look us in the eye while threatenin’ her. He did see me, though when he got hauled into that ambulance, barely conscious.”
“He’s not dead?” Katie asked.
“No. But not sure he’ll make it. Three gunshots,” Jonathan said. “One in his chest.”
I breathed in relief. The police shot him, not Christian, so he’d been stopped, and he’d been stopped before anyone else died and in a way that no one would have to answer for taking him down.
I breathed out another massive breath of relief while I hugged my beautiful biker tighter.
***
Wild Will Forker did not make it. He died on the way to the hospital. The Forker family did not have a funeral for him, didn’t even claim his remains.
My man would be able to sleep at night, too, knowing his father wasn’t out there and yet not be haunted in a way that would plague him if he’d been the one that’d put those bullets in William Forker.
Sarge, Kylo, and Larsen as well as the rest of the guys who tried to revive the Jackals went quiet. (But not for long, because our guys hunted them down one by one over the following weeks and it didn’t take long for all of them to be gone in one way or another.)
We had a big party a week after we got home from Rapid City.
Biker style. We celebrated the life of Sean ‘Blow’ O’Grady while we also celebrated the demise of William Jonathan Forker and Alec “The Jackal” Wylde.
I, however, did not partake in consumption of alcoholic beverages. Because I’d taken a pregnancy test. I revealed the results first, to my biker, and then we announced it in front of the whole club.
The test results were positive. My biker and I would be parents. Another reason to celebrate.
Interestingly: Lulu and her sister, Lola, joined the party that night. Lulu was not drinking either. I pulled her aside. “Why are you drinking water?”
She shrugged. “I told Lola I’d be the DD tonight.”
“We have prospects, taxis, and places to crash here, girl.”
She bit her lip. “I’m pregnant.”
My jaw dropped.
“Shh. I haven’t told anyone yet.”
“What? Who’s the father?” I whispered.
She winced and stared at the bar.
Bronto stood there with Bick and Nolan.
“Bick?” I asked. He was older than the other prospects, kind of ruggedly handsome in a John Wayne as a biker kind of way.
She shook her head.
“Nolan?”
She bit her lip. Nope. Nolan made sense. He was young, just slightly older than me and Lulu, but very good-looking.
My jaw dropped. “You and Bronto are a thing?” I whispered.
“No. It was one night. Don’t tell a soul. I haven’t decided what to do about this. I haven’t even told him yet.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
She wasn’t drinking so clearly, she was keeping the baby.
Holy crap.
***
Christian held me tight in bed that night. I was, of course, sober, though naked. My Superman was a little drunk. And drunk equaled stamina so I was exhausted.
“I ain’t planting that apple tree today.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll plant one soon though. Know why?”
“Cuz we’re buying a house and it’ll be nice to pick apples from our yard for pies?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Pie is good. Can you bake pies?”
“I can learn.”
“Yeah, good. Learn that. Don’t have to rush to plant it today. Know why?”
“Why, baby?” I caressed his face.
“Because the world ain’t about to burn to the ground, jellybean. For once, I can go to sleep knowing that’s not about to happen. In fact, tomorrow’s lookin’ really fucking good.”
Epilogue
I held his hand tight while the needle tapped ink into the skin on the back of his shoulder, outlining the eagle.
It was just us two, no one else was with us but the tattoo artist. I was sporting a bit of a baby bump and my biker couldn’t keep his hands off it. And every single time I got recognized as the Calendar Girl since popping at the belly, he got a smug smirk on his face as he drew attention to that bump with his big, strong hands. Yes, I was still getting recognized as the calendar girl, and he was making it clear that he was the man who knocked her up.
There were no smirks today. I knew he hated every minute of getting the tattoo, but it was his idea. I hadn’t pressured him at all. He tightened his teeth and looked at me instead of at the tattoo gun. He’d also had several shots of Jack before we sat down.
In addition to his brotherhood tatt on the back of his shoulder, he would