Page 28 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

EMBER

Nine weeks pregnant, and I swear these men have lost their minds.

Atlas has assigned Marco to shadow me at the grocery store. Not escort—shadow. As if I were some celebrity who needs a bodyguard to buy milk and bread. The man follows three feet behind me through every aisle, nodding seriously when I pick up bananas and looking suspicious of the teenage cashier.

“You buying those prenatal vitamins?” Marco asks as I load groceries into the truck.

“Already have them.”

“What about calcium? My sister says pregnant women need extra calcium.”

“I’m fine, Marco.”

“Maybe some of those crackers? The plain ones? Help with morning sickness?”

I stop loading bags and turn to face him. Marco’s built like a linebacker, but right now he looks like a worried grandmother. “Did Atlas tell you to monitor my food choices?”

“I’m just making sure you’re taking care of yourself. And the baby.”

“The baby’s the size of a grape. I think we’re good.”

But Marco’s dialing a number. “Boss? Yeah, she got the vitamins, but I think she needs more protein…”

By the time we get back to the compound, I’m ready to murder someone. Atlas meets us in the driveway, taking the grocery bags like they weigh fifty pounds each.

“How are you feeling? Any nausea? Dizziness?”

“I feel like I’m being treated like a sick person.”

“You’re carrying our child. We want to make sure—”

“That I don’t lift anything heavier than a coffee mug?”

Atlas has the grace to look sheepish. “Marco might have been overzealous.”

“Marco wanted to carry my purse.”

“That was his idea.”

Inside the restaurant, Garrett’s rearranging tables to create wider aisles. When he sees me, he immediately pulls out a chair and pats the seat. “Sit. Feet up. I’ll get you some water.”

“I just sat in a truck for forty minutes.”

“Circulation’s important during pregnancy. My grandmother always said—”

“Garrett. I love your grandmother’s wisdom, but I don’t need to sit down every time I enter a room.”

“Course you don’t.” But he’s already placed a glass of water on the table beside the chair. “Just thought you might want to rest.”

Silas emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray with exactly four crackers arranged in a neat square. He sets it down like he’s presenting the crown jewels.

“For your stomach,” he says proudly. “Plain saltines. Parfait for morning sickness.”

I stare at the crackers. Four of them. Arranged geometrically.

“You made me a cracker presentation.”

“Oui. Mrs. Patterson says they work best on an empty stomach, so I thought—”

“You’ve been consulting Mrs. Patterson about my pregnancy?”

Three guilty faces look back at me. These dangerous men are getting pregnancy advice from a seventy-year-old church lady.

“She raised six children,” Atlas says defensively.

“All healthy babies,” Garrett adds.

“She knows things,” Silas concludes.

I pick up one of the crackers and take a bite. It tastes like cardboard, but their faces light up like I’ve just performed a miracle.

“Better?” Garrett asks.

“It’s a cracker, not medicine.”

But I eat the other three because it would break my heart for them to lose the hope in their eyes. They watch every chew, every swallow, like I might disappear if they stop paying attention for two seconds.

This is my life now.

“I need some air,” I announce, standing up.

“I’ll come with you,” Atlas says immediately.

“So will I,” Garrett adds.

“I’m walking to the mailbox. Not climbing Everest.”

“Fresh air is good for the baby,” Atlas says, already reaching for his jacket.

“Twenty feet. I’m walking twenty feet to get the mail.”

“Road’s uneven,” Garrett points out. “Lots of loose gravel.”

“What if you trip?” Silas asks, looking genuinely concerned.

I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, three worried faces are still staring at me.

“Okay. New rule. I get fifteen minutes a day where nobody follows me, nobody asks if I’m okay, and nobody analyzes my food choices. Fifteen minutes of being treated like the same person I was two weeks ago.”

“But—” Atlas starts.

“Fifteen minutes. Or I’m moving back to the motel until this baby’s born.”

The threat works. They exchange glances, having one of their wordless conversations, then Atlas nods reluctantly. “Fifteen minutes. But you stay on the property.”

“Deal.”

