Chapter 52
Chapter
Fifty-Two
KADE
"Take her home. We got this." Ash wipes blood from his knuckles onto his jeans, casual as fuck, like we're cleaning up after a bar fight instead of a murder.
"You sure?" I glance between him, Havoc, and Beck, looking at Fallon. She's so quiet. Too quiet.
"Yeah." Havoc nudges Daniel's corpse with his boot, checking for... I don't know what the fuck he's checking for. Signs of life we both know aren't there. The body doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. "She doesn't need to see this part."
The cleanup. Right. The part where they make a body disappear, scrub blood from expensive carpet, erase every trace of evidence from this whole fucking night.
The ugly aftermath of what I just did—what I had to do—turning into something manageable, something explainable.
The kind of work Havoc specializes in. The kind of work that keeps MC members out of prison.
"Okay." I swallow hard, tasting violence and adrenaline still flooding my system.
I look down at Fallon. She hasn't moved since I let Daniel's body drop, hasn't made a single sound.
Just stands there staring at the corpse with this weird calm that's gonna shatter any second now.
I know that look. I've seen shock before—seen guys in underground fights go glassy and distant right before they collapse completely, before their knees give out and their brains finally process what their bodies already know.
She's holding it together through pure willpower and nothing else.
But the crash is coming. Maybe in five minutes, maybe in an hour. But it's coming.
And when it does, she's gonna remember what I am. What I just fucking did in front of her. Gonna see the real me—a monster who kills with his bare hands, who doesn't hesitate, who doesn't regret. Gonna realize the boy she loves is capable of strangling a man to death without breaking a sweat.
Fuck. Please let her still want me after this. Please let her not look at me like I'm the devil.
"Peaches."
Her eyes snap to mine. Hazel and glassy but focusing now, coming back from wherever the hell she went while I strangled her husband. While I squeezed the life out of the man she married, the man who shared her bed and her name. While I committed murder for her in her own fucking bedroom.
"I'm going to take you home now. Okay?"
"Okay." The word comes out flat, emotionless. Robotic. But it's something.
I reach for her hand, half-expecting her to flinch. To pull away from me in horror. To see the blood still staining my skin—his blood, Daniel's blood—and realize these are killer's hands now. Hands that took a life. Hands that will probably take more before this is all over.
She doesn't flinch.
Her fingers slip into mine without hesitation, gripping tight. Holding on like I'm the only solid thing in a world that's spinning completely apart beneath her feet. Like I'm her anchor instead of the storm that just destroyed everything.
That's good. That's fucking good. Better than I deserve.
I lead her through the house—down the hallway lined with photos of her dead husband's political career, past the living room where she sat so impossibly calm just half an hour ago, out the front door into cool night air that tastes like freedom.
Ash, Beck, and Havoc stay behind. I hear them already moving as we leave, plastic rustling, low voices planning logistics.
Discussing bleach and disposal. This isn't their first body.
Won't be their last. The MC takes care of its own, even when "its own" is my teacher girlfriend and the mess is a DA's corpse.
My bike sits two blocks down where we left it earlier, hidden in shadow where Daniel would never notice if he came home early.
We took Beck's borrowed car and my Harley, couldn't risk parking four loud-as-fuck motorcycles where the paranoid DA might spot them and call the cops he owns.
Smart. Tactical. Walker trained us better than that.
Now it just means I get her alone sooner. Get her away from the body, the blood, the evidence of what I am.
"Are you okay?" I grab her helmet turning to face her under the weak streetlight. She looks small. Fragile. Nothing like the woman who calmly told me to come inside just an hour ago.
"Yeah."
Bullshit. Complete fucking bullshit. But I fit the helmet over her head anyway, adjusting the strap under her chin.
My knuckles brush her throat—right where mine just squeezed the life out of Daniel and she doesn't flinch.
Doesn't pull away. Just stands there trusting me with hands that just killed.
"You sure? It's okay if you're not." I need her to be honest. Need to know if I just destroyed everything between us by showing her who I really am.
"I just think I'm in shock." Her voice sounds distant, disconnected from her body. Like she's floating somewhere above us watching this conversation happen. "But yeah. I'm okay."
