Chapter 11

Weeks go by in a painful fog.

I don’t register when the night ends and the sunrise begins. I barely notice the sunset melting into the western horizon as I spend most of my time in bed or in front of the TV, crying my heart out and eating cookie dough ice cream.

Dad understands that I’m not in the best of moods, and I’m sure he knows why—he must’ve talked to the guys at the club about me—but at least he’s keeping his distance. He’s letting me sulk in my misery and likely waiting for it to pass before he comes to me with a job offer.

My sleep is rough. I wake up often, tossing and turning and checking my phone. They haven’t sent me a single text. I messaged Paddy a couple of times to check up on him and the clubhouse, but his replies have been polite, at best, if not a bit dismissive.

They’re actively shutting me out, and I’ve come to realize it’s got nothing to do with me. It has to be about Colton Harrow and his aggressive moves across Orange County. They probably want me out of harm’s way. Given the stories I’ve heard about other clubhouses, perhaps I should be more understanding.

Except I can’t be. Not when there’s a pregnancy test in my nightstand drawer, its plus sign viciously staring at me whenever I open it. I’m pregnant. I”m not far along, but definitely pregnant. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. We weren’t careful, not one bit.

What the hell am I going to do? Go to my dad for advice?

“Hey, Dad, so I’ve been screwing three of your biker buddies at the same time, and now I’ve got a baby on the way, but don’t ask me who the daddy is because I don’t have a clue.”

Yeah, that sounds insane.

I don’t have anyone to talk to about this, either. Most of my friends went off to college or they’re working prestigious jobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. I was supposed to join them, but I carved myself a different path despite their expectations.

I chose to finish college and jump right into the clubhouse bar, only to end up broken-hearted and pregnant.

“Nadia, are you home?” Dad calls out from downstairs.

I check the time on my phone, once again dismayed that the guys haven’t even reached out to see if I’m okay after the way they dismissed me. “Yeah,” I reply, then climb out of bed and have a look at myself in the mirror.

It’ll be a while before my pregnancy starts to show, but anyone who knows me can tell I’m not all right. There are dark circles under my eyes; the blue in them is faded, and they’re puffy from so much crying. I pull my blonde hair into a messy bun and put on a pair of jeans to go with an oversized t-shirt, then head downstairs.

I find my father in his study, going over some papers on his desk. He looks just as torn up as I feel, though I highly doubt he’s dealing with anything close to my kind of troubles. “What’s up?” I ask, suddenly worried he might know about what’s cooking in my oven. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, I’m okay, honey. I’m more worried about you,” Dad says, giving me a curious look. I know it pains him to see me like this, but he’s giving me the room I need to recover. I have to give this man credit where credit is due. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m fine. Trying to pull myself together. But I’m fine.”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

It’s early afternoon, and I’ve already devoured half of the casseroles in the fridge. Our kitchen staff left me some goodies in there—crispy chicken strips, roasted potatoes, a cheese and cauliflower dish that softened my very soul, and a couple of slices of apple pie.

They cook twice a week and make sure there’s always plenty to eat.

“I’ve eaten, yes.” He doesn’t need to know about the concerning spike in my appetite. I went through those strips and taters like no tomorrow. We’re out of pie, and the girls are coming back on Friday to cook again. I’ll have to raid the pantry next because this sweet tooth is only getting sweeter. “How about you?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Nadia, I’m worried about you.”

I scoff lightly. “Don’t be, Dad. I’m fine. I’ll brush it off and move on.”

“I’m sorry for the way it ended with the clubhouse, but I’m well aware of the situation, and I’m glad they decided to pull the plug. It’s safer for you, trust me,” he says.

“I’m glad everybody else is making my decisions for me,” I shoot back, crossing my arms. “Sure, kick me out because the Big Bad Wolf decided to stroll into town. Like I’m some porcelain doll.”

“Nadia, these are dangerous people,” Dad insists. “You never belonged there in the first place, and you definitely don’t need to be there when the Black Devils attack. Because they will attack.”

My heart jumps. The thought of violence embroiling the club, of something happening to Kai, Drake, or Orion, makes my knees weak and my heart ache. “Have you heard anything from them?” I ask in a weak voice.

“They’re fine for now, but the Devils are closing in, teasing the Blackthorn Riders out on the open road. A couple of Colton’s goons went into the rotisserie the other day and demanded that they start paying a protection tax,” Dad says.

The rotisserie is one of the newer side businesses in Anaheim that the guys started to fund their transition from drug-running activities. It’s been going great but hearing that the Devils are looking to sabotage their efforts to go legal has my nerves zinging with anxiety.

Sooner or later, Orion and the club will have no choice but to respond with violence.

“That being said, I’ve got a junior account manager position waiting for you,” Dad adds, his eyes searching my face with caution. “You’ll need a couple of weeks’ worth of training, but I know you will knock it out of the park, Nadia. Why don’t you consider it?”

“I’m not ready to come work for you.”

I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to work for my dad. I just want to go back to the clubhouse. I miss the people there, the smell of spilled beer and burnt tobacco. Hell, I even miss Carla’s scrunched-up drunken face and Paddy’s dirty jokes, the occasional brawls between prospects, and the Thursday night karaoke sessions that made my ears bleed.

“Nadia.”

“I’ll be upstairs,” I tell him and walk out.

I’d stick around and argue about it some more, but my morning sickness doesn’t stick to mornings alone. I’m about to hurl, and I need to do so in my own bathroom.

This can’t be the end of what we had. It can’t be. We were good together. I never imagined I’d be so happy and fulfilled with three men the way I was with them. I miss our intimacy, the way we laughed at one another’s jokes, the way they sat and told me about their day while I lay naked between them, basking in the sweetest afterglow.

I miss the way they’d secretly wink at me whenever they came into the bar and the quickies in their office or the storage room. My nights are lonely and cold, yet I don’t know what I can do. It’s not in my nature to beg or grovel. I’d give anything to see them again. Until then, however, I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do about myself.

This baby is proof that we were meant to be, and it’s not something I imagined I’d feel so soon. It scares and exhilarates me at the same time, yet without knowing where it ends, the uncertainty is unbearable.