Chapter Two
Nitro
The next morning, I stood at the head of the table, my palms flat against the scarred wood, and waited for Church to settle.
The room was packed -- every patched chair filled, a Prospect standing guard at the door, and Willa just inside the threshold, her back straight and her eyes alert.
I’d called Church an hour ago, given no explanation, and the brothers had filed in reading my face.
None of them had asked questions. They’d seen this look before, recognized the edge I carried, and knew better than to push.
Willa stood with one hand pressed against her stomach, her dark hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, yesterday’s wrinkled clothes covering her.
She scanned the room -- taking stock of the leather cuts, the hard faces, the visible weapons -- with her jaw set and her eyes sharp.
I’d told her only that I needed her in Church.
Nothing about why, nothing about what to expect.
She’d followed me down the hall with that same measured confidence she’d shown last night, waiting for information I wasn’t ready to give.
Now she was getting it.
The room went quiet. Beast gave me a single nod from his seat, the only acknowledgment I needed. This was my play. The club would listen.
I planted both hands on the table and looked out at the room. “Willa’s mine,” I said, not raising my voice. No point -- everyone was listening. “The baby’s mine. Anyone who has a problem with that can bring it to me personally.”
No vote requested. No discussion invited. The finality of it hung in the air -- not just my words but the certainty behind them. I straightened up and let the silence do the rest.
For one long beat, nothing happened. The brothers exchanged glances -- not surprised, exactly, but recalibrating.
This wasn’t the usual way -- women weren’t generally brought before Church.
And we typically took a vote. Or at least, we were supposed to.
I’d skipped every step, taken the decision out of their hands and made it my own.
Nobody objected. I hadn’t expected them to.
“Excuse me?”
Willa’s voice -- sharp, disbelieving. I turned to see her fists closing at her sides, her chin coming up as she took a step forward.
“I didn’t agree to this,” she said, her voice climbing just enough to fill the room. “I didn’t ask to be stood up in front of a roomful of strangers, nor did I want you to make a decision without consulting me first.”
A heavy silence settled around us -- not the same kind as before, but something sharper. Attention fixed, bodies still. I felt their gazes on me, waiting to see what happened next.
I turned to face her fully, and my expression didn’t shift -- no irritation, no apology, no crack in the certainty. I met every word of her anger with the same flat, immovable calm, my gaze holding hers, and I said simply, “You’re mine. The baby’s mine. That’s done.”
She held my gaze, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths.
I watched the emotions move across her face -- anger, confusion, a flash of something that might have been fear before she pushed it down.
Her hands trembled slightly, most likely from the effort of holding back the full force of what she wanted to say next.
She pulled in a breath, a deep one that lifted her shoulders, and said, “There isn’t one baby.” A pause, deliberate. “There are two.”
I locked up instantly, not with the deliberate calm I usually wore, but with the reflexive reaction of a man caught completely off guard.
I shifted back almost imperceptibly on my heels, my jaw loosening, and for one unguarded moment, certainty drained away and left behind something far more vulnerable.
I probably had the look of a man staring at something he didn’t know he was allowed to have.
Twins.
My child -- no, my children -- were growing inside her. There was no doubt. But the reality of it hit with a force that nearly drove the air from my lungs.
Two.
“You’re sure?” I asked in a low voice.
She nodded. “The doctor confirmed it. I’m roughly eighteen weeks along. They’re healthy.”
And then the room erupted.
Beast was the first on his feet, his laugh booming across the table. “Holy fucking shit, Nitro! Twins! You dog!”
The others followed, chairs scraping back, voices rising as they took in what had just been said.
Rough congratulation flew across the room -- “That’s what I’m talking about!
” and “Leave it to Nitro to go all in” -- as they closed in around Willa.
Not crowding her but enfolding her in the way the club did when something had just become theirs to protect.
Willa stood in the center of it, still reeling, her expression caught between confusion and something softer.
She hadn’t expected this -- hadn’t expected to be welcomed, claimed, included.
She’d come to the compound with nothing but the clothes on her back and the bag she’d carried through the gate, and now she was being absorbed into the fabric of the club without ceremony or reservation.
I watched it happen -- watched the room open up around her, watched the brothers ease back just enough to give her space while making it clear she was already one of them.
Not because I’d said so, though that had been enough to secure their acceptance.
Because of who she was -- the woman who’d come back when she could have stayed gone, who was carrying not just one but two pieces of the club’s future.
My future.
Beast raised a hand, still grinning. “I’ll do my best to hold the old ladies back,” he said, the statement pitched to carry over the noise. “But I’m making no promises. They will be coming.”
Laughter filled the room, the sound swelling again as the reality of it settled. Twins meant twice the fuss, twice the attention from women who took the continuation of the club line as seriously as the brothers took their oaths. Willa had no idea what she was in for.
She looked at me across the room, her anger not gone but no longer clean-edged, worn soft at the corners by the sheer, disorienting reality of a room full of people making space for her before she’d decided whether she was staying.
