Epilogue III
KIRA
One Months Later
“Um, sorry. Can I ask again why we’re having your baby shower at a sex club?” Quinn crosses her arms over her black halter top, tattoos shifting with the movement.
I grin up at her, utterly unbothered, and gesture to the club around us. Fairy lights twinkle above the sleek black furniture, an elegant buffet stretches along one wall, and everywhere I look, my found family filters in. “Because this is where I met my real family. And found family counts more than the real thing sometimes.”
Quinn exhales hard through her nose, but I catch the flicker of a smirk as she scans the room. “Yeah, but what are you gonna do when this kid grows up? Show them pics of their baby shower with a St. Andrew’s Cross and a spanking bench in the background?”
I wave a hand dismissively. “You won’t even be able to see those. The pictures will be of all of our happy faces. Anyway, I’m not raising my kid to be ashamed of sex, so it won’t matter.”
Quinn gives me a side-eye that says she’s not convinced, but she lets it go as she swipes a mini cupcake from the dessert table. Just as I’m about to ask her where Isaak wandered off to, Domhnall strides over, scanning the room with that always-serious, too-intense look of his. “Anybody seen Moira?”
I sit up straighter. “She was supposed to be here already.”
“She on a sex-bender again?” Isaak asks, appearing at Quinn’s side, his sharp blue gaze locking onto Domhnall’s.
My stomach twists. Everyone’s been worried about Moira. She used to keep her play at the club, but lately… something changed. No one will tell me exactly what happened—least of all Moira, who’s been pulling away more and more.
I had lunch with her earlier today, and she was… off. Laughing too hard, drinking too fast. When I told her about the baby and invited her to the shower, something in her eyes went distant, like she wasn’t even seeing me anymore.
“She started spiraling when I told her about the baby,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “She totally shut me down when I asked what was wrong.”
“Is she any more open to going into treatment?” I ask Domhnall gently.
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer for a moment, then bites out a short, sharp “I doubt it,” before turning on his heel and striding toward the food table.
“Do you think everything’s okay?” Quinn murmurs to Isaak.
Isaak rubs a hand over his jaw, exhaling through his nose. “He blames himself. He thinks he dropped the ball because he got mad at her back when—” He stops abruptly, his gaze flickering to Quinn. A silent conversation passes between them, one I’m clearly not invited to.
I’m only a little hurt they haven’t let me in on it yet. But after everything I went through with Drew, I understand the need for secrets. Isaak told me once he was keeping something from me to protect me—that if I was ever questioned, I could honestly say I didn’t know anything. Which told me, without telling me, that whatever it was, it was big.
But that only makes me more worried about Moira.
“We can all worry about her another time,” Isaak says finally, pulling me against his side. He presses a kiss to my temple, his hand settling possessively over my stomach that’s barely even tightened with the tiniest bump. Thank god for the second trimester, for Isaak, and for his quiet reassurance. He’s here. He’s with me.
“Where’s Anna?” I ask Domhnall when he circles back to us, a plate piled high in one hand.
“She was so sorry to miss today,” he says with a wave of his fork. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
Quinn smirks. “Too bad. I know that girl is baby crazy. She would eat this shit up.”
I smile but something about Domhnall’s expression lingers in the back of my mind. A flicker of tension. A moment of something unreadable in his eyes before he smoothed it over.
“Oh no, don’t get them started,” Marcus groans, dropping into a chair across from me and dragging a hand down his face. “One of my favorite things about this place is that I can escape my kid here.”
“How do you think your daughter would feel hearing you say shit like that?” Quinn asks, eyes narrowing in immediate offense.
Marcus drops his hand and levels a glare at her. “I don’t say it where she can hear. What do you know about it, anyway? I don’t see you waking up three times a night because a kid wants water and a full dramatic retelling of The Very Hungry Caterpillar before going back to sleep.”
“That’s so sweet, Marcus,” I say, my lips twitching.
“Sweet, my ass. My kid’s a little fucking princess, and she’s gonna send me into an early grave.”
Quinn keeps glaring, unimpressed. “You’re just bitching because you’re a man doing what every woman since the beginning of time has done without moaning and complaining.”
