Chapter 6 - Sarah
I've seen rooms like this in movies.
The aftermath of violence, where men with bloodshot eyes clean weapons as casually as others might wash dishes. The tang of gunpowder hangs in the air, mingling with the smell of sweat and leather and something that I try not to identify as blood.
This is Ryan's world. Ace's world. And now, somehow, it's become mine too.
"You can use my room," he says, guiding me past the main area where several men are sweeping up broken glass. "It's not much, but it's private."
I follow him up a narrow staircase to the second floor, where a hallway branches off into several doors. He stops at the last one on the right, pushing it open.
"Home sweet home," he says with a self-deprecating smile.
The room is surprisingly neat: a double bed with dark blue sheets, a dresser, a small desk with a laptop. No decorations on the walls, nothing personal except for a few books stacked on the nightstand. It feels temporary, like he's ready to leave at a moment's notice.
"You can have the bed," he continues. "I'll take the floor or crash in one of the common rooms."
"I can't take your bed," I protest.
He gives me a look that's half-amusement, half-exasperation. "Sarah, you're pregnant with my child. The least I can do is give you a decent place to sleep."
My child. The way he says it, with such certainty and something like pride, makes my chest heave. I press a hand to my stomach, still flat beneath my pink dress now stained with dust and what might be ash.
"Thank you," I say, because there's nothing else to say.
He nods, then pulls out his phone. "Make a list. Clothes, toiletries, whatever you need for a couple days. Viper will go get it for you."
I shake my head. "No. I want to get my own things."
His expression hardens immediately. "That's not happening."
"Yes, it is," I counter, surprised by the firmness in my voice. "I appreciate your concern, but I need to go to my apartment myself. There are things I need that I can't just put on a list."
"Like what?" he challenges.
"Like my privacy," I snap. "Like some sense of control over my life, which is currently spiraling in a direction I never imagined."
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Sarah, there were men with guns trying to kill us less than two hours ago."
"And now they're dead, from what I could tell." I cross my arms over my chest. "Look, I understand the danger. I was there, remember? But I need to do this myself."
"It's not safe."
"Then come with me," I suggest. "You and whoever else you think necessary. But I'm going to my apartment, and I'm picking out my own things."
We stare at each other, neither willing to back down. I've never been a confrontational person, but something about today—the pregnancy, the violence, the complete upheaval of my life—has awakened a stubbornness I didn't know I possessed.
Finally, Ace sighs.
"Tomorrow," he says firmly. "Not tonight. It's too dangerous to go anywhere right now, and we're all exhausted. Viper and I will take you tomorrow."
It's a compromise, and a reasonable one at that. I nod, satisfied. "Okay. Tomorrow."
"Good." He looks relieved that the argument is over. "Try to get some rest. I need to check on some things, but I'll be back later."
When he's gone, I sink onto the edge of the bed, finally allowing myself a moment to process the day's events. Twelve hours ago, my biggest concern was how to tell Ryan I was pregnant. Now I'm hiding out in an outlaw motorcycle club after witnessing what amounted to a small war.
And the father of my child is at the center of it all.
I lie back on the bed, breathing in the scent of him on the pillows. Despite everything, it comforts me. I close my eyes, just for a moment...
Next Day
I wake with a start, disoriented in the unfamiliar darkness. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:17 AM. I've been asleep for hours.
Someone has covered me with a blanket, and my pink dress feels uncomfortably tight after sleeping in it. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven't eaten since breakfast. Morning sickness has been making food unappealing lately, but now I'm ravenous.
I slip out of the room and make my way downstairs, the steps creaking under my feet. The main room is dimly lit now, mostly empty except for a few men talking quietly at the bar. One of them—the bearded man I recognize as Reaper, the president—looks up as I enter.
"Sarah, right?" he says, his deep voice carrying across the room. "Everything all right?"
"Yes. I'm just hungry," I explain, suddenly self-conscious in my wrinkled dress. "Is there a kitchen I could use?"
He nods toward a doorway at the back of the room. "Through there. Help yourself to whatever you can find."
"Thank you."
I hurry past the men, feeling their eyes on my back. The kitchen is surprisingly well-equipped—large industrial refrigerator, commercial stove, pantry stocked with enough food to feed an army. Or a motorcycle club, I suppose.
Opening the refrigerator, I find it filled with beer, energy drinks, and an assortment of takeout containers. Not exactly pregnancy-friendly fare. The pantry yields better results. Bread, peanut butter, and a box of crackers that looks relatively fresh.
I'm making a sandwich when I sense someone behind me. Turning, I find Reaper standing in the doorway, his imposing frame filling the space.
