black.”
The exchange isn’t enough to calm the agony growing in my stomach, unable to even show solidarity by getting on the ground with anyone else. Sensing this, Wicker props up onto his elbow like he’s just hanging out—the very picture of ennui—and curls a hand around my ankle.
“Just stand back and don’t say anything, Red.” His blue eyes flick up to mine, and I realize the bored air about him is entirely artificial. “One day, we’re going to ruin this motherfucker.”
“Goddamn right, we are,” Remy mutters, glaring daggers as the police begin dragging up DKS members, one by one, and summarily search them. I don’t know how many guns the cutsluts were able to grab before Knight burst in, but it couldn’t have been very many. Dave, Nick, and Hernandez are all packing, and Weasel’s frisk results in two glocks, a revolver, and a beaming grin as the frat all witness it.
Porterfield whistles. “Weasel is legion. Three points!” and the rest of the frat laughs, watching as Weasel is escorted out with a proud strut.
“What does the winner get?” Wicker asks, coming to the same conclusion I am.
They’re turning it into a competition.
Kaz is the one to answer, smirking. “The final fight in the next Fury. I’ve got three myself.”
Wicker raises an eyebrow. “Want a fourth?”
Kaz’s gaze whips to him. “For real?”
“In my waistband,” he says, watching the officers grab another guy up in the distance. “Now.”
Smoothly, Kaz reaches over and takes the gun from the small of Wicker’s back, tucking it into his own. “Thanks.”
Wicker looks up, giving me a baffled glance. “Sure. Anytime.”
The laughter and celebration that waves through the room with each arrest is neither happy nor bitter. It’s a lot like Wicker, actually—putting on a show of this not mattering in the least.
And in a way, it doesn’t. I actually start to relax as I’m ignored, and they work down the line, each confiscated gun resulting in sharp cheers and easy grins. Even Mama, down on the floor beside the table, barks a laugh at Dave, who moans as an officer grabs his junk.
When they reach our little side group—Wicker, Remy, Kaz, and I—one of the officers with a thin mustache and snapping gum asks, “Why aren’t you on the ground?”
Wicker drawls, “Look at her. She’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant. The fuck do you expect her to do?”
A cramp rips through me and I gasp, clutching my belly.
The cop sighs. “Fine. You. Up.”
The wave of pain rushes away, and I realize they’re motioning at Remy, who rises fluidly to his feet. He grabs the corner of his shirt and lifts it, revealing his body art, arms spread. “Bad day for you, buddy. I’m clean as a whistle.”
Remy might be, but most of them get taken off—even the ones who don’t have guns—for something or another. Traffic violations. Probation violations. Simple possession of paraphernalia. Kaz gets the loudest cheer at four guns, with chants of, “To the victor go the spoils!” and he obnoxiously bows as he’s led away, handcuffed and skipping. But it’s all small stuff, and from the way Remy is chuckling as he stands back—one of the only guys who couldn’t be arrested—chances are, all of them will be out by tomorrow.
But then they get to Eugene.
Agent Knight is the one to step over his prone form, bending to gather Eugene’s wrist for the handcuffs. It’s nothing like it was with the other guys. There’s no fun frisk to see who’s won the raid’s gun count.
Instead, Agent Knight clicks the cuffs, saying, “Eugene Warren, you're under arrest for suspicion in the murder of Laura Walker. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say?—”
It hits me as the room erupts in a different sound this time, full of indignation and hurled profanities, that this was the whole point. To clear the guns, the frat boys, even some cutsluts out of the room before they arrested him. The realization knocks me sideways, and I no longer hear what anyone is saying. The only thing swimming in my ears is an odd sort of ringing as I watch Ballsy turn to meet my gaze, all the blood draining from his face.
Everything falls apart.
The artifice of fun snaps away, and suddenly, a wave of fury fills the air.
I’m not even surprised when Remy rushes at Knight, slamming his tattooed fist into his face with a snarl. “That’s bullshit, and you fucking know it!”
Knight staggers from the hit, his sunglasses flying off, but quickly collects himself, offering Remy a bloody grin. “Thank you. When we came here, I didn’t have anything on you, and trust me, I looked.” He jerks his head at the officer running over. “Book Mr. Maddox for assaulting a federal officer.”
