Chapter 30
Salem
Heresy's bike engine was so loud as we left the Roost, wind blowing through my hair, but my mind was spinning faster than the tires. I couldn't stop thinking about everything we said. My stomach churned, not from the ride, but from the reality sinking in. The pregnancy. The future. What the hell we were supposed to do.
We parked in front of a small garage tucked off a side street. A hand-painted sign read Heresy’s Garage, with an old motorcycle hanging from a chain as decoration.
Seeing it made me realize I didn’t know much about the biker at all. I’d imagined running with the club had been his sole purpose and that he lived there like I do at the Roost.
But I found out he lived above the shop, far away from the problems of the Lair, the Slayers’ clubhouse. Even if I didn’t know him well, everyone realized, Heresy wasn’t the type to be surrounded by people all the time, not like the other guys. He liked his space.
“Welcome to my home,” he said, glancing up at the apartment over the shop. “It’s not much.”
I followed him up the narrow metal stairs that creaked under our weight. At the top, he fished out his keys and unlocked the door, revealing his place as the lights came on. It wasn’t fancy, but it had its own charm—simple, rugged, and distinctly Heresy with the dark walls.
The living room was open with a worn leather couch, a coffee table covered in old bike mags and empty beer bottles. The kitchen was small but neat, the kind of place where a guy didn’t spend a lot of time cooking. The black walls were bare except for a couple of framed posters of metal bands and a huge black metal toolbox on wheels parked in one corner.
The whole place faintly smelled like grease and leather—like him. It was something I expected from a biker but finding out he’s a mechanic, it made even more sense.
He tossed his keys onto the counter and turned to face me. “Sit down,” he said softly, but there was still an edge to his voice. “We should talk.”
I settled onto the couch, my legs feeling shaky. The baby. My hands instinctively rested on my stomach, as if I could somehow feel the tiny life growing inside. Heresy sat next to me, but there was no distance between us now. His knee touched mine, grounding me.
“You think Rage is gonna find out eventually, don’t you?” I asked what I was dreading.
Heresy ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah, she will. That kind of thing never stays secret in clubs. But we’ll handle it.”
I nodded, staring at the floor. “I’ve been thinking… about everything. I don’t think I could go through with an abortion, even though I’ve always believed women should have that right. I just… I can’t.”
He reached over, gently lifting my chin so I’d look at him. His dark eyes were steady, but there was something deeper in them—something raw. “Salem, my opinion on that shit doesn’t matter. Not right now.” His voice dropped, and he leaned in closer. “But my opinion on this baby does.”
I swallowed hard. “So, what’s your opinion?”
“I want this kid, Salem. I want us to keep it.”
His words struck me like a blow, but not in a negative way. In a way that knocked the wind out of me because it was so damn real. The reality of what we were facing. Of what he was saying. I stared into his eyes, trying to figure out if I was strong enough for this.
“I claimed you,” he said, his voice trembling. “In that haunted house. I said it. I should have never backed down.”
“But this? A baby? It’s different.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “I claimed you, Salem. That means all of you. It means this kid too.” He leaned closer, his forehead brushing mine. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
My forehead pressing to his, I wrung my hands. “I don’t need you to protect me. I might be a woman, but I’m a Heel. I can take care of myself.”
He took my nervous hands, steadying them. “Fuck, Salem. I ain’t protecting you because you’re a woman. It’s because you’re my woman. You’re mine. I want this. I want you. Regardless of what happens with the clubs, regardless of what we have to face, I ain’t backing down.”
Tears stung my eyes, and briefly, I let myself imagine it—having a future with him, a future with this baby. But the fear, the doubt… it crept in like a shadow.
“What if the clubs don’t let us be together?” I asked, my voice cracking.
Heresy’s grip tightened on my hands. “Then fuck the clubs. I’ll leave the Slayers if I have to. I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is you. Us.” He pulled my hands to his chest as if to make a point.
I just stared at him, my own chest hurting from all the stuff we had to deal with. The baby. The clubs. The risks.
“I want to believe you,” I whispered, my fingers trailing down his chest. “I do.”
“Then believe me,” he said, his voice husky. “Do you believe me?”
I didn't have words for that, so I resorted to the only option I had. I kissed him, hard and desperate, like I was trying to hold on to him with every part of me. He responded instantly, his hands in my hair, pulling me closer.
In that moment, I knew he meant every word. He wasn’t going anywhere. I needed him. I needed to feel him, to remind myself that no matter how fucked up this situation was, we had this—this fire between us.
Clothes hit the floor, and in no time, we were tangled together on the couch, all our troubles forgotten in that moment. His hands were everywhere, claiming me in ways that sent shivers down my spine. And when he moved inside me, it wasn’t just about sex—it was about promises. Unspoken ones we were both making without saying a word.
Every touch was a raw vow that we were in this together. I clung to him like my life depended on it. Heresy held me so close, his breath hot against my skin as we moved as one, our bodies connecting in a way that felt like magic. In that small, dark apartment above his garage, we created something new—a bond that surpassed all the shit in our biker clubs.
As we lay there, breathless and intertwined, I traced the tattoos on his chest with trembling fingers. Heresy gazed down at me with determination in his dark eyes. I rested my head on his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat.
“We'll figure this out, witchy,” he whispered, against my hair. “I'll protect you and this baby, no matter what it takes.”
I closed my eyes, letting his words wash over me, but deep down, I knew we had a hell of a road ahead of us.