“I don’t know. Maybe.” I pick at the edge of the counter. “Everything happened so fast. The wedding was strategic. We barely know each other. And now I’m dropping this on him?—”
“You’re his wife. That’s not ‘dropping’ anything.” Snake leans against the counter across from me. “You think he’s gonna be pissed?”
“I think he’s gonna feel trapped.”
“He already married you. How much more trapped can he get?”
I want to laugh, but it comes out wrong. “This is different.”
“Yeah. It is.” Snake’s expression softens. “But I’ve seen how he looks at you when he picks you up from the shop. That’s not a man who feels trapped. That’s a man who’s already in deep.”
My chest tightens. “You don’t know that.”
“I know what I see.” He crosses his arms. “And I see a man who moved heaven and earth to get you out of that wedding to Marcus. Who married you himself to keep you safe. Who lets you come here and work even though there’s a war happening and you’re a target.”
“He does that because of Dad. Because Dad asked him to protect me.”
“Bullshit. He does it because he wants to.” Snake moves to the front window, checking the street. “Your dad’s in prison. Ash doesn’t owe him anything anymore. He could’ve shipped you off somewhere safe and forgotten about you. But he didn’t. He married you. Made you his.”
I press my hand to my stomach. “What if the baby makes everything harder?”
“It will. Babies make everything harder.” Snake turns back to me. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t step up. Give him a chance to prove it. Go home,” Snake says. “Tell your husband you’re pregnant. Stop carrying this by yourself.”
“Okay.” I grab my jacket. “I’ll tell him tonight.”
Snake walks me to the door and calls out to Rodriguez. “Get her home safe.”
Rodriguez nods and falls into step beside me as we head to my bike. The afternoon sun beats down on the asphalt, making the chrome on my Softail gleam.
I fire up the engine, and Rodriguez follows on his own bike as we head back to the compound. The wind clears my head but does nothing for the knots in my stomach.
By the time we pull through the compound gates, my heart is hammering against my ribs.
I park my bike and head inside, looking for them.
The common room is empty except for a few brothers watching TV. The kitchen’s deserted. I check Ash’s office—empty.
Where the hell are they?
I find all three of them in the garage bay behind the clubhouse. Ash has his bike up on a lift, working on something in the engine. Ghost sits on a workbench nearby, cleaning a gun. Titan’s under his own bike, cursing at something I can’t see.
I lean against the doorframe and watch them for a moment.
Ash notices me first. He looks up from his engine, grease smeared across his forearm, and smiles. “Hey. How was the shop?”
“Good. Finished Miller’s piece.”
“Is he happy with it?”
“Yep.”
Ash sets down his wrench and wipes his hands on a rag. “You okay? You look pale.”
Titan rolls out from under his bike and sits up. “She always looks pale. That’s just her face.”
“Fuck you, Titan.”
He grins. “Later, baby. I’m covered in motor oil right now.”