Remy puts his own hands behind his back, leaning in to sneer, “You’re a pussy. You wouldn’t make it ten seconds in a ring with one of us.”
But Knight’s already moving on.
To Wicker.
He stares down at him, dabbing his split lip. “I wonder what we’re going to find in your pants, Ashby.”
Wicker climbs slowly to his feet, a cocky smirk plastered to his face. “Just my throbbing, nine-inch cock.”
“Why are you doing this to us?” I ask, the words tearing out of my throat like a sob. “Eugene didn’t do anything. Why won’t you leave him alone? Can’t you see we’ve been through enough?”
Agent Knight gives me a long, searching look. “It’s always the boyfriend, Miss Sinclaire. Or the fiance. Or the husband.” He steps closer, peering down into my eyes. It galls me to see the sympathy on his face. “You think I’m gunning for the people you care about, Princess, but I’m trying to protect you from them.” Agent Knight glances back, watching as Ballsy’s led out of the gym. “Something you may think about before that baby gets here.”
Laura is dead.
Stella might be too, for all I know.
Eugene, the Dukes, DKS—everyone is being taken away in handcuffs.
And somewhere in that maelstrom of grief and anger and bone-deep helplessness, I feel a sudden trickle of warmth against my thighs, transforming to a gush, just as a cramp seizes me.
“Oh no!” I gasp. “No, no, no…” I grab for Wicker, but he’s already there, shoulder slamming into Agent Knight as he catches me. I know he understands what’s happening when his shoe slips, squeaking against the clear fluid pooling on the floor, because he inspects it with a frozen stare.
And then his blue eyes rise to mine. “We need to get you out of here.” He swings that panicked gaze onto Agent Knight. “Her water just broke. You can frisk me, but make it quick. We have to get to the car to—shit, my leather. No,” his head shakes, “don’t worry about that. Oh, fuck.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Knight says, pushing him back. “This is an active raid, Ashby. How do I know she’s not faking?”
“Her water broke! How’s she going to fake that?”
Another cramp hits, and I suck in a breath. Knight glances over, grimacing. “If your girlfriend needs an ambulance, we’ll call her one, but no one else is coming in or out of here until we’re finished.”
Only one problem with that. “They can’t get through,” says an officer, overhearing. “The tow companies here are giving us the runaround. We’re having to call the county wreckers to get those stalled cars removed.”
“County?!” Wicker snaps. “That’ll take an hour, at least!”
Agent Knight holds up a finger as he pulls the officer to the side, leaning in to ask him something.
I gasp, another slice of pain ripping through me. “The… the barricade. Wicker.”
He’s there instantly, grabbing my face to draw my gaze to his. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine. You don’t need to worry. I’ve got this handled.”
“How?” I whimper.
He pauses, mouth pulled back in a grimace. “Okay, so I don’t actually know. Lex told me my job during labor was to keep you calm, so that’s all I know how to do.” His face falls. “But I swear in another circumstance, I’d be absolutely killing it. I had all these massages and?—”
I double over with a moan. “Wick, we can’t leave and an ambulance can’t get to us. What do we do?”
There’s a beat where a steel resolve comes over his features. “Maybe an ambulance can’t,” he agrees, whipping out his phone. “But nothing can stop Lex from getting to you.”
I take a deep breath as I pace in circles.
It’s only been ten minutes and it’s already getting harder to hold myself up. But sitting down had been worse, so I’m just walking. Breathing. Listening.
Mostly to my mother, who’s giving Agent Knight the dressing down of his life.
“My baby is about to give birth, and your stubborn, incompetent, Barney Fife ass better cook up a quick way to get her to a goddamn hospital, or we’re going to sue your ass to kingdom come!”
The agent scratches his head, looking a bit harried. Clearly, in all his planning, he hadn’t been expecting a pregnant woman’s labor to interrupt his grudge raid.
“We have EMS medics coming,” he explains, watching the door. “They’ll have supplies, and if it gets to that point, they’ll know how to deliver?—”
“Fuck your medics!” I shriek through another gritted wave of pain. I can’t explain why, but I’d rather linger in pain than know this asshole played any part in Justice’s birth. “Nobody working under your supervision is touching me. Not one fucking finger, or I swear to god, they’ll lose it.” I take a breath, trying to calm down. “He’ll get here. I know he will.”
