Page 28 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)

Scarlett

Six Months Later…

"No, that shipment goes through Tucson, not Phoenix." I shift in my chair, trying to find a position where my swollen belly doesn't press against the edge of the table. "Because Phoenix has that new DEA task force, pendejo . Do you want to lose another hundred kilos?"

The man on my laptop screen pales. "My apologies, Senora . Tucson it is."

"Good. And next time you question my routes, remember what happened to the last lieutenant who thought pregnancy made me soft."

"Of course. My apologies again."

I end the call and lean back, rubbing my lower back.

Six months pregnant and still running the largest cartel operation in Northern California.

Eduardo would be proud. Or horrified. Hard to tell with dead men.

"You know," a familiar voice says from the doorway, "most women use pregnancy as an excuse to take it easy."

I look up to find Raven watching me with that expression she gets when she's about to do something that'll annoy me.

Behind her, I spot Mel, Joker’s old lady, trying to look casual.

"Most women aren't running a criminal empire," I point out. "What do you want, Raven?"

"Oh, nothing much." She steps aside, and the others flood in carrying boxes, bags, and what appears to be a cake shaped like brass knuckles. "SURPRISE!"

"What the fuck?—"

"Baby shower!" Mel announces, beaming like she's won the lottery. "Every baby needs a proper welcome, even a future crime princess."

I stare at the decorations they're rapidly putting up. Black and silver streamers. Balloons that say things like "Future Enforcer" and "Daddy's Little Weapon."

A banner reading "BULLETS OR BOTTLES?" with little gun and baby bottle graphics.

"You’re throwing me a baby shower," I say flatly.

"We’re throwing you an Iron Veins baby shower," Raven corrects, hanging a mobile made of tiny motorcycles and brass knuckles. "There's a difference."

"I have three more calls?—"

"Which can wait." Mel physically pushes my laptop closed. "The cartel won't collapse because you take two hours to celebrate your daughter."

That stops me. "How did you know it's a girl?"

"Jagger can't keep a secret for shit when he's drunk," Baylee—a nineteen year old girl we found being abused at a truck stop last month says. "He told Hammer, who told everyone."

"Of course he did." But I'm smiling despite myself. "Fine. Two hours. But if anyone tries to make me play those stupid shower games?—"

"Would we do that to you?" Raven asks innocently, then pulls out a gun. "Although we are playing 'Pin the Trigger on the Glock.'"

The common room fills up fast.

Every old lady in the club, plus everyone in the Iron Veins, and a few friends we’ve made along the way.

They eye me with a mixture of fear and fascination—the girl who went from prisoner to cartel boss in less than a year.

"Present time!" Mel announces, bouncing with excitement at the fact she's carrying a gift wrapped in ammunition-print paper.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," they all say.

I unwrap Mel's gift first—a beautiful handmade blanket, soft as sin, with an intricate pattern that takes me a moment to understand.

Woven into the design are tiny daggers, brass knuckles, and motorcycles, so subtle you'd miss them if you weren't looking.

"Mel, this is..." I run my fingers over the craftsmanship. "This must have taken months."

She blushes. "Started it the day you announced. Figured the baby should have something soft in her life, even if it's decorated with weapons."

"Thank you," I say, meaning it.

This woman who I saved, who could have hated me for bringing violence into her life, spent months making something beautiful for my child.

Raven's gift is next—a tiny leather jacket with "Property of Iron Veins MC" on the back and a patch that reads "Princess" where a rider's name would go.

"Can't have the kid showing up naked to her first church meeting," Raven says gruffly, but I catch the softness in her eyes.

Baylee—who I'm learning has a wicked sense of humor—gives me what appears to be a baby's first holster. "For her pacifier," she explains with a straight face. "Never too early to practice quick draws."

The gifts continue.

Tiny combat boots. A onesie that says "If you think I'm cute, you should see my mommy's rap sheet." Board books about motorcycles. A stuffed crow that looks suspiciously like Jagger's tattoo.

I'm laughing—actually laughing—when Jagger comes walking in.

He and Hammer stop in the doorway, taking in the scene with expressions ranging from amused to terrified.

"Jesus Christ," Hammer mutters. "It looks like a biker bar exploded in here."

"Language," Mel scolds. "There's a baby present. Sort of."

"The baby can't hear—" Hammer starts.

"Actually," I interrupt, "she can. She's been responding to loud noises for weeks now. Especially gunfire. Kid's gonna come out ready for a firefight."

"That's my girl," Jagger says, crossing to kiss me. His hand finds my belly automatically, the way it has every day since we found out. "How's she doing?"

