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A cramp rips through me and I gasp, clutching my belly.

The cop sighs. “Fine.You. Up.”

The wave of pain rushes away, and I realize they’re motioning at Remy, who rises fluidly to his feet. He grabs the corner of his shirt and lifts it, revealing his body art, arms spread. “Bad day for you, buddy. I’m clean as a whistle.”

Remy might be, but most of them get taken off—even the ones who don’t have guns—for something or another. Traffic violations. Probation violations. Simple possession of paraphernalia. Kaz gets the loudest cheer at four guns, with chants of, “To the victor go the spoils!” and he obnoxiously bows as he’s led away, handcuffed and skipping. But it’s all small stuff, and from the way Remy is chuckling as he stands back—one of the only guys who couldn’t be arrested—chances are, all of them will be out by tomorrow.

But then they get to Eugene.

Agent Knight is the one to step over his prone form, bending to gather Eugene’s wrist for the handcuffs. It’s nothing like it was with the other guys. There’s no fun frisk to see who’s won the raid’s gun count.

Instead, Agent Knight clicks the cuffs, saying, “Eugene Warren, you're under arrest for suspicion in the murder of Laura Walker. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say?—”

It hits me as the room erupts in a different sound this time, full of indignation and hurled profanities, that this was the whole point. To clear the guns, the frat boys, even some cutsluts out of the room before they arrested him. The realization knocks me sideways, and I no longer hear what anyone is saying. Theonly thing swimming in my ears is an odd sort of ringing as I watch Ballsy turn to meet my gaze, all the blood draining from his face.

Everything falls apart.

The artifice of fun snaps away, and suddenly, a wave of fury fills the air.

I’m not even surprised when Remy rushes at Knight, slamming his tattooed fist into his face with a snarl. “That’s bullshit, and you fucking know it!”

Knight staggers from the hit, his sunglasses flying off, but quickly collects himself, offering Remy a bloody grin. “Thank you. When we came here, I didn’t have anything on you, and trust me, I looked.” He jerks his head at the officer running over. “Book Mr. Maddox for assaulting a federal officer.”

Remy puts his own hands behind his back, leaning in to sneer, “You’re a pussy. You wouldn’t make it ten seconds in a ring with one of us.”

But Knight’s already moving on.

To Wicker.

He stares down at him, dabbing his split lip. “I wonder what we’re going to find in your pants, Ashby.”

Wicker climbs slowly to his feet, a cocky smirk plastered to his face. “Just my throbbing, nine-inch cock.”

“Why are you doing this to us?” I ask, the words tearing out of my throat like a sob. “Eugene didn’t do anything. Why won’t you leave him alone? Can’t you see we’ve been through enough?”

Agent Knight gives me a long, searching look. “It’s always the boyfriend, Miss Sinclaire. Or the fiance. Or the husband.” He steps closer, peering down into my eyes. It galls me to see the sympathy on his face. “You think I’m gunning for the people you care about, Princess, but I’m trying to protect you from them.” Agent Knight glances back, watching as Ballsy’s led out of thegym. “Something you may think about before that baby gets here.”

Laura is dead.

Stella might be too, for all I know.

Eugene, the Dukes, DKS—everyone is being taken away in handcuffs.

And somewhere in that maelstrom of grief and anger and bone-deep helplessness, I feel a sudden trickle of warmth against my thighs, transforming to a gush, just as a cramp seizes me.

“Oh no!” I gasp. “No, no, no…” I grab for Wicker, but he’s already there, shoulder slamming into Agent Knight as he catches me. I know he understands what’s happening when his shoe slips, squeaking against the clear fluid pooling on the floor, because he inspects it with a frozen stare.

And then his blue eyes rise to mine. “We need to get you out of here.” He swings that panicked gaze onto Agent Knight. “Her water just broke. You can frisk me, but make it quick. We have to get to the car to—shit, my leather. No,” his head shakes, “don’t worry about that. Oh, fuck.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Knight says, pushing him back. “This is an active raid, Ashby. How do I know she’s not faking?”

“Her water broke! How’s she going to fake that?”

Another cramp hits, and I suck in a breath. Knight glances over, grimacing. “If your girlfriend needs an ambulance, we’ll call her one, but no one else is coming in or out of here until we’re finished.”

Only one problem with that. “They can’t get through,” says an officer, overhearing. “The tow companies here are giving us the runaround. We’re having to call the county wreckers to get those stalled cars removed.”

“County?!” Wicker snaps. “That’ll take an hour, at least!”