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Nova’s shaking arms wrap around the blanket. She pulls the tiny, squirming weight tight against her heart, and her features dissolve into absolute, staggering wonder. She stares down at the wrinkled, red face, her tears falling freely now, dripping onto the white cotton.

Silas shifts his weight, crowding in close, resting his chin lightly on Nova’s shoulder. He reaches out with one trembling, tattooed finger, brushing the baby’s impossibly small cheek.

Teddy climbs up on the opposite side. The FBI agent leans over, wrapping his arm securely around Nova’s shoulders, pressing a heavy, lingering kiss into her damp auburn hair.

The triad forms a tight, unbreakable circle around the new life they created.

My throat tightens. A sharp, stinging burn pricks the backs of my eyes, and I take a slow step backward, retreating from the bed, giving them the space they deserve.

I bump directly into a solid wall of warm muscle.

Large, calloused hands settle onto my hips, anchoring me. The familiar scent of leather, steel, and citrus cologne wraps around me, chasing away the metallic smell of the birth.

I tilt my head back, resting my skull against Cole’s shoulder.

He stands in the doorway of the bedroom, his dark eyes locked on the scene playing out on the mattress. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm against my spine.

I reach up, dragging the back of my wrist across my cheek. It comes away wet. I’m crying. But for the first time since I lost my daughter, the tears aren’t carved from grief. They are spun entirely from hope.

Cole dips his chin, pressing his mouth against the shell of my ear.

“You did good, Archer,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrates straight down to my toes.

I turn in his arms, wrapping my hands around his waist, burying my face in the bare, inked skin of his chest. He holds me tight, his chin resting on the top of my head. We stand together in the doorway, listening to the soft, awe-struck whispers of a family meeting their son for the very first time.

I can feel the darkness inside me receding.

21

COLE

The heavy diesel engine of the transport hauler idles, vibrating the gravel beneath my boots.

I spin a six-inch throwing blade over my knuckles, watching the rig operators lower the hydraulic jacks. Thirty-eight feet of matte black and polished aluminum settles onto the dirt lot. Our new home. I ordered the custom fifth-wheel the morning after we left Missouri, paying a premium to have it hauled straight to our current camp. Our old trailers served their purpose, but Sloane and I need actual square footage. We need a real kitchen. A bed that fits two people.

We need room to grow.

The lot feels entirely too quiet right now. Jules commandeered Jonah’s massive SUV two hours ago, packing Sloane, Wren, and Nova inside. They headed into town on a massive supply run. Household necessities for our new rig, plus an ungodly amount of baby clothes for the newest addition to the Seven Sins family.

Without the women around, the testosterone in the air runs thick. My brothers and Teddy form a loose, lazy semicircle in the dirt, watching the transport crew unhitch the flatbed.

Logan flicks his silver lighter open. The metallic clack keeps a restless rhythm. “Thing looks like a stealth bomber, Cole. You planning on throwing knives inside the living room?”

“I plan on having a shower that actually fits two people,” I fire back, catching my blade by the hilt. “The acrobatics we have to pull off in our old trailers are going to snap my spine.”

Jonah crosses his massive, tree-trunk arms over his chest. A deep rumble vibrates in his throat. “Keep the details to yourself. Nobody wants the visual.”

Silas ignores us completely. The illusionist leans against a stack of wooden crates, tapping away on his smartphone. A smug, insufferable aura radiates off his sharp cheekbones.

“He lifted his head today,” Silas announces to the group at large, not looking up from the screen. “Ten full seconds. Core strength is off the charts. Caleb is going to join the main act before he can walk. Give him a deck of cards, he’ll be dealing seconds by his first birthday.”

Teddy scrubs a hand over his jaw. The federal agent looks exhausted, sporting a permanent shadow of stubble and the distinct eye bags of a man running on two hours of sleep.

“He lifted his head because he was trying to locate the source of Nova’s snoring,” Teddy mutters. He shifts his weight, glaring at Silas. “And I still can’t believe you let her put that name on the birth certificate.”

“She birthed him,” Silas counters smoothly, pocketing his phone. “She holds the naming rights. It’s an ironclad contract.”

Teddy drops his head back, staring up at the blinding mid-morning sun. “Caleb. She named him after freaking Caleb Ward. The man is a human brick wall. He scowls for a living. He communicates in grunts and acts like a bodyguard for the grim reaper. He is the least cuddly human being on the planet.”