Page 81 of Claimed By the Bikers

Garrett’s hand is still on my stomach, and I cover it with mine. “A baby. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually excited.”

“Just excited?” Silas asks.

“Terrified and excited and completely overwhelmed.” I look between all three of them. “But mostly excited.”

“Good,” Atlas says. “Because you’re about to discover what overprotective really means.”

“I’m a federal agent. I can take care of myself.”

“Not anymore, you can’t,” Garrett says firmly. “You’re carrying precious cargo now.”

“I’m still me. I’m still capable?—”

“You’re still you,” Atlas agrees. “But you’re also going to be a mother. Our priorities just shifted completely.”

25

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.”