Page 48 of Triplets for the Rival MC

“You okay?” I ask, even though she’s the one worrying about me.

“I am.” Her hand rests over mine. “Are you?”

I glance around the room. At my brothers laughing together, watching Screw make obscene gestures. At Hank and Shelly, slow dancing. At the joy that our family feels in welcoming Tori.

“I will be,” I say softly.

She studies me. “You’re thinking about the war.”

“Always.”

Her fingers lace with mine. “We’ll handle it.”

We. That word anchors me, the quiet assurance that I am not alone. I lean down and kiss her slowly. The kiss is not possessive or heated; it’s the kiss of a partnership, built on more than just attraction. When I pull back, her eyes are bright with love.

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell her.

She smiles. “I’m proud of us.”

The night stretches on in waves of music, drinks, and stories. At one point, Hunter drags me into a ridiculous group dance. Cyrus stays close to Tori all night, loving and protective without smothering. Every so often, someone rests a hand gently on her belly like it’s sacred ground.

As the hours pass, the celebration settles into something warmer and steadier. Brothers lounge on couches as the bar quiets slightly. The outside lights cast long beams across the parking lot. I stand near the doorway, on guard still.

I’m so lucky. That’s the thought that keeps circling through my mind. That makes me even more terrified, unable to relax with everyone else. I have so much more to lose.

My mind runs scenarios automatically, falling back on old habits to assure myself that if the Raging Bulls do come now, we’re prepared. I count the exit routes and think about which rooms can serve as safe rooms. Does everyone remember the evacuation plans? When was the last time we ran a drill? Are the guys on watch sober? I’ll double the watch tonight. No, I’ll triple it. No one touches her. No one touches our kids.

Tori catches my eye again across the room. She lifts her chin slightly, confident, radiant, fearless. She believes in us, in me. She doesn’t doubt we can keep her and our babies safe. So I will make damn sure we deserve that belief, that we deserve her. I push off the wall and walk back into the heart of the noise, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her against me.

The clubhouse is alive tonight. And as long as I’m breathing, it’s gonna stay that way.

Chapter 27

Tori

I feel the babies moving now, they’re not strong enough to be called kicks, not yet. Just flutters. Tiny brushstrokes from the inside, like butterfly wings. I can’t believe it’s already been four months. My body has changed in ways I never imagined. My stomach curves outward proudly now, round and firm, undeniably pregnant. Those who don’t know assume I’m heavily pregnant. There’s no hiding it anymore. Not that I would.

The war hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s intensified. The Ghost Riders are winning, that much is obvious. The Raging Bulls have tried three separate hits on the clubhouse in the last month. None were successful. One ambush on a supply run that ended with two of their men disarmed and sent crawling back with their tails between their legs. There was another failed attempt at sabotaging bikes that Smoke caught before anyone rode out. And yet, the tension coils tighter every day.

Rumors have been drifting through back channels, whispers of dissent inside the Raging Bulls. My father’s men are questioning why the war continues when his own daughter is wearing another club’s patch, when she’s been openly claimed by three of their rivals, and is visibly pregnant. People are wondering why he hasn’t hit back against us with full force, ending it swiftly, unless he can’t. They’re wondering if he’s lost his touch, if he’s too weak to go after us because of me.

They say he’s furious and humiliated. Good.

I’m sitting upstairs in one of the back rooms when I hear the engines. Not the familiar rhythm of Ghost Rider bikes. This sound is sharper, louder, more aggressive, and familiar. My spine stiffens instantly. Cyrus is at the window before I even stand. Hunter appears in the doorway seconds later, jaw already tight. Flint doesn’t speak. He just moves.

“They’re here,” Hunter mutters.

My heart starts pounding so hard I feel it in my throat. I’ve grown used to the constant hum of fear in the background. But this feels different. Flint turns to me. His eyes are calm. Too calm, like the black surface of the ocean before a storm.

“Stay upstairs,” he growls.

I shake my head immediately. “No.”

“Tori—”

“No.” My voice is steady, even though my palms are damp. “If he’s here, I’m not hiding. He’s come to see for himself if the rumors are true.”

A muscle jumps in Flint’s jaw, but he doesn’t argue again. We move down the stairs together. The clubhouse feels electrified. Every brother is on his feet. Hands resting casually near weapons. Smoke is by the side door, standing sentry. Red is near the bar, a mean look on his face, ready to fight. Screw leans heavily on his good leg, his eyes dark despite the usual smirk. Through the front windows, I see them, the Raging Bulls.