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Shooting Ghost a quick glance, I see him talking to Tusk, but he’s looking at me rather expectantly. Wanting him to see me enjoying this shopping trip he arranged for me, I smile at Frankie and tell her, “You choose what you think will suit me.”

“Excellent!” she says clapping her hands. “I’ve got lots of options that fit the bill. Follow me.”

We head into a side alcove filled with soft lighting and floor-length mirrors. Brittany has gone back to the dressing room to take her dress off. Frankie pulls three gowns, one deep plum, one lush emerald green, and one champagne with silver beading. All elegant and body-skimming.

“Try these,” she says. “Trust me, they’ll look fabulous. At the moment you’re not really showing, but there’s a bit of stretch in them if you suddenly pop out between now and the charity gala.”

I step into the changing room area as Brittany is coming out. She scrapes her nails down the emerald green one. “This is the one. I’ll bet you a decaf cappuccino on that.”

I quickly change behind the curtain and step out, feeling like a much more glamorous version of myself. The plum hugs my curves. The champagne-colored one makes my eyes pop. But the emerald green one is perfection. When I step into the room in that dress, everything stops.

Even Ghost, sipping his coffee across the store, looks up and freezes for a brief second.

His eyes trail slowly from my hem all the way up to my face. Then back down again as a smirk spreads across his face.

Brittany nudges me playfully with her shoulder. “Told you.”

He gets up and crosses the floor in several long strides then stops just shy of touching me.

“You wear that,” he says, voice low, “and I’m gonna have to keep a knife in my boot all night.”

I laugh, flushed and happy by his casual awe. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“That’s a hell-of-a-yes in my book,” Ghost says breathlessly.

Frankie reaches over and rings a bell before gushing, “We have a winner.”

We dig into accessories next. First shoes, then costume jewelry—because ain’t none of us millionaires around these parts.

Ghost even insists on a matching wrap to go with my dress in case the night air turns out to be a bit cold.

Brittany watches gleefully as they box up her gold sequin dress and matching heels, giving Tusk a big hug.

His chest puffs up as he soaks in all her adoration.

Being with Ghost, Tusk, and Brittany, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m part of something special—instead of just being tolerated or protected for the sake of my unborn child. I belong with these people.

My dress is boxed up with tissue paper. The shoes and accessories are all bagged, taped shut, and labeled for pickup later. Francesca kisses both of us on the cheek before we leave, waving as we exit the building.

Ghost and Tusk each text one of the prospects to pick up our haul so we can ride out light and free on the back of their bikes. When Ghost holds up my helmet, I can’t help but smile. He’s so casual about me riding at his back, and I love it just as much.

After he gets on, I swing one leg over the back of the bike. The minute we both have our helmets strapped on, the engine roars to life beneath us.

We ride just far enough out of town that the surrounding area gets quiet. I enjoy the sight of pine trees drifting past, the sound of the motor humming along, and the gentle breeze pushing against my body as we drive.

I close my eyes and press my cheek lightly against the back of his cut. This doesn’t feel like pretending anymore. It feels more real than anything I’ve ever known.

***

When we finally pull into the parking lot at the restaurant, the building is smaller than I expected.

The exterior is neat brick and glass with a fancy sign.

It’s the kind of place that serves bourbon by the ounce and steaks so thick they take two knives to cut—just the kind of place Ghost and Tusk would pick.

Tusk holds the door while Ghost leads me inside, one hand resting lightly at my lower back. It’s possessive in the gentlest way, not controlling at all. Like he’s saying, you’re mine, without ever speaking the words.

Dinner is easy at first. Brittany orders a bourbon cocktail with cinnamon bark floating in it. Tusk ribs her for ordering something fancy instead of her typical wine. She makes him taste it, and then he orders one too. I smile at their shenanigans.

I sit beside Ghost in the booth, our knees barely brushing under the table. We flirt, share bites off each other’s plates, and laugh at each other’s jokes. The more I relax into the moment with him, the more right it feels being with him.

But there’s a shift when the plates are cleared and the table grows quiet for a beat. Tusk leans forward, folding his arms.

“The brothers were telling stories about when Claw was killed. Carnage’s name came up again.”

Ghost’s expression darkens. “Do you really think he had a part in killing Siege’s old man?”

Brittany goes still beside him, her hand tightening around her glass.

Tusk nods once. “It chafes me that a dirtbag like Carnage used to be one of us. That he got close enough to the founder of our club to put a knife in his back.”

Ghost’s voice turns tense. “I feel the same way. Although it was before our time, it’s still pretty fucked up.”

Tusk grimaces. “There was a time when Carnage wore a Savage Legion cut. Rolled with our club brothers. Ate at their table.”

“And then he betrayed the club,” Ghost bites out, his voice low.

“For what? Why would he do something like that?” I ask, barely managing to keep my voice from breaking.

“Power,” Tusk answers flatly. “The leader of the traitors made backdoor deals with the Hellfire Hounds. Fucker thought he could take the club from inside and turn it into an outlaw biker club. They claimed Claw was holding the brothers back from earning good money running drugs and guns.”

I’ve heard all about Siege’s father, how he founded the Savage Legion. Rigs had been the first to join and then Tank and Dutch. The prospects are obsessed with the laws Claw laid down back when he first started the Legion. They say he was a genius in his own way.

Ghost’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking just under his cheekbone.

“I heard that after Claw was dead, one of the traitors was voted in as club president. There were six traitors in all, not including Carnage. Siege came back and was trying to take the club back, but they set up an ambush for him. They wanted to kill him like they did his old man. Hellfire Hounds were waiting. Guns drawn.”

I suck in a breath. “He helped murder your president?”