I escape through the back door before they can change their minds. The afternoon sun feels good on my face, and for the first time in days, nobody’s asking if I need to sit down.

The mailbox sits at the end of our drive, a simple black box that’s survived two shootouts and countless mountain storms. The walk takes maybe three minutes, but I stretch it to five, enjoying the crunch of gravel under my boots and the sound of wind through the pine trees.

Three bills, two supply catalogs, and a hand-addressed envelope with no return address. The envelope gives me pause—we don’t get much personal mail, and anything without identification makes me nervous these days.

But the handwriting is a feminine script.

I tear it open right there in the driveway.

Dear Ember,

Heard through the grapevine that congratulations are in order. Small towns talk, and Mrs. Patterson never could keep a secret. Don’t worry—she only told people she trusts, which in Wolf Pike means everyone who matters.

I wanted you to know that all the ladies are thrilled for you. We’ve been hoping those men would find someone worth settling down for, and you’ve exceeded every expectation. They look at you like you hung the moon, and you look at them like they might actually deserve it.

Being pregnant in a dangerous situation isn’t easy. I know because I’ve been there. But you know what I learned?

Love makes you stronger, not weaker. Those men will move heaven and earth to keep you both safe, and you’ll find reserves of strength you never knew you had.

If you need anything—advice, supplies, or just someone to complain to about overprotective men—you know where to find me. The racing crowd would love to see you again when you’re feeling up to it.

Welcome to the family, honey. All of us.

With love,

Evie Cross

P.S.—Tell your men that putting a pregnant woman under surveillance is grounds for justifiable homicide in most states. We ladies have to stick together.

I fold the letter and tuck it into my jacket pocket, warmth spreading through my chest. The acceptance means more than I realized it would.

The walk back to the house takes longer because I’m savoring the peace.

But as I approach the restaurant, I can hear voices—clipped tones from inside as I approach the restaurant. Through the window, I see Atlas on his phone, face grim. Silas is spreading maps across a table.

My fifteen minutes of normalcy just ended.

I push through the front door, and three heads turn toward me with expressions I recognize—the same look they had the night of the cartel attack.

“What’s happened?” I ask.

“Los Serpientes just hit the Morrison storage facility,” Atlas says, ending his call. “Took out two of Jake’s men.”

“Shit.”

Garrett slides a loaded rifle across the bar. “They left a message spray-painted on Jake’s office wall.”

“What kind of message?” I ask.

“‘The gringo bitch dies soon.’”

“They’re coming for me.”

“They’re trying to come for you,” Silas corrects. “There’s a difference.”

“No.”

“Ember—” Atlas starts.

I cross the room in three quick steps and climb onto his lap before he can finish the sentence. His hands automatically move to steady me, and I can feel his surprise in the way his muscles tense.

“I said no.” I frame his face with my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. “I’m not hiding. I’m not running. I’m not letting some cartel soldiers scare me into acting like a chicken.”

“You’re pregnant—”

I silence him with a kiss, slow and deliberate, letting my tongue tease his lower lip until his breath hitches. When I pull back, his storm-gray eyes are darker.

“I’m pregnant,” I agree, letting my hands slide down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under my palms. “Not disabled. Not helpless.”

My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one while I hold his gaze. “I killed their soldier. I protected innocent people. I faced down federal agents.” Another button opens. “I chose you over everything else in my life.”

“Ember…” His voice is rougher now, and I can feel the effect I’m having on him.

“I’m not afraid of them,” I whisper against his ear, letting my hands explore the warm skin I’ve exposed. “I’m not afraid of anything, as long as I have you.”

Atlas tries to speak, but the words seem to stick in his throat as I trail my lips along his neck. His hands grip my hips tighter.

“We should… Tomorrow we can…” He clears his throat, trying again. “Let’s continue this conversation tomorrow—”

“Really?” Silas interrupts from across the room, sounding amused despite everything. “You two are just going to fuck in the middle of chaos?”

Atlas doesn’t look away from me, his hands already sliding under my shirt. “I don’t want any disturbances,” he says firmly, his mouth finding mine again.