Marcus sits up, eyes flashing. “You’re such a little shit. You think because you put grown men in diapers and play Mommy, you have any fucking clue what my life is?”
Quinn smiles dangerously. “I see exactly who you are, Marcus Reyes.” She holds up two fingers, pointing them at her eyes and then at him. “You’re a pompous playboy needing to seek the next thrill because you’ve gone through life only thinking about what your dick wanted next. Until you knocked up the wrong woman, who didn’t get the abortion you wanted because she thought she could trap you into marrying her.”
Marcus surges to his feet. “You sure got a lot to say for a high school dropout who works nights flogging saggy old men even though you get a perfectly good paycheck during the day.”
“Oh, so you’re going to kink-shame me now?”
“Please.” He takes a long sip of his drink. “That’s not your kink. You don’t actually get off on any of the shit you do here at the club. I’ve seen you. It’s just work to you. Now, talk about a crying shame. I’m not even sure you like being dominant?—”
Quinn’s on her feet now, too, in his face. “I bet I could have you on your knees begging for Mommy in about ten minutes.”
He smirks. “You’d like to see you try. You couldn’t handle a real man.”
Quinn makes a big show of looking left and right. “You let me know when one walks in?”
“Alright, alright,” Isaak interjects, holding his huge arms out like a referee. “This is Kira’s day. Can we all stop squabbling for once and celebrate the life that’s about to come into the world?”
“It’s fine,” I say, laughing as Isaak nudges me to sit down away from the drama. “This is what family should be like.” Squabbling. Fighting. Saying things out loud instead of bottling them up. I’m still not used to it, but I love it.
Isaak tugs me onto his lap, his arms curling around me and my barely-there belly. He does this all the time—always wanting me close, wrapping himself around us like a protective wall. Us. That’s how he says it. Like we’re already a whole, unshakable unit. “I’m so happy I found you,” he murmurs into my hair. “Found us .”
I sigh in happiness, leaning back against his warmth. This life feels impossibly good. After everything—the chaos, the danger, the trauma—we’re here. We made it. And now, with Isaak, I get to be my real self, not some version of me constantly trying to be good enough for people who will never see me.
I glance toward the entrance and grimace. “God, I was such a brat to you the day we met.”
He smirks. “You were a firecracker, that’s for sure. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Stop being so perfect.” I swat at his leg. “I need you to have more flaws, or I’ll start to feel bad.”
He chuckles, low and deep. I love that sound. I love him.
“I’m just Mr. Perfect. You’re gonna have to get used to it, Red.”
“Okay, Mr. Perfect, so you’ll be fine waking up for middle-of-the-night feedings? Changing poopy diapers?”
“Marcus showed me how to change a diaper. I’ve been practicing.”
“Marcus?” My eyebrows pop up as I glance at the playboy dom.
“He’s a really good father to his little girl. He just plays at being a jackass.”
Huh. “Well, he’s convincing.”
That sets Isaak laughing again, and I nuzzle into him, enjoying the vibration of it.
“I love you so much,” I whisper. “Forever and always.”
He kisses the top of my head, hands lacing over my belly. “Forever and always.”
Then, just as Quinn gets up to announce it’s time to open presents, the front doors slam open.
A man wearing a priest’s collar storms in.
Quinn pops up from her chair, visibly alarmed. “Bane! What’s wrong?”
Bane? Moira’s Bane? His usual mask is nowhere to be seen. Without it, he looks younger, but the fury marring his features makes my breath catch. Isaak shifts in front of me protectively.
Bane’s gaze cuts through the room like a blade, his jaw tight as he spits, “Where’s Moira?”
Domhnall rises slowly. “What’s it matter to you, anyway? You lose my sister in the middle of role-play again?”
Quinn groans. “He’s a real priest, you idiot.”
Bane doesn’t even glance at her. He glares at Domhnall with something that looks like barely restrained violence. “It matters because Moira’s my wife .”
Don’t miss on Domhnall and Anna’s incredible love story, that begins here: 7 Days.
And Moira and Bane’s story is out now in Unholy Obsession