“Claw was more than just a club president. He was the founder of the Savage Legion MC,” Ghost explains. “The man who built our club from the ground up and raised half of the brothers like sons.”

“And the others?” I whisper. “The ones who helped him? What happened to them?”

“Butch was the ringleader,” Tusk says. “Hellfire Hounds’ president, King, shot him when the deal went sideways. Carnage vanished before we could catch him. He turned tail and ran, like the damn coward he was.”

My stomach twists. It’s worse than I ever imagined. I know my ex is dangerous, controlling, and obsessive. But I didn’t know he had blood on his hands. That he turned on the men I now call family.

Ghost doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just stares into his empty glass.

When he finally speaks, it’s quiet.

“I’d kill him for Claw alone. But now that he’s messing with you?” He lifts his gaze to mine. “He’s not walking away again.”

I swallow hard, unsure if it’s fear or something else making my throat tight.

Tusk snorts a wry laugh. “You’ll have to fight Siege for the privilege of taking Carnage out.”

Ghost reaches under the table and takes my hand in his. His rough, calloused hand covers mine, and for the first time since all of this started, I believe these men can keep me safe. Deep down inside, I know that Ghost means every word he says.

***

By the time we make it back to the house, there’s a half-moon shining in the sky, and the air has a sharp, bitter bite to it. Ghost parks the bike and helps me down. I’m surprised when he doesn’t let go of my hand as we head inside.

The night is quiet, with only the hoot of an owl to break the silence as we make our way to the front door.

It’s the kind of quiet that settles in your bones and makes you feel safe.

A slight reprieve from all the fear and worry I’ve carried these past few months.

I see a couple of prospects walking the perimeter.

Once we’re inside, I slip off my shoes and leave them by the door. I go to the fireplace and hand Ghost pieces of starter, watching him build a fire.

When he’s done, he heads to the kitchen and grabs two spoons, motioning towards the freezer.

“You want the vanilla bean or the double chocolate?” he asks over his shoulder.

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that even a question?”

He grins and pulls out the double chocolate.

We curl up on the sofa with a blanket draped over our laps, eating ice cream straight from the container.

The fire crackles away in the fireplace, slowly warming the big living room.

My gaze keeps drifting to Ghost. I like looking at his handsome face while I stuff mine with ice cream.

Ghost leans back, stretches his legs out in front of him, and watches me eat a spoonful.

“You always eat chocolate that slow?” he asks playfully.

I shrug. “It tastes good. I’m savoring it.” I stick out my tongue and lick the spoon.

His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers a second too long.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna forget this is supposed to be the calm part of the night.”

I grin and nudge him with my shoulder. “You’re terribly easy to distract.”

“Only when it comes to you, sweetness.”

We fall into an easy rhythm, taking turns scooping bites of ice cream and stealing glances at each other.

Eventually, Ghost speaks again, quieter this time.

“I’ve been thinkin’…”

When I look at him, his jaw is tight, like he’s trying to talk himself out of saying whatever’s on his mind.

“About what?” I ask gently.

He hesitates, then shifts to face me more fully.

“About after,” he says.

My spoon pauses halfway to my mouth.

“After what?”

“After the baby comes,” he clarifies. “After the danger of Carnage. After we’ve got more than just survival on our minds.”

I let the words hang in the air. He’s not rushing me or pressuring me, but he’s clearly thinking about a future—one that includes me.

I lay my spoon on the coffee table and tuck my legs under me. “What do you see our ‘after’ looking like?”

He shrugs one shoulder, almost shy. “Maybe, if you’re interested, you and the baby staying here with me. This house not feelin’ so damn empty all the time. You and me giving this a real go.”

My heart clenches—in the best way possible. Before I can answer, he keeps talking.

“I know it’s early,” he says quickly. “And I’m not trying to lock you in or push you into somethin’. But if it feels right when the time comes—”

“You want to see where it goes,” I cut in, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s all. I just want you to know I’m thinkin’ about what a future with you would look like. And I’m damn interested.”

I lean in and press my palm to his chest. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my hand.

“I like what you’re thinking about,” I whisper.

He cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin like he’s memorizing every inch of me.

“Have you ever thought about where we’d put a crib?” he asks, catching me off guard.

I smile and rest my chin on my hands, staring up at him. “What, you’re ready to start nesting already?”

“We should be prepared, right?” He smiles, soft and genuine. “Thought maybe we’d look at the back guest room. It’s quiet, gets good light in the morning, and best of all, it’s right beside the master bedroom. We need to come up with a theme. I was thinking maybe motorcycles would be cool.”

“That could work. But you’re not painting the walls black,” I say with a grin.

“Fine. Are you game for flames on the crib?”

I shake my head. “Probably not gonna work if it’s a girl.”

We’re both feeling light and happy. He stands, tugging my hand.

“C’mon. Let’s go look at the room and see if any ideas pop up.”

We go upstairs, and he leads me to the room beside the master bedroom. We step into the spare room—it’s mostly empty, boxes stacked along one wall, dust in the corners.

But I can see it in my mind’s eye. A crib in the corner, a rocking chair by the window, maybe a changing table along the side wall. “This room would be perfect,” I tell him.

His anxious expression melts into relief. “I’ll start cleaning it out in the morning,” he says.

We stand there in silence, holding hands in the dim light, imagining what could be. Then he turns and kisses me before guiding me to his bed.

All this talk of babies and nurseries has somehow turned my gentle giant on. I can tell—he’s got another gigantic hard-on. But instead of pressing for sex, he pulls the covers over us, tucks me against his chest, and whispers against my hair.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a chance with you, but I’m not messin’ this up.”

I smile to myself, feeling seen and loved at the same time.