Page 39 of Lost King

I finish the rest of my lunch in silence while mulling over Bella's words when the bedroom door opens and Grey stands there with a look of shock on his face. My stomach plummets with the thought of bad news.

"Someone is here to see you," he says in a weird tone.

Who in the hell would be here to see me? I wonder to myself. My silent question is answered when my brother brushes past Grey. "This place does wonders for my ego, Em. You know you've made it when badass bikers are in awe of you." The smartass says waltzing into my room wearing his signature ripped jeans, a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up putting his tattoos on display, and combat boots.

"Oh my God, E! What the hell are you doing here?" I cry climbing out of bed and launching myself into his arms. As soon as I'm engulfed in my brother's embrace, I feel a small sense of peace wash over me. Everything you hear about twins is true, and Easton fills a void in me that nobody else can.

"I called him," Bella confesses. "As soon as you arrived at the clubhouse, my gut told me you would need your brother, so I reached out to him."

"Thank you, Bella," I croak.

"You're welcome. I'm going to go and let you two catch up. If either of you needs anything, let me know."

Once Bella leaves shutting the door behind her I murmur into my brother's chest. "I can't believe you're here. How?"

"The band had a show in Albuquerque last night. My assistant gave me the message about an hour after the concert ended saying some chick named Bella needed to talk to me. When I called her back, she gave me the watered-down version of what was going on. So, an hour later I was on a plane to Polson."

"What about your tour?" I protest.

"We have a two-week break, but even if we didn't, I wouldn't give a shit. My sister comes before the band," he states with conviction. "I have to say, Em, you have some kick-ass friends. I'm kind of impressed that Bella chick was able to get my number."

"They have their ways."

"Come on, Em, the sun will be up in a couple of hours and you need some rest and Uncle East needs his beauty sleep," Easton says and I shake my head at the idiot. Ten minutes later I'm laying in bed next to my brother listening to him snore. Sleep escapes me the rest of the night but the uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring doesn't.

Chapter Twenty

Quinn

The first snowfall has blanketed the ground outside making it the perfect backdrop as Emerson and I enjoy the warmth from the fireplace while snuggled on the oversized couch in the living room of our home.

"I love you," Emerson's soft voice says while she runs her fingers through my hair.

My hands rest over her growing belly. Dipping my head, I let the warmth of my breath play across her neck when I whisper in her ear, "I love you," then press my lips against her skin.

"Did you feel that?" Emerson smiles and places her hand over mine.

"She's active today," I wait for her to kick my hand again.

Emerson giggles. "What makes you so sure our baby will be a girl?"

I don't know any other way to explain it. I feel it—I feel her. "Intuition, Sunshine. I have no other explanations. It's just how it's supposed to be."

Sitting forward, Emerson reaches for the fetal doppler sitting on the coffee table. "You want to hear the heartbeat?" she snuggles in between my legs and leans back against my chest. Lifting her shirt, Emerson exposes her round belly. Turning the doppler on she moves it around searching.

Whoosh whoosh.

My face lights ups. The rhythm of our baby's heart beating fills the room. I close my eyes and vividly picture her with blonde hair like me and her mother's captivating grey eyes. I place my hand over hers—over where our baby's heart beats.

Without warning, I'm torn away from the blissful moment. With a fist full of my hair, my head is jerked back. My eyes immediately fly open to find Twiggy keeping me from moving, while his President lingers over me with a white five-gallon bucket then proceeds to dump a torrent of water over my face.

I struggle for a breath of air only to be doused again. Four times—back to back water is poured over my mouth and nose before it stops.

"Wake up," his laughter mixes with the sound of the high-pitch clunk of the bucket striking the floor.

I cough from inhaling stagnant smelling water into my lungs. My eyes watering from the struggle to breathe seconds ago. Pulling in a deep breath, I fill my lungs with much needed oxygen. My scalp stings after the other prick releases his grip on my hair. Shaking my head, I compose myself and reclaim my bearings. Fuck. That will wake you up.

I'm not sure how many hours I've been here now, but it has been long enough for the assholes to beat me, inject me with a drug, then wake me up and repeat the process several more times. If I took a guess, I'd say maybe a few days? The beatings have done a number on me. I can't breathe out the right side of my nose. That could be due to the fact I felt the bone crunch breaking the damn thing. The ringing in my ears is constant. Taking deep breaths hurts like a motherfucker. Cracked ribs are most likely the cause. I'm pretty sure the wound from where I was stabbed in my thigh with an ice pick is infected by the sensation of radiating heat and pain I feel. That is until the drugs kick in.