She's not. We both know she's not. But denial works for now.
"Then let's go home."
I swing my leg over the bike, feeling the familiar weight settle between my thighs.
The engine roars to life when I kick it over.
Fallon climbs on behind me without hesitation, her arms wrapping around my waist, her body pressing against my back like she's done this a thousand times instead of just a handful.
Where she belongs. Where she's always fucking belonged.
I twist the throttle and we disappear into the night, leaving death and consequences behind us.
The hot water turns pink as it circles the drain, washing Daniel's death off my skin in slow spirals.
Blood and evidence and violence swirling away down the pipes.
Fallon stands beside me in the shower, silent and still, letting me soap her shoulders with gentle hands.
I rinse her hair carefully, working the shampoo through the strands that smell like fear and shock and my shampoo now.
Making her smell like mine instead of his.
She's still somewhere else, still processing what happened, what she saw.
I don't push. Don't ask questions. Just take care of her the way I should have been doing all along.
When we finally get out—skin pruned and water running cold—she brushes her teeth at the sink while I grab my phone from the nightstand.
Two texts I need to send.
I shoot one to Dad first, thumbs moving fast.
Me: Need to meet tomorrow. Important.
Then Damián, because this involves the cartel whether I like it or not.
Me: Tomorrow. We need to talk.
Dad responds immediately like he's been waiting for this.
Walker: Clubhouse. Noon.
Damián takes longer—probably weighing whether to answer, whether this is worth his time—but eventually replies.
Damián: The restaurant. 2pm.
I'm typing back to both of them—working out details, making sure this clusterfuck doesn't blow up in all our faces, making sure nobody connects Daniel's death to the MC or the cartel or Fallon—when she emerges from the bathroom.
Damp hair falling around her shoulders, my oversized t-shirt hanging off her small frame, eyes still distant but clearing slowly. Coming back to me inch by inch.
"Come to bed."
I finish my message, plug the phone in to charge, and pull her into my arms without another word. She melts against me immediately—all soft curves and absolute trust I don't fucking deserve but will kill to keep. Have already killed to keep. Will kill again if necessary.
"I missed you," she whispers against my neck, breath warm on my skin.
"I was going crazy without you." I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the clean scent of my shampoo replacing her normal peach scent. She smells like me now. Like she belongs to me. "Couldn't think straight."
"I love you."
The words come out sleepy, muffled against my skin where her face is pressed.
But they're there. Clear and real. She still loves me.
Still wants me. Even after watching me beat her husband to death, even after seeing what I'm really capable of when someone threatens what's mine.
Even after witnessing the violence I carry inside me every fucking day.
"I love you, Peaches." The words feel too small for what I feel, but they're all I have.
I hold her until her breathing evens out, until her body goes heavy and relaxed in my arms. Until I'm absolutely sure she's really asleep and not just pretending—not lying awake staring into darkness while her mind replays me killing Daniel over and over again.
Only then do I let myself close my eyes.
Tomorrow we deal with the consequences. Tomorrow I tell Walker I killed a DA, tell Damián shit just got complicated. Tomorrow I face the music for choosing her over everything else.
Tonight, she's safe in my bed where she belongs. And that's all that fucking matters.
I wake to warmth spreading over my cock—wet heat that drags me from sleep like a physical pull. My brain surfaces slowly, trying to piece together what's happening through the fog.
"Kade." Her voice breaks through, breathy and needy.
I force my eyes open. The room's still dark—early morning, that grey hour before sunrise—but I can see her clearly enough.
Fallon. Straddling me. Her slick pussy sliding back and forth over my cock, which is so fucking hard it's painful.
My hands move automatically, gripping her hips like they belong there.
"Fuck," I growl, the sound rough from sleep.
"I need you." She moans the words, never stopping that maddening slide of wet heat against my shaft. Her thighs tremble on either side of me. She's already soaked, coating me with every pass.
I raise her up slightly—just enough—and push up into her in one smooth thrust, bottoming out completely.
We both moan, the sounds raw and unrestrained in the darkness.
