Page 55 of Triplets for the Rival MC

Flint studies her for half a second, then nods. We move outside together, me and Hunter supporting her. She moves slowly, but purposefully, head held high. She’s grown stronger, her legs muscled and toned, under the weight of the babies. I’ve no doubt she’ll carry all three in her arms once they’re born.

The evening air is thick and warm, cicadas buzzing in the trees beyond the lot. The clubhouse still shows signs of the last fight. There’s fresh paint covering bullet holes, replaced windows shining in the light of the setting sun, and faint tire marks near the front gate.

King stands beside his bike. This time, there are only two men with him. That’s it. This time, there’s no army, no backup, and no arrogance radiating off him like before. He looks… smaller. Not physically. Just less.

He no longer wears the Raging Bulls vest; he’s not come today as the president of a rival motorcycle club, just as himself.

Flint steps forward first. Hunter stays tight to Tori’s other side. I plant myself just slightly ahead of her without blocking her view, ready to use myself as a shield in case he does something stupid.

“What do you want?” Flint asks.

King doesn’t look at him. He looks at Tori. At her stomach and the ready-to-pop curve straining the fabric of her shirt. The babies shift visibly, moving against her stomach, as if they feel the tension, too.

King swallows. “I didn’t come to fight.”

I let out a short laugh. “That’s convenient.”

He ignores me. “I came to talk.”

“No,” I say immediately.

Tori steps forward anyway. “I’ll decide that.” I hate that I respect it. She moves until she’s fully in his line of sight. I stay close enough to grab her if he so much as twitches wrong.

Up close, I see it in his face. The exhaustion, the regret. Something inside him has been cracked open and hollowed out. Instead of the belligerent man I knew, he looks beaten.

“You made your point,” he says stiffly. “You won.”

“This wasn’t a competition,” she replies.

“It was to you.”

Her chin lifts. She does that thing with her posture when she’s done being talked down to and told what to do. It makes my chest ache with pride.

His eyes drop to her belly again. “They’re healthy?” he asks.

The question sounds wrong coming from his mouth. He says it softly. He almost sounds… human.

“Yes,” she says.

He nods once, like that matters.

Flint’s voice cuts through. “You’ve got five minutes.”

King exhales slowly. “I underestimated you,” he says to her.

“No kidding,” I mutter.

She ignores me. “Is that supposed to be an apology?” she tells him.

He almost smiles. “You look…” he hesitates.

“Fat?” she offers dryly.

He shakes his head. “No.” Silence stretches. He sighs, a wistful, sad sound. “You look like your mother.”

The words land heavily in the air. I see it in Tori’s shoulders. That the mention of her mother still holds weight.

He studies her like he’s trying to memorize the moment. “You stand like her,” he says. “When she was angry. When she was telling me off.”