“We didn’t take advantage of anyone,” Titan cuts in. “It happened. We didn’t plan it. But we all love her.”
“Love her.” Jackal laughs. No humor in it. “You love her so much you’re all fucking her? That’s your definition of love?”
“Yes,” I say simply.
Jackal stares at me. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. We all love her. We’re all raising this baby. That’s how it is.”
“And she’s okay with this? Really okay with it?”
“Ask her yourself.”
“I will.” The bat taps against his leg. “But first, I’m going to make something very clear to all three of you.”
He steps closer. We don’t back down.
“If you hurt her—any of you—I will kill you. I don’t care that you’re the president. Don’t care that you’re my brothers. You hurt Bonnie, you die. Understand?”
“Understood,” I say.
“Ghost? Titan?”
“Yeah,” Ghost says.
“Crystal clear,” Titan adds.
“Good.” Jackal drops the bat. Lets it clatter on the ground. “Now get the fuck out of my sight. All of you. Before I change my mind about using this.”
We turn and walk away. Don’t look back.
When we’re out of earshot, Titan says, “That went better than expected.”
“He threatened to kill us,” Ghost points out.
“Yeah, but he didn’t actually use the bat.”
Jackal will come around eventually. He has to. Because this arrangement—me, Ghost, Titan, and Bonnie—isn’t changing.
This is our family now.
And family is worth fighting for.
37
BONNIE
Ipress my hand to my stomach and stare at the blank skin on my forearm.
I wish I’d gotten pregnant later. Just a few more months so I could have worn their ink first. So the world could have seen me marked by all three of them before my body started changing for this baby.
But I can’t regret the timing. Not when Ghost is alive and healing. Not when the Savage Legion is ashes. Not when I’m standing in the compound courtyard on a sunny afternoon with my hand on my growing baby and my men all safe.
“You coming or what?” Jackal calls from across the lot.
I look up. My brother sits on his Harley, engine idling, helmet in hand. He’s been home for two weeks now, but we haven’t had much time alone. Too much cleanup after the war. Too many funerals. Too many strategy meetings about rebuilding.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
