Chapter 11 #2
That actually pulls a tiny smile out of me.
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s what I told him.”
His hand slides slowly over my stomach, warm and absentminded, the way it always does when he’s trying to soothe me without making a big thing out of it.
After a second, he kisses my hair again.
“You still mad?”
I stare at the dark wall across the room for a moment before answering.
“A little.”
Mason hums softly like he expected that.
I roll over then, turning in his arms until I’m facing him. His hand settles at my waist, thumb brushing back and forth over the side of my shirt while I study his face in the dim light.
“What the hell was Demon thinking,” I whisper, “when he decided to get the girls motorcycles for their first birthday?”
Mason’s mouth twitches. Not because he thinks I’m being dramatic. Because I know he’s replayed the whole disaster in his head too. He drags his fingers lightly up my back before answering.
“Baby, our girls are the first girls to be born into the club. They’re real princesses of the club.
” His voice is low and rough with sleep, but there’s something sincere under it too.
“Only a few of the brothers have kids, and that’s mostly because their old ladies already had ’em when they met or because their kids ain’t really part of club life and aren’t around much. ”
I stay quiet, listening.
Mason brushes a strand of hair back from my face.
“Maddy and Madison are different. They’re ours. They’re family. They’ll always be part of the club. The brothers know that. They love ’em. So yeah… they’re gonna get spoiled.”
My mouth tightens slightly, but I don’t interrupt.
He keeps going, voice patient.
“Our girls are always gonna have the brothers around. They’ll get rides with ’em while they’re little, same as Johnny does now.
But we both know that ain’t gonna last forever.
One day they’re gonna get older, and once they can’t just hop on the back of one of our bikes whenever they want…
” He gives me a look, one eyebrow lifting just a little.
“You know damn well they’re gonna want their own. ”
I open my mouth to argue. Then close it.
Because unfortunately… He’s right. Maddy and Madison are only one, and already they’re fearless.
Stubborn. Curious. Determined in that dangerous little way that makes my pulse jump at least ten times a day.
They’ve grown up hearing engines, seeing the brothers come and go, reaching for leather cuts and shiny chrome like it’s all the most normal thing in the world.
Of course they’re going to want bikes someday. Of course they are. The thought makes my stomach twist all over again, but this time there’s something bittersweet tangled up in it too. Because I know Mason’s right. Even if I hate it.
I let that settle for a minute, tracing my fingers lightly over the line of his chest while I think. Then another thought hits me.
I frown.
“Then why hasn’t Johnny gotten a motorcycle yet?”
Mason laughs. Actually laughs. A quiet, tired, deep sound that rumbles out of him and makes his chest move beneath my hand.
“Believe me,” he says, grin pulling at his mouth, “if Demon got one for Maddy and Madison, he probably already has one bought for Johnny too and just hasn’t given it to him yet.”
I stare at him.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
My eyes narrow.
“Mason.”
“I’m serious.” He’s still grinning now, like he can already picture it. “Though after the way tonight turned out? He’s probably havin’ second thoughts about handin’ it over.”
That gets me. Just a little. A reluctant huff of laughter slips out before I can stop it, and Mason’s grin widens immediately like he’s been waiting for exactly that.
“I still want to kill him,” I mutter.
“I know.”
“He’s insane.”
“Also true.”
“And Ghost and Justice were helping him.”
“They were helping themselves survive.”
I roll my eyes, but some of the tension finally eases out of my body. Not all of it. I’m still mad. Still unsettled. Still not thrilled about the fact that there are currently two tiny pink motorcycles sitting in our yard waiting for the day our daughters are big enough to use them.
But lying here with Mason’s arms around me, the monitor humming softly beside the bed and the girls asleep down the hall, the panic doesn’t feel quite so sharp anymore.
Just heavy.
Manageable.
Something I can breathe through.
Mason must feel the difference in me because his hand slides up my back, slow and soothing, and his mouth brushes my forehead.
“You know I won’t let anything happen to ’em,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes.
“I know.”
“And neither will the club.”
That one settles somewhere deep. Because for all their chaos, for all the trouble they bring, for all the stupid, reckless, completely ridiculous things they do… I know that too.
The girls are loved. Protected. Claimed by every one of those men downs in the club. The girls are the Princesses of the Storm Reapers MC. The thought still doesn’t make me like the motorcycles. But it does make my chest ache in a different way.
Mason pulls me tighter against him until my head is tucked under his chin and his heartbeat is a steady rhythm beneath my ear.
“Get some sleep, baby.”
I let out a quiet breath and curl closer, one hand resting against his stomach.
“Tomorrow,” I mumble against his chest, “you’re calling Demon and telling him if he ever buys our daughters anything with an engine again, I’m keying his Motorcycle.”
Mason’s chest shakes with silent laughter.
“I’ll pass along the message.”
“Good.”
“And if he says he already bought Johnny one?”
I lift my head just enough to glare at him.
“He can bring it but I still think Johnny’s too young to ride it, Mason.”
He kisses my forehead again, still smiling.
“Alright.”
I settle back against him with a soft huff, listening to the steady sound of his breathing, the monitor crackling faintly in the quiet room, and the far-off hum of night outside our windows.
The girls are asleep.
Johnny’s asleep.
Mason is warm around me.
The house is finally still.
And somewhere out there, Demon is probably hiding for his life.
Good.
He deserves to sweat.