Chapter 18 Titan
TITAN
Miller’s voice grates on my last nerve.
“South side got hit again last night. Rooney’s garage. They broke his arm in three places, trashed the whole shop.”
I stare at the photos he slides across the table. Broken glass, overturned equipment, blood on the concrete. Savage Legion’s calling card.
“How much damage?” I ask.
“A couple thousand, at least. Rooney says he can’t afford repairs and the protection fee.”
“Tell him we’ll cover repairs. Protection fee gets deferred until he’s back on his feet.” I look around at the other enforcers gathered in Ash’s office. “Anyone else get hit?”
Barnes speaks up. “Three more businesses on the east side. Nothing major, just intimidation tactics. Broken windows, spray paint, the usual bullshit.”
I rub my temples. This war is bleeding us dry, one shop at a time. Savage Legion knows they can’t take us head-on, so they’re chipping away at our income instead.
“Double patrols on the south and east routes,” I say. “I want brothers visible, making it clear we’re still protecting our territory.”
“That spreads us thin,” Miller points out.
“I know. Do it anyway.”
The meeting continues for another twenty minutes. Damage reports, resource allocation, and strategy discussions all boil down to the same conclusion—we need to end this war before it bankrupts us.
By the time everyone files out, my head pounds and my patience is shot.
I check my phone. Almost three PM. When’s the last time I saw Bonnie?
Can’t remember seeing her at breakfast. Didn’t spot her in the common room at lunch. Haven’t heard her voice echoing through the halls like it usually does when she’s arguing with someone.
That’s not right.
Since we started this arrangement, I’ve gotten used to her presence. The sound of her moving through the clubhouse, the sight of her curled up reading in the common room, the way she lights up when one of us walks in.
Going a whole day without seeing her feels wrong.
I head out to find her.
The clubhouse is busy with afternoon activity. Brothers working on bikes in the garage, playing pool in the rec room, drinking beer and bullshitting like always. I check the common room first. Not there.
Kitchen. Empty.
Ash’s office. He’s alone, buried in paperwork.
“Seen Bonnie?” I ask.
He glances up. “Not since this morning. Why?”
“Just wondering where she is.”
“Try her old room. She’s been spending time there lately.”
I nod and keep moving. Down the hallway toward the residential wing, past closed doors and brothers’ rooms, until I reach the section where Bonnie’s old bedroom sits.
Ghost emerges from his room, pulling a clean shirt over his head.
“Hey,” I call out. “Have you seen Bonnie?”
He pauses, something flickering across his face. “She left my room this morning. Early.”
Perfect opening. I grin. “What’d you do to make her run away? Finally reveal your terrible taste in music? Or maybe—”
“Shut the fuck up, Titan.”
The tone stops me cold. Ghost doesn’t snap like that unless something’s actually wrong.
“What happened?” I ask, dropping the teasing.
“Nothing happened.” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “She was sick.”
My stomach drops. “Sick how?”
“Nauseous. Pale. She could barely keep her eyes open when I saw her in the kitchen earlier.” He crosses his arms. “Made her eat breakfast, but she looked miserable the whole time.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”
“I was giving her space. She said she was fine.”
“She always says she’s fine.” I move past him toward her old room. “Where is she now?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen her since breakfast.”
I don’t bother responding; I just head straight for her door, leaving him behind. It’s closed. I knock once.
“Go away,” her voice calls out, muffled and tired.
“It’s me.”
“I’m resting.”
“I’m coming in anyway.”
I push open the door before she can argue. The room is dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Bonnie lies on her bed, wearing one of my hoodies, a wet cloth draped across her forehead.
She looks terrible. Pale as paper, dark circles under her eyes, lips pressed together like she’s fighting nausea.
“Titan, seriously. I’m fine. I just need to sleep.”
“You look like death.” I close the door behind me and cross to her bed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
“Ghost said you were sick this morning.”
“Ghost needs to mind his own business.” She adjusts the cloth on her forehead without opening her eyes. “I’m fine. Just a stomach bug or something.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her. Up close, she looks even worse. Skin clammy, breathing shallow, fingers gripping the edge of the blanket like she’s holding on for dear life. Something’s wrong. This isn’t just a stomach bug.