Even my own mother looks stunned at the outburst, although also reluctantly impressed. She ultimately rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck this guy. Someone grab Pauly!”
Pauly. I take a slow breath. Pace’s father isn’t exactly who I want but at the very least he’ll have drugs.
Wicker approaches, the phone pressed to his ear. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead that wasn’t there before, and he thinks I don’t notice him forcibly smoothing the bothered divot in his brow away. “He’s on his way,” he tells me, “breaking speed records.”
“Don’t worry,” Mama says, watching my pacing. “Sinclaire women have the easiest labors, Ver Bear. You slipped right out of me like a slug from a water can.”
A chorus of disgust sounds out, and I’m reminded once again of the ten DKS sitting against the wall, all their wrists cuffed behind them. The first paddywagon is full, and the second got blocked by the barricade, so they’re all stuck here until Knight unfucks his own mess.
Fucking perfect.
Remy grins from his spot on the floor. “That’s beautiful, Mama B. Red as fuck.”
Wick turns away to hiss into the phone. “Lex, where are you? They’re talking about slugs and gross stuff, and this isn't my area of expertise! I’m just supposed to be the soothing, calm guy. Listen to my voice, Lex. Do I fucking sound calm?”
I shake my head, as if I can shake the pain and panic away. “They won’t let him in. We’re trapped here, and they don’t care.” The hysteria of it all grips me just as another sharp contraction hits.
Lex and I had a plan. I’m delivering at Forsyth General, where he’s going to assist for credit hours—a string that had been pulled almost eight months ago, the same week my pregnancy test came back positive. Wicker made me a playlist and Pace was going to be my anchor because they were both going to be in the room with us. There was supposed to be a full medical facility and drugs. It was a good plan. A solid plan. A plan that didn’t involve ten detained cubs, an FBI agent, and a gym medic.
“I know a way in.” I spin at the sound of Pace’s voice, seeing him rush toward me. Looking around, I realize Knight and his officers are momentarily distracted outside, and I all but collapse into Pace’s arms. His hair is windswept, and he’s panting—a lot like me. “It’s completely fucked out there. Cars stalled five deep with half the fucking police force clogged up behind them. I had to scale up the back and come in through the roof.” He pulls back, searching my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I lie.
Wicker, looking relieved to see at least one of his brothers, answers, “No. I’ve been timing her contractions for Lex, and?—”
As if he’s summoned it, I grip Pace’s shirt in a tight, white-knuckled fist as another contraction grips me. The fierce, unyielding pressure radiates through my core, and I howl out a primal, “Fuck!”
It goes on for a stretch where all I see is blinding, white-hot pain behind my eyelids. But I also feel Pace in front of me and Wicker behind me, his fingers digging into my lower back.
I guess that’s the massage he was talking about.
Slowly, the blinding pain ebbs, and when I open my eyes, it hits me that everyone in the room—even Remy—even Kaz—seems to have frozen with me in the agony. I exhale a trembling breath, looking up into Pace’s eyes. It’s such a relief to know he’s here, his presence giving off that electric hum that I’ve grown accustomed to when all of us are in bed together, late at night.
I part my lips to say something gracious and profound, but what emerges is, “I’m not giving birth in front of ten frat boys.”
Pace releases the breath he’s been holding with a quiet, nervous laugh. “Well, these frat boys are about to become men, because it really seems like he’s coming, Rosi.”
Belligerently, I note, “They’re not even our frat!” and Wicker gapes at me.
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
From across the room, Remy jerks his chin. “Excuse me—nine frat boys and an uncle.” He grins at Kaz. “I’m going to be an uncle.”
Pace shoots him an unamused glare. “We need to get you somewhere. Isn’t there a lounge?”
Mama makes a wild, frustrated gesture. “It’s being searched by those dumbfucks at the moment, along with my office.”
Growling, Pace scans the room, his eyes coming to a stop on the ring in the middle of the gym. “Oh, hell no. The kitchen?”
Before I can fall to pieces at the thought of having my baby next to a fucking stove, Pauly appears. “The training room.” He points to the door. “They’re already done searching it. I’ve got sterilized mats and plenty of towels.”
Pace doesn’t waste any time. He bends, hooks a forearm behind my knees, and fluidly lifts me. “Let’s go.”