I moved through the crowd toward her, the brothers parting without being asked. When I reached her, I didn’t touch her -- not yet, not with everyone watching, not when I could still see the uncertainty in her eyes. But I stood close enough that she could feel the heat from my body.
She didn’t step back.
“What happens now?” she asked, her voice low enough that only I could hear it over the noise of the room.
“Now,” I said, “we figure out how this works.”
She studied my face, looking for the trap, the angle, the thing I wasn’t telling her. Finding nothing but what I’d already said -- she was mine, the babies were mine, that was done. Whatever came next would be built on that foundation, whether she was ready for it or not.
“I don’t know the rules,” she said. “For any of this.”
“You don’t need to.” I kept my voice level, matter-of-fact. “I do. And I’ll make sure you understand everything that matters.”
She nodded.
Beast called the room back to order with a raised hand, his expression sobering. “Nitro, you need anything -- medical, housing, whatever -- you let me know. The club’s got you covered.” His gaze moved to Willa. “Both of you. Whatever you need.”
It wasn’t just an offer. It was an oath -- the promise the club made to its own, to the women who belonged to its brothers, to the children who would carry its legacy. I’d heard it a hundred times, directed at other women, other situations. Never at mine.
“Thank you,” Willa said, the words careful. “I appreciate that.”
Beast grunted. “That’s what family’s for.”
The word hung between us -- family. I watched Willa, watched her turn it over in her mind, testing its edges. She hadn’t come back expecting family, and now she was standing in a room full of people who’d already decided she belonged to them.
It was a lot to take in. I could see her doing it -- processing, recalibrating, making the necessary adjustments to a reality that was far from what she’d anticipated. Her hand moved to her stomach again, a protective gesture she probably didn’t realize she was making.
“We good here?” Beast asked, looking between us.
I nodded. “We’re good.”
“Then Church is adjourned. Everyone out. Nitro’s got things to figure out.”
The room emptied with the efficiency of men who understood when they were no longer needed.
Chairs scraped, boots thudded against the floor, voices dropped to murmurs as they filed out.
Beast was the last to go, pausing at the door to give me a look I’d seen a hundred times -- the look of a man who’d been where I was standing, who knew exactly how much everything had just changed.
“She’s strong,” he said, glancing at her briefly. “She’ll figure it out.”
“I know.”
He leaned in and dropped his voice so only I could hear him. “She’s also scared shitless, so maybe take it easy for a day or two.”
“I noticed.”
He grinned. “Yeah, well. You’ve never been the patient type.” He tipped his head toward Willa. “Good luck with that.”
Then he was gone, pulling the door shut behind him, and we were alone in the sudden quiet.
Willa stood with her back to the wall, watching me with that same attention she’d shown last night. The anger had receded, but wariness had taken its place -- the alertness of someone who’d learned the hard way that good things rarely stayed that way.
“You could have warned me,” she said.
“I could have.” I didn’t offer an excuse. There wasn’t one. “I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what I was going to do. I didn’t know if you’d try to stop me.”
She considered that, her head tilting slightly. “Would it have mattered if I had?”
“No.”
Her mouth twitched in a near smile. “At least you’re honest about it.”
“I told you that night. I play honest games.”
“When possible,” she finished for me. “I remember.”
We stood in silence for a moment. She’d walked out before dawn four months ago.
She’d come back with two lives growing inside her and nowhere else to go.
I’d claimed her in front of the club without asking.
We were strangers with a shared past and a complicated future, and neither of us had a map for what happened next.
“You’re really keeping them,” I said. Not a question. A statement of fact that needed confirming.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.”
The single word carried relief, gratitude, and the sharp-edged joy of a man who’d been given something he hadn’t known to want.
I’d spent my adult life being careful about attachments, about commitments that couldn’t be walked away from.
Now I was standing in a room with a woman I barely knew but was tied to forever, and the only thing I felt was certainty.
“I meant what I said,” I told her. “You’re mine. The babies are mine. That’s done.”
She looked at me for a long moment, her gaze moving over my face like she was memorizing it. “And if I’m not ready to be yours?” she asked finally. “If I came back because I needed help, not because I wanted to belong to you or your club?”
“Then you get the time you need,” I said. “But the outcome doesn’t change.”
She almost smiled -- a quick, involuntary movement at the corner of her mouth. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“I’m sure of you,” I said. “The rest is details.”
She shook her head, but there was no heat in it -- just a kind of bemused acceptance. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Start by letting me take you to breakfast,” I said. “You need to eat. They need you to eat.” I motioned toward her stomach. “We can figure out the rest after.”
She considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Breakfast,” she agreed. “And then we talk. Really talk. About what happens next.”
It was a start -- not the one she’d expected when she’d walked through the gate, not the one I’d planned when I’d called Church. But it was ours.
I held out my hand. Neither a demand nor a request. Just an offer -- my palm open, waiting for hers.
After a moment, she took it.