“Let me at least get you some water,” I say.
“I don’t need—”
“I’m getting you water. Deal with it.”
I stand and head into her bathroom before she can protest again. The light flickers on, harsh and bright. I turn on the tap and let the water run cold.
Her trash can sits beside the toilet, and right on top of some wadded tissues is a torn box. Pink and white packaging, half-shoved under other garbage like someone tried to hide it but didn’t quite manage.
Pregnancy test.
My hand freezes on the faucet. Water runs over my fingers, but I don’t feel it.
Pregnancy test.
In Bonnie’s trash.
I stare at the box, my brain trying to catch up with what I’m seeing. The pieces slam together all at once. Morning sickness. Exhaustion.
Oh fuck.
I force myself to breathe. Force my hands to move. Cup water in my palms and splash it on my face because I need to think clearly, and my brain just short-circuited.
She’s pregnant.
Maybe. Probably. The test is in her trash, which means she took it. Which means she suspected. Which means—
I don’t know what it means.
I grab the cloth from the counter, run it under cold water, and wring it out. My hands shake slightly, but I clench them into fists until they steady.
It’s not the time to lose my shit. Not when she’s in the other room, sick and scared and clearly not ready to talk about whatever’s happening.
I walk back into her bedroom with the fresh cloth and a glass of water I managed to fill without dropping it. “Here.” I hand her the water first.
She pushes herself up on one elbow and takes it, drinks a few small sips. “Thanks.”
“Fresh cloth too.” I swap out the warm one on her forehead for the cold one.
She sighs, sinking back into the pillows. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” I sit back down on the bed, right beside her hip. My hand finds her cheek, thumb stroking over her cheekbone. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure. I need rest.”
She’s definitely lying. But pushing her won’t help. If she’s pregnant and not ready to tell me—tell us—then forcing the conversation will only make her shut down.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “But if you need anything, I’m here. You know that, right?”
“I know.” Her hand comes up to cover mine where it rests against her cheek. “Thank you.”
I want to ask.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you later.”
“Titan?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell Ash I’m sick. He’ll just worry.”
Too late for that. We’re all already worried. But I nod anyway. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
I leave her room and close the door quietly behind me. The hallway stretches ahead, suddenly feeling too long and too empty.
I can’t stop my mind from racing.
I’ve never used protection with Bonnie, and from the times we’ve all been together, I know Ash and Ghost haven’t been using protection either. And not only that, I don’t remember Bonnie taking morning-after pills. We’ve been irresponsible.
One of us could be the father.
Or Marcus Stone could be the father.
Shit. That’d be messed up.
I run my hand through my hair.
It’s totally okay. She’ll tell us when she’s ready. She has to. She can’t hide a pregnancy forever, and Bonnie’s too smart to try. Too practical. She’ll tell us, then we’ll talk about who the father might be.
I head back toward the common room with my mind still spinning. Ghost stands near the stairs, clearly waiting for me. “Well?” he asks.
“She’s resting. Looks like shit but says she’s fine.”
“You believe her?”
I think about the pregnancy test box. “No,” I say honestly. “But she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
Ghost’s jaw tightens. He suspects something too. Maybe not pregnancy specifically, but something big.
“We should tell Ash,” he says.
“And say what? That she’s sick? He already knows she hasn’t been around.”
“That it might be more than just sick.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
He’s right. I don’t know. All I have is a torn box in a trash can and a gut feeling that everything just changed.
“Give her time,” I say finally. “Let her come to us.”
Ghost doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods. “Fine. But if she’s still sick tomorrow—”
“Then we talk to her.”
He heads off toward the garage, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I head to my room and close the door. Sit on the edge of my bed and drop my head into my hands.
If she’s pregnant, everything changes. The war with the Savage Legion becomes more urgent. Her safety becomes even more critical. The question of paternity becomes—
I can’t finish that thought.
Because what if it’s mine? What if I’m about to become a father at thirty-two years old with a nineteen-year-old girl who I share with two other men in the middle of a gang war?