It’s not much better than the kitchen, but when Pauly and Mama rush in ahead of us, I’m resigned to my fate. Together, Pauly and Wicker slam a thick blue sparring mat on the floor, gesturing for Pace to bring me over.
As he’s lowering me to the mat, I hear, “You’re going to have to check her, Pace. See how dilated she is.” Lex’s strained voice makes me startle, and I search out the sound, realizing Wicker has him on speaker.
“Lex?” I cry, the fear finding a foothold as Pace reaches under my dress, dragging my underwear down my thighs. “Where are you?”
His voice emerges in a panicked rush, “I’m about to hit West End now. Tell me where we are.”
Terrified, I struggle to get the words out. “I don’t know how to explain it. It feels…” I gasp as Pace’s fingers enter me, his dark eyes holding mine. “... like a ton of pressure. He’s close.” In my periphery, I see Mama shooting Pauly a knowing grimace.
Pace deflates, glancing at the phone. “Look, dude, I don’t know this centimeter shit, but I’m pretty sure all systems are go here.”
I tense, a sharp intake of breath heralding the onset of another contraction. Pain surges through me like a tidal wave, starting deep in my abdomen and radiating outward in relentless pulses. I grip for the closest thing I find, fingers digging into hard flesh, eyes squeezed shut as I ride out the crest of the worst contraction yet. A bead of sweat trickles down my temple, and when it finally fades off, I emerge to find Wicker clutching my hand, his blue eyes wide and unwavering.
“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” To the phone, Wicker explains, “Another contraction. This one seemed worse.”
Lex mutters a sharp curse. “Verity? Do you feel like you have to push?”
Already exhausted, I consider the way it feels deep inside, confessing, “Kind of.”
“Goddamn it,” Lex mutters. “I just hit the blockade. Pace and Wick are going to take care of you until I get there. If you have to push, just—you remember the breathing, right?”
The panic rises again, and I look at Pace, feeling the tears welling up. “Not without Lex,” I cry, the misery threatening to overtake me. “I can’t do this without Lex.” I sob, long and pitiful, and it’s pathetic. Nothing is right. I’m going to bring this baby into the world all wrong.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Wicker whispers, his drawn face coming into view. “Here soon, you’re going to be holding Justice. That’s good, isn’t it?”
I pull in a sniffle, trying to imagine that lumpy little face I saw in the ultrasound. “Yeah,” I decide, wiping my eyes.
“You’re excited?” Wicker asks.
I nod, trying to gather myself. “Yeah, I am.”
“Me too, Red.” His grip tightens around my hand as he flashes me one of his prized grins. “You want to know the middle name we picked out for him?”
My heart skips a beat. I’d given them the task of choosing a middle name weeks ago, but since none of them brought it up again, I figured they just forgot or were unable to decide.
On a hitched breath, I ask, “What’d you pick?”
Wicker reaches up to swipe a tear away. “James,” he says, cupping my cheek. “Like Stella St. James. So she can still be here with you.”
The grief is like a punch to my heart, but more than that is the thought of it. She’d be right beside me wearing her pigtails and bright smile, rattling off some random bit of information that would completely distract me from what’s about to happen. I worry for a second that the sadness is going to overtake me, but it doesn’t.
Stella would tell me to be strong, like a Princess. Like Pace’s mom. Like Miranda. Like all those women we found in the solarium.
Strong, like a Monarch.
“I love you,” I tell Wicker, and his shoulders sag suddenly, forehead dipping to rest against mine.
“I love you too, Red.” His voice is quiet and ragged, like he’s giving away something much scarier than words. I don’t need to wonder how many times he’s said that to someone who wasn’t one of his brothers.
When he pulls back, I shift my gaze to Pace. “And I love you. All of you.” It’s easy to sink into the peace of that because maybe the situation is wrong, but that?
That suddenly makes it more right than anything’s ever felt.
Building my strength, I lever up on my elbows, breathing deep. “I need to push now.”
Wicker sputters, but keeps his grip on my hand. “Lex said to wait, can you do that?” I’m not sure I can but then he adds, “We’re right here with you, Red. Deep breaths, just like we practiced.”
“We’ve got this,” Pace says, kneeling between my parted thighs. He looks scared and nervous, his dark eyes a touch wild, but there’s also a spark of confidence there. “Justice doesn’t come without a little pain, right?”