Chapter Thirty-Six
Trey
Adhd – Truslow
The engine hums low beneath my hands.
Two SUVs lead, with two more following behind, though I can’t really process any of it after what the fuck I just witnessed… my baby… which, according to the smiling doctor like it was no big deal, looked like something crossed between E.T.’s nutsack and a fucking kidney bean.
Seraphina sits beside me, quiet, her fingers curled protectively around the ultrasound photos, and every so often her thumb brushes over the glossy surface, while I realize I have got some fucking reading up to do on pregnancy and babies, and I am steering well clear of anything with pictures because that last one was…
yeah, I want to be able to close my eyes and actually sleep at night.
My poor wifey…
My jaw tightens.
I drag my gaze back to the road.
Then it slips again.
You. You are going to be a fucking dad.
The thought lands differently every time it surfaces.
Uncomfortable to grip…to comprehend.
Not fear exactly. Denial? Yeah, a lot of that. Some self-loathing? Maybe just a sprinkle.
I want to protect her—to protect them.
Horrible fucking what-ifs start creeping in, thoughts about picking and choosing, about being forced to decide, and if I had to save just one, who would I pick? It’s obvious, right? If it came down to my life or my wife’s, I would choose hers every time.
But would it be the same with the baby?
No.
I protect both—or I die trying.
Having more in my life is fucking terrifying, especially right now, when it feels like more just means more to lose, and my grip tightens on the wheel as that truth settles heavy in my chest.
I force myself to breathe through it.
Beside me, she shifts, glancing up at me like she feels it—the shift, the edge.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
I look at her.
At the softness in her expression. The quiet hope she’s trying not to let get too big.
Just like that, everything else dims.
I reach over, my hand settling over hers, pressing the photos between our palms.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m good.”
No point getting bogged down in the what-if’s—just focus on what we can do right now.
For one thing, stop fucking daydreaming and pay attention to the road.
The gates come into view….and with them comes the noise.
Media vans line the street.
Cameras raised.
Voices shouting over each other.
And threaded through it, louder than the rest…
The protestors.
Signs lifted high.
White crosses painted across black boards.
Children of the Cross.
My jaw locks.
These dopey fuckers again.
I can almost hear the chorus of wild Karens and Kyles in my head playing out—“My book preaches acceptance, except for you, because fuck you.”
“My book says you’ve gotta die so Gideon can have a crack at your wife.”
A flicker of something dark and amused cuts through the irritation before I can stop it.
I wonder if I slipped Igor a few bucks, whether he’d mind lobbing a few cans of tear gas or bear spray at them…
The SUV ahead slows, security already moving, pushing bodies back, creating a path.
Oh, shit—fuckers, is that you parting like the Red Sea in front of me, like the legs of my beautiful wife?I don’t look at them.
Not once.
I don’t give them anything.
No reaction.
No acknowledgment.
Nothing.
Instead—I glance at Sera.
She looks sad, concern pulling at her features over all the hate.
“If it makes you feel any better, baby, these aren’t all here for you. I’m pretty sure I recognized a few of them picketing Tom Cruise’s house over the whole Scientology thing.”
There’s tension in her shoulders, something tight behind her eyes, but she holds it together the way she always does.
Strong.
Quiet.
Unbreakable in ways she doesn’t even see.
I give her a small smile.
Just for her.
Then I drive forward.
They don’t matter.
Only she does.
It’s just past midday, my stomach is growling, and for a moment I feel like I’m home and free at my definitely-not-a-cult, anti-cult mob headquarters and studio.
The pool glints under the afternoon sun, water rippling softly, while security is everywhere—like we’ve got every mobster in L.A. swanning around. I don’t recognize half of them.
In the middle of it—
My family.
Sam leans back in one of the loungers, beer in hand, eyes already tracking us the second we step out.
Logan is mid-sentence about something, animated as always, until he cuts off when he sees us.
Mac straightens from where she’s sitting.
Seraphina stays close to my side, her shoulder brushing mine as we walk out.
I reach for her hand.
Not to hold it.
To take the photos.
She lets me.
I flip them once in my fingers, then hold them out.
No explanation.
No buildup.
Sam leans forward first, brow furrowing.
Logan steps closer, already impatient.
Mac jumps in, pushing them both aside.
There’s a second of silence.
“Holy shit.” Mac beams.
Logan’s voice cuts through it, loud and raw, disbelief cracking straight into something like awe. “No fucking way—”
Sam exhales under his breath, a softer reaction, but no less heavy. His eyes flick up to mine, something grounded there. “This changes everything.”