She rotates her hips the way she knows drives me absolutely insane—those slow, deliberate circles that make my fingers dig into her skin hard enough to leave marks. Hard enough to bruise. I don't ease up.
I let my hands roam her body, mapping every curve like I'm memorizing her.
Over her hips. Her ass. Those perfect fucking tits that fit in my palms like they were made for me.
I roll her nipples between my fingers, the peaks hardening instantly.
She moans louder, grinds down into me faster, chasing something.
"Fuck, I'm not going to last," I groan, leaning up to suck her nipple into my mouth. She tastes like sin and sweat and something sweeter underneath.
She whimpers, the sound going straight to my cock. "Oh god, Kade. I'm so close."
I lay back down and bring my hand between us, finding her clit and working it with my thumb. I need her to cum on my cock. Need to feel her squeeze me tight before I fill her up completely.
"Oh god, Kade!" She cries out as her orgasm rolls through her, her whole body shaking.
Her pussy clamps down on my cock so tight I nearly lose it right then. She rides me faster, rolling her hips in that perfect rhythm that destroys any control I have left. I can't hold back another second.
"Fucking Christ," I groan as I unload everything I have inside her, pulse after pulse until there's nothing left.
We're both left panting in the darkness, chests heaving. She goes to lift off me but I hold her hip firm, keeping her exactly where she is.
"Just a minute. I'm not ready to leave this warm pussy yet."
She lays down over me without argument, her weight settling perfectly against my chest. I stroke her back slowly, savoring every point of contact between us, not wanting this moment to end. Her heartbeat gradually slows against mine. The room stays quiet except for our breathing.
After a while she sits back up, lifting off my half-mast dick with a soft sound. I watch—can't help it—as my cum drips down her inner thigh, pale against her skin in the dim light.
"Don't move."
I use two fingers, running them up her thigh to catch the evidence of what we just did. I scoop it all up carefully and shove it back inside of her, thrusting my fingers deep. She gasps at the intrusion.
"I want every last drop of my cum inside you, Peaches. I want you pregnant with my baby."
I can't help the words. Can't help wanting it with every cell in my body. I want her pregnant with my baby. Want her belly round with proof that she's mine. God, I can just imagine how beautiful she'll be—glowing and full and completely fucking perfect.
"There's no need to do that," she says quietly, and the words confuse me. Wrong response.
"What are you talking about?"
"I mean, mission accomplished." She pauses, and I can feel her heart racing against my hand still resting on her stomach. "Daddy."
Fuck. Is she saying what I think she is? Hope surges through my chest so hard it almost hurts.
"Are you pregnant?" I ask, excitement coursing through my veins like adrenaline.
"Yeah," she whispers. "I took a test yesterday morning. Before everything." She pauses, nervous energy rolling off her in waves. "It's... it's yours."
I flip her over onto her back in one smooth movement, coming down on top of her and caging her in with my arms. I need to see her face for this. Need to watch her eyes when I say it.
"I know it's mine, Peaches."
"You're not mad?" she asks, so sweet and uncertain, like she's actually worried I might be. Like she thinks I might not want this.
Fuck. This is exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I've been working toward.
"What if I told you that when you said you wanted that baby, and how sad you were about losing it..." I pause, watching her face carefully in the growing light. "I switched some of your pills out so you would get pregnant with my baby."
She just stares up at me for too long. Long enough that my heart starts hammering. Long enough that doubt creeps in.
Then, "I would say you're fucking crazy." But she's smiling. Actually smiling at me like I didn't just confess to fucking with her birth control.
"Are you mad?"
"No. Because apparently I'm just as fucking crazy as you are."
I kiss her then, hard and deep and possessive. I can't believe how perfect she is. How perfectly she fits into my world.
"Fuck, I love you."
My cock hardens again just knowing I knocked her up—knowing she's carrying my baby right now, growing inside her. I kiss her deeper and she reaches down between us, grabbing my cock and lining me up without me even having to ask.
I thrust inside of heaven again, that slick heat welcoming me home.
She's fucking here with me, in my bed, and pregnant with my baby.