Page 50 of Triplets for the Rival MC

Flint steps forward then, slow and deadly. “Choose your next words carefully, or I’m gonna let my friend here fulfill his promise.”

Hunter waggles his tongue, holding up a knife, somehow threatening and mocking my father at the same time.

My father laughs again, but it’s strained now. “She was never loyal,” he says loudly, projecting to both clubs. “You think she’s fucking you for any other reason than to get back at her old man? She doesn’t care about you. She’s just a stupid young girl acting out against her father.”

The insult stings—not because I believe it, but because I used to. Because part of me once did use them to hurt him. But that’s not what our relationship is anymore, and my men know the truth.

“You don’t get to talk about loyalty,” I say, voice shaking with anger now. “You told my men I wasn’t worth paying to get back.”

Surprise flickers across his men’s faces. They may not have respected me while I was there, but they understand the importance of family. He may have been shitty to me, but to refuse to rescue me when I was taken, claiming I’m worthless, was a bad move. It shows weakness, a lack of strength. They’ll assume he didn’t rescue me because he couldn’t. Not that he didn’t care.

They’re thinking of their own children, of what they’d do to save them. They’re judging him for not doing the right thing. Whatever lie he told them, the truth is out now. I’m here because of him—the war is because of him. His eyes flash with anger as he realizes this, but he can’t admit he’s wrong now. He won’t.

“You weren’t.”

The old wound splits open, raw and familiar. But I’m not the same girl who left that day. “I’m worth more than you ever deserved,” I say quietly.

Flint’s hand brushes mine briefly.

His gaze drops to my stomach again. “Those are my heirs,” he says suddenly. “My blood.” A chill runs through me. My biggest fear is manifesting before my eyes. “You give her back now,” he tells Flint. “End this war. She and those bastard babies belong with the Raging Bulls.” He discusses this as if we’re nothing more than property; to him, we are.

“No,” Flint says simply.

Hunter’s expression is feral. Cyrus looks ready to kill.

His face darkens. “You’d choose them over your own blood?” he demands of me.

I reply without hesitation. “Yes.” The word feels like freedom. “They are my blood now.”

“You ungrateful little—”

“You made your choice,” I cut in. “The day you decided I wasn’t worth it, and all the days before that when you made me feel worthless. You were never a real father to me. Mom would be ashamed.”

Silence. Wind kicks dust across the lot. I swear I see a flicker of remorse in his eyes at the mention of my mother. My father looks around at his men again. They’re watching him. Not me. Him. They’re looking at him like they finally see him for the weak, selfish man he is, and he knows it.

His nostrils flare. “You think this is over?” he roars. “You think carrying a few brats makes you untouchable?”

Flint steps fully in front of me now. “Try us,” he says softly. The threat hangs heavy.

For a heartbeat, I think this is it. I think that guns will fire and blood will spill because of me. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. The babies shift inside me—maybe reacting to my tension. Maybe I’m imagining it, acutely aware of the precious lives I carry. I suddenly feel very, very vulnerable.

His hand twitches near his belt. Several Ghost Riders shift in unison. Something changes in the air. One spark is all it would take to become an inferno. My father laughs, harsh and unhinged.

“I’ll kill you all,” he promises. “Every last one of you.”

Flint doesn’t blink. “You’re welcome to try.” The challenge is unmistakable.

The air is so tight it feels like it might shatter. And then he turns sharply.

“Mount up!” he barks at his men. They hesitate, just slightly. He sees that too. “Now!” Engines roar to life one by one. He swings onto his bike, glaring at me one last time. “You’ll regret this,” he says.

I don’t answer. I just stand there, one hand on my stomach, flanked by the men I chose.

He revs hard before peeling out, gravel spraying. The rest follow. The noise fades slowly, but the tension doesn’t. For several long seconds, no one moves.

“Inside,” Shelly says firmly, appearing at my side. I hadn’t even seen her step forward. “You need to get inside. Now.” My legs feel weak suddenly.

Flint turns to me, his face no longer calm; it’s furious, protective. “Go,” he says. “This could be a trap to make us lower our defenses; they might be circling back.”