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“It’s protocol to clear an area before we let anyone else in—including medical. There were enough guns in here to fill a warehouse, and my guys are still sweeping. We offered to take her out and meet the ambulance, but she’s refusing.” He exhales. “If you want to come out there with me and find the best route for the EMS team to get in and help your friend, I’m all ears.”

He’s not wrong about the clusterfuck. It’s absolutely pandemonium out there. Every cop in the city is clogging the streets outside the gym. I’d broken every speed limit to cross town, and once I had, I got out of my car and sprinted half the length of West End to the back entry. “How close is she?” I ask, lungs heaving. “What’s the timing on the contractions?”

It’s only been minutes since I put my phone in my pocket to climb the building, but that scream I just heard…

“I don’t know,” Mama B says, voice quiet but cutting. “Those fucking animals came in, and everything has been a madhouse—” Her words bite off into a gasp, and when I twist to find out why, I see her gaze fixed on my back. “Sweet suffering Jehovah, what the fuck happened there?”

Annoyed that she’s seeing my scars, I snap, “Not important. Come on, they’re leaving.”

As soon as Knight and Lavinia are out of sight, Mama B zips around me, leading me across the floor of the gym toward a door on the east wall. I crash through it with her, pulse thundering as I spot Verity on the floor.

She’s lying down, knees up, thighs spread wide, and a pale Wicker is beside her, squeezing her hand.

“Told you, Red,” he says, eyes lighting up. “Look—he made it.”

I don’t need to nudge Pace over. When he sees me, it’s like all the tension falls out of him, and he shoots to his feet, backing away so fast, he bumps into Pauly. “Thank fuck you’re here.”

But mostly, I just see her. Cheeks red, eyes wet, chest heaving with exertion. “Lex,” she pants, grabbing for me the moment my knees hit the mat before her. The kiss I give her is quick but searing, too full of the dread and terror I’ve been carrying with me ever since I got Wick’s text. “Lex, I was so scared to do this without you.”

“I’ve got you now,” I say, struggling to catch my breath. It’s more of a relief than it should be to look down and not see the baby’s head. “Okay, you’re not crowning yet. Uh, it’s Paul, right?” I glance at the trainer—at Pace’sdad—whose haggard face looks a bit green.

“Pauly,” he corrects. “I don’t know much about births, but she’s looking good.”

“Did I hear something about towels before? Antiseptic? Something to clean my hands with.”

Looking grateful for a task, he begins tossing me things from the shelves; sterile saline wipes, nitrile gloves, and a thick stack of hand towels that I try not to think too much about.

“Is it okay?” she asks, her green eyes full of fear. “Is everything happening right?” She reaches a trembling hand down to her core, wincing. “I don’t feel him.”

“Not yet, but that’s fine. Good, actually,” I assure. As I speed through the process of using the wipes, my hands are steadier than they have any right to be. “Wick,” I call as I pull on the first glove. “How long since the last?—”

“Now! Fuck!” Verity’s whole body tenses before me, lips pulling back on a gnashed cry. Her hand reaches out, nails clawing into my forearm, and I freeze, absorbing the pain. I’ve seen women giving birth before, but none of those were women I love. Even the sight of Verity in pain cleaves through my chestlike a hot knife, she looks like a force of nature as her body clenches in a push, a spray of rabid spittle flying out through gritted teeth. Wild tendrils of her red hair are plastered with sweat to her forehead, the capillaries closest to her skin already blooming, breaking.

She looks like a warrior.

A creator.

“Never mind.” I don’t wait for the contraction to ease before grabbing her knee with one hand and sliding my fingers into her with the other. Wicker presses his forehead to her temple, whispering quiet, intense, soothing things.

“That’s right, Red,” he murmurs. “You’ve got this. You’re stronger than any of us are, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she snaps, and her mother snorts, muttering, “Men.”

“He’s coming,” I tell her, pitching forward to capture her gaze. “You’re doing so good, baby. We’re almost there, but not quite. You’re fully dilated and a hundred-percent effaced, just like we talked about, but you have to work with your body and the contractions—not against it. You’re going to need to wait to push until I tell you to, okay?”

She answers with a long, miserable sob. “They took Eugene, Lex.” A tear rolls down her cheek, voice thick and ragged. “Laura’s dead, and they think he?—”

“Don’t think of that right now,” I urge. “Your job is to get that baby here.”

Mama B leans down to catch Verity’s gaze. “Listen to me. Ballsy would beat his own ass if he knew you were worrying about him at a time like this.”

Jerking my chin at Wick, I order, “While you’ve got her hand, try to count her pulse.”

In the minutes between contractions, the room grows electric with anticipation, each second stretched thin with expectation.But he’s coming faster than I expected, and it’s not long before I notice her stomach tightening up and nod at Verity.

“It’s time. Do you think you can push now, baby?”

She responds with another of those body-seizing clenches, and Pace moves in behind her, giving her leverage. I brace her thighs as she bears down, releasing a guttural sound that might as well be a fist reaching into my chest. Her mother crouches down, almost like she’s remembering her own labor—sense memory—the two of them connected through the pain.