Ghost sets down the gun he’s cleaning and studies me with those dark, unreadable eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
I take a breath. This is it. No more stalling.
“I need to talk to you. All three of you.”
The garage goes quiet. Ash straightens, wiping more grease off his hands. Titan gets to his feet, suddenly serious. Ghost slides off the workbench and moves closer.
“What’s wrong?” Ash asks.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just—” I stop. Start again. “Can we go somewhere? Somewhere private?”
“How private?” Titan asks.
“The cabin,” I say. “Let’s go to the cabin.”
They exchange glances.
“Now?” Ghost asks.
“Yeah. Now.”
Ash doesn’t argue. He just grabs his jacket. “Let’s go.”
We ride out in formation—Ash leading, me in the middle, Ghost and Titan flanking me on either side. The road stretches ahead, leading us away from the compound and into the hills.
The cabin sits exactly where I left it six weeks ago. Small, isolated, surrounded by trees that rustle in the wind.
We park our bikes, and I stand there for a moment, staring at the front door. Last time I walked through that door, I was drunk and reckless and desperate for one night that was mine. Now I’m walking through it sober, married, and about to tell three men that I’m carrying a baby that could belong to any of them.
Or to the monster we’re at war with.
Ash unlocks the door, and we file inside. The main room looks the same—worn furniture, dusty windows, the bed in the corner where we spent that night, tangled together.
I can’t look at it. Can’t let myself remember how good it felt to have all three of them touching me, wanting me, making me feel like I was the center of their universe.
“Bonnie.” Ash’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Talk to us.”
I turn to face them.
Just say it, Bonnie. Rip the band-aid off like Snake said.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hang in the air between us.
Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.
Then Titan says, “Shit.”
“Yeah.” My hands shake, so I shove them in my jacket pockets. “Shit.”
“How long have you known?” Ash asks. His voice is calm.
“Four days.”
“And you’re just telling us now?”
“I needed time to process it myself before I—” I stop. Take a breath. “I’m telling you now.”