Logan lets out a sharp laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, man—you’re—” He points between us like he can’t even finish the sentence. “You’re really doing this?”
Seraphina shifts closer into me.
I feel it.
I wrap an arm around her waist without thinking, pulling her into my side.
“Yeah,” I say.
There’s something in my voice now.
Something that wasn’t there before.
Something final.
“Yeah, we are.”
The energy shifts.
Warms.
Relief bleeding into it. Excitement. Something dangerously close to happiness.
“Trey.”
Chace’s voice cuts clean through everything.
I look up.
He’s standing a few feet back, arms crossed.
He’s not smiling.
“I need a minute.”
Way to be a Debbie Downer, bro.
The warmth bleeds out of the moment fast enough to feel like a drop in temperature.
I nod once.
“Sure.”
I pass the photos back to Seraphina, my fingers brushing hers for just a second longer than necessary.
“I’ll be right back,” I murmur.
I turn, following Chace.
We don’t go far.
Still within sight.
Chace waits until we’re out of immediate earshot before he speaks.
“You’re not going to like this.”
If bro gives me the you’re not ready speech, I’m actually going to be pissed. No shit I’m not ready. Nobody is fucking ready.
He pulls his phone from his pocket.
Don’t be the picture of the fuzzy bowling ball… don’t talk about watermelons…
He taps the screen.
Turns it toward me.
The video is already playing.
Gideon fills the frame.
Ceremonial robes.
Ah, this is about a different kind of cunt.
His hair is slicked back, his posture composed.
“The Lord speaks of family…” His voice is smooth. “Of sacred bonds… of those who stray from His light…”
The cadence is deliberate.
Hypnotic.
Like one of those YouTube Kinder Egg opening videos.
“For what God has joined, let no man put asunder.”
Oh, my fucking God, you waffly cunt. Get to the end, or summarize for me…
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
“The lost lamb will always be called home.”
The camera shifts slightly.
Then back to him.
“Today…” A small, serene smile touches his lips. “I welcome two new members into our family.”
Two figures step into frame.
A woman.
And…
A girl.
White dresses.
Matching.
There’s something wrong in the way they stand. Eyes on the floor.
My focus locks on the girl.
Red hair.
Gray eyes.
Familiar.
Too fucking familiar.
Gideon turns his gaze directly to the camera.
“Seraphina…”
My blood runs cold.
“Your family waits for you.”
Each word lands like a calculated strike.
“Your mother…your sister…Ophelia.”
My pulse spikes.
What. The. Fuck.
The camera lingers.
Just long enough.
Same eyes.
Same bone structure.
A younger version of her. Maybe late teens.
“You have been led astray by a corrupter,” Gideon continues, voice soft, almost sympathetic. “Return and be cleansed. Be restored.”
“Be bound as God intended.”
The screen cuts.
Silence.
But it doesn’t feel like silence.
It feels like pressure.
Like something building.
I drag a hand over my mouth, exhaling once through my nose, forcing my thoughts into something usable.
I look back toward Seraphina.
She’s laughing at something Logan said.
My chest tightens.
I can’t hide this from her.
I won’t.
“She needs to see it,” I say.
Chace nods once.
“There’s more.”
Of course there fucking is.
“There’s always more,” I mutter.
His jaw shifts slightly.
“Uncle Niko has not checked in.”
My head snaps back to him.
“What?”
“Last ping was twelve hours ago,” Chace says, voice even. “He sent a message to his crew before he dropped.”
“What message?”
Chace holds my gaze.
“‘I’m going in. Hold position. Do not follow.’”
Silence hits harder this time.
No contact since.
No updates.
No backup.
He walked in alone.
I look back toward the pool.
At my wife.
At the life we just confirmed.
At the future that suddenly feels like it’s standing in the crosshairs.
And everything collides.
The baby.
Gideon.
Her family.
Niko.
Every moving piece snapping into place whether I want it to or not.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?” Chace asks.
“Chace, you’re way too fucking intelligent to just be out of ideas. So, what’s Plan B?”
“Too late for that…”
“What do you mean…oh—because she’s pregnant. Ha-ha. Very funny.” He’s laughing at his own joke. “Seriously though, what do you have in mind?”
“I’ve got a few,” Chace says, his tone flattening, “and you’re not going to like any of them. But if you want to see the other side of this—you, Sera, or the baby—congrats, by the way—then you’re going to shut the fuck up, lose the squirrel energy, and listen.”