"Mind if I join you?" he asks, surprisingly polite for a man who looks like he could snap me in half without trying.
"It's your clubhouse," I say with a small shrug, turning back to my sandwich.
He chuckles, the sound warming the room. "True enough." He moves to the coffee maker, starting a fresh pot. "Ace told me about the baby."
I freeze momentarily, then continue spreading peanut butter. "Did he?"
"He had to. For your safety." Reaper leans against the counter, studying me with eyes that seem to see too much. "How are you holding up with all this?"
"Honestly? I have no idea. Yesterday I was just a teacher with morning sickness. Today I'm in the middle of what feels like a war zone."
He nods, understanding in his weathered face. "Life changes fast sometimes."
"Too fast," I murmur, taking a bite of my sandwich.
We fall into silence as the coffee brews, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma. There's something strangely comforting about sharing this quiet moment with a man who, by all rights, should terrify me.
"I have a daughter," Reaper says suddenly. "Emma."
I look up in surprise. "You're a father?"
"Single father," he confirms. "Her mother left when she was young. It was just the two of us for a long time."
"Is she... part of this?" I gesture vaguely, encompassing the clubhouse and everything it represents.
"Yes and no. She's usually at college, studying criminal justice." His mouth twists with irony. "Wants to be an FBI agent, if you can believe it, but she has been spending the last few days here because of... Well, protection."
"That must be complicated."
"Life usually is." He pours himself a cup of coffee. "I know you're scared. You have every right to be. This life isn't for everyone."
"I never asked for this life," I say. "I just... fell for the wrong man, I guess."
Reaper shakes his head. "Ace isn't the wrong man. He's a good one, actually. Loyal, brave, smarter than he gives himself credit for." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Bit of an idiot sometimes, especially with women, but his heart's in the right place."
I try to reconcile this thoughtful father figure with the man who earlier was orchestrating what amounted to a small battle. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're carrying his child." Reaper meets my gaze directly. "And in our world, that means something. If you decide to have this baby, you won't be alone. The entire club will stand behind you and that child."
I've been so focused on the violence, the danger, that I hadn't considered the other side of their brotherhood—the protection, the loyalty, the sense of family.
"Even though I'm not part of your world?" I ask.
"You're carrying our brother's child," he says simply. "That makes you family, whether you want to be or not."
Family. The word sits heavy between us. I think about my own parents, how disappointed they'll be when they learn I'm pregnant by a man I barely know. How worried they'll be when they discover he's part of a motorcycle club.
"I don't know what to do," I admit, the confession easier to make to this stranger than it would be to Ace. "How am I supposed to raise a child in this environment? With guns and violence and danger?"
"The club life isn't all violence, Sarah. My daughter grew up surrounded by men who would die for her without hesitation." He sets down his coffee cup. "Did Ace tell you how he got his road name?"
"Yes, actually," I say, a small smile forming despite myself. "About the cut on his hand while fixing Blade's bike. How he finished the job before getting stitches and Blade called him his ace"
Reaper looks surprised, then pleased. "He doesn't share that story with many people.
Usually lets them think it's because he's some hotshot rider or fighter.
If he's telling you stories like that, you might mean more to him than you realize.
And, look... Your world and ours don't have to be completely separate," Reaper continues.
"There's a middle ground. Evelyn was a civilian, too, before she became part of our family. "
"I need to think," I say finally. "About everything."
Reaper nods. "Take all the time you need.
But know this—" he leans forward, his voice dropping to ensure only I can hear, "—that boy has never had anything worth fighting for except this club.
Now he has you and that baby. And there's nothing more dangerous than a man who's finally found something to live for. "
With that, he picks up his coffee and moves toward the door. "Get some rest, Sarah. Tomorrow will be here before you know it."
Left alone in the kitchen, I finish my sandwich slowly, turning Reaper's words over in my mind. Is that true? Has Ace—Ryan—never had anything to call his own before?
I think about his sparse room upstairs, the way he seems ready to leave at a moment's notice, and how he has never shared anything about his past. I think about how he looked at me earlier today, when I told him about the baby—shock, yes, but also something like wonder.
Back in his room, I curl up on his bed, surrounded by his scent. I place both hands on my stomach, whispering to the tiny life inside me.
"We're going to figure this out. Somehow."
But as I drift toward sleep, doubt creeps in at the edges of my mind. How can I possibly build a life that includes both my quiet classroom of first-graders and a man who lives with violence every day? How can I protect my child in a world where Vultures MC with guns can appear at any moment?
And most troubling of all... Why, despite everything I've seen today, do I still feel drawn to Ryan "Ace" Carter like he's the answer rather than the question?