"Kicking the shit out of my ribs, like always." I place his hand where I can feel movement. "There. Feel that?"

"Strong already."

"Of course she is. Look at her parents."

"About that," Squirrel says, clearing his throat. "The boys wanted to contribute something for the kid."

They file in, and I notice a couple of the guys disappear.

Before long, Hammer and Poncho come back carrying something large covered in a tarp.

"If this is a motorcycle, I swear to God?—"

"It's not a motorcycle," Hammer assures me, whipping off the tarp. "It's a crib."

But not just any crib.

This is a work of art, handcrafted from dark wood that's been polished until it gleams. Carved into the headboard and footboard are intricate motorcycles, so detailed I can make out individual engine parts.

The rails have the Iron Veins emblem worked into the design.

"Holy shit, Hammer," I breathe. "You made this?"

He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "Yeah, well. Figure the kid deserves something nice. Something that'll last."

"It's bulletproof too," Poncho adds helpfully. "Reinforced panels. Just in case."

"You bulletproofed a crib."

"The world's dangerous," he shrugs. "Better safe than sorry."

"And it converts to a toddler bed," Baylee adds, "For when she's older."

I stand carefully, one hand on my back, and move to examine the crib properly.

Every joint is perfect, every detail thoughtful.

This must have taken him months.

"It's perfect," I tell Hammer, and surprise him by pulling him into a hug. "Thank you."

"Yeah, well," he mumbles into my shoulder. "Kid needs to sleep somewhere. Can't have a princess in some store-bought shit."

"Speaking of the princess," Jagger announces, helping me back to my chair. "Should we tell them?"

"You already told them it's a girl when you were drunk, apparently."

"I mean her name."

We'd decided weeks ago but kept it to ourselves, wanting something that was just ours for a while.

"All right," I agree. "But if anyone makes fun of it?—"

"No one's making fun of shit," Squirrel states firmly. "What's the kid's name?"

Jagger and I exchange glances. "Valentina," he says. "Valentina Dragon Morales."

"Dragon?" Raven repeats.

"My father used to call me his little dragon," I explain. "Seemed right to pass it on. Val for short."

"Valentina Dragon," Mel tests the name. "I love it. Strong but beautiful."

"Like her mother," Jagger adds, which earns him eye rolls from the brothers but smiles from the women.

I'm about to respond when Digger's phone buzzes.

He's sitting next to me on the couch, and I catch the way his expression shifts—subtle, but I've learned to read these men like books.

"What’s up?" I ask quietly, leaning over to see his screen.

The app shows crystal clear footage: Yuki Nakajima at the Gas-N-Go two blocks from the clubhouse, filling up a rental sedan.

Time stamp shows this morning—precisely when and where Digger always stops for coffee before his morning run.

"Third time this week," Digger murmurs, voice low enough that only I hear. "Different cars, same time, same location."

"She's mapping your routines." I accept a piece of brass knuckle cake from Mel with a smile, then turn back to Digger. "Getting bolder."

"I know. She was at my gym yesterday. And the diner Tuesday."

"She’s playing with fire."

Digger's smile is all teeth. "She has no idea just how dangerous."

I take a bite of cake—chocolate with what tastes like whiskey buttercream—and consider. "The obsessed ones always think they're the predator. Right up until they realize they've been prey all along."

"Speaking from experience?"

I glance at Jagger across the room, who's currently being lectured by Poncho about proper gun storage around children. "Something like that. Just remember—when she finally crosses the line she can't come back from, make sure you're ready to reel her in."

"Already got the hook baited."

"Good man."

The party continues around us. Someone brought out a bottle of champagne—sparkling cider for me, much to my annoyance.

Stories start flowing about babies and motorcycles and that time someone tried to bring their kid to a run.

I find myself relaxing into it. Into this. My hand rests on my belly, feeling Valentina shift and kick.

My daughter. Mine and Jagger's. Born into this chaos but also into this family.

"You good?" Jagger asks, appearing at my side with a plate of food. "You look thoughtful."

"Just thinking about what we're bringing her into." I gesture at the room full of criminals and their women. "This life."

"Having second thoughts?"

"No." The word comes out firm, certain. "This is our world. We built it, we rule it, we'll teach her to navigate it. I just..."

"What?"

"I think about what she'll need to be. Strong. Smart. Ruthless when necessary." I look around the room at these women who've become my family. "But also this. Capable of loyalty. Of love. Of throwing a fucking baby shower with weapon-themed decorations."