Page 2

Chapter 2

One Month Later

TWO MONTHS PREGNANT

Christopher

The roar of my bike's engine fades as I pull into the familiar driveway of the clubhouse. The smell of oil and leather fills my nostrils, a scent that has become as natural to me as breathing since I was a baby.

I've been away for months. The training was brutal. Days spent learning the intricacies of club politics; nights devoted to mastering the art of war. My body aches from the countless hours of physical labor, and it’s fucking wrecked me but I loved every second of it.

I’m finally home from being away to start the process of taking over the MC for when my dad steps down, as his before him did.

My training isn’t finished, and we are due back in a couple of weeks. For as long as I can remember, my family has always said that one day you’ll meet a woman, and without a shred of doubt, you’ll just know she’s meant for you.

Butmine was someone I grew up with. I always knew in the back of my mind she was mine.

We were always close and then one day she walked into the clubhouse, and it fucking hit me that she was my one.

Deep down I think we both have known we were meant to be, it just didn’t really hit me how fucking beautiful she was.

But something has happened over the last two months while I was gone.

I’m not sure what it is. She used to text me nonstop, but now that’s cut short like she is trying to cut the connection between us.

That is something I’m not going to allow to happen, because Elle is mine and I’m going to get to the bottom of this.

To make matters fucking worse, others in the club are avoiding me too, and it’s starting to really piss me off.

I’ve been asking everyone else how she is doing and they avoid talking about her like the plague.

I park my bike after a long-ass drive of six hours in the fucking Texas heat, and no one bats an eye at the sound of a bike rolling in.

No one knew I was coming and I wanted it that way so they can’t come up with an excuse for their actions—because I’m ready to bust some of my brothers’ heads.

My eyes scan the room, landing on a group huddled around the large oak table where we hold our meetings. I recognize the backs of my uncles, my brothers, my father—all the men I've looked up to my entire life. They're hunched over something, their postures tense and rigid.

One by one, they turn to face me. The shock on their faces would be almost comical if it weren't for the undercurrent of something darker, something that makes my stomach clench with unease.

“Chris?" My dad's voice breaks the silence, rough with surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I open my mouth to answer, but the words die in my throat as my eyes lock onto Derek's face. Derek, Elle's father, the man who's been like a second dad to me my whole life. The pain etched into every line of his face, the defeat in his slumped shoulders, it hits me like a fucking truck.

There are only three people in this world who could bring Derek this much pain.

Something happened to Elle. That’s why everyone has been avoiding me—why she has been avoiding me. I’m going to fuck all of them up for keeping this from me.

I should have been here weeks ago when I noticed something was off.

The silence that follows is deafening. They exchange glances, a wordless conversation passing between them

“Where's Elle?" The question is ripped from my throat, harsher than I intended. My heart's pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. "What's happened to her?"

"Someone better start talking," I growl, taking a step forward. "Now."

My father moves toward me, his hand outstretched as if to calm a wild animal. "Son, maybe we should talk about this in private?—"

"No," I cut him off, my eyes never leaving Derek's face. "Whatever it is, I want to hear it now. Where. Is. Elle?"

"Why hasn’t anyone told him that someone raped Elle? Maybe he could find out what the fuck happened to her,” Lawson yells from behind me, and it’s like a fucking knife runs through me.

I spin around, not believing what I just heard.

“What the fuck did he just say?” My voice is deadly, a tone I have never used before, and I’m one second away from planting a bullet in everyone’s heads.

Something happened to my Elle.

My Elizabeth.

“What happened to her?” I grit out through my teeth, trying not to shake every fucker in here to find out what the fuck happened to her.

My dad and grandpa get over their shock of seeing me. My dad walks over to me, but I push his hand away, knowing if he touches me, I will explode.

My chest is heaving with pent-up rage, waiting for someone to explain what the fuck is going on.

Derek looks at me long and hard. “Someone roofied Elle at a party a couple months ago.” He looks down at the table, fucking shattered. “Someone assaulted her, and we can’t find the fucker who’s done it.”

The air is stolen from my lungs, the world spins as the words go over and over in my head that someone raped my Elle.

She is the sweetest, so precious in this fucked-up world, and someone has hurt her in a way that will forever mar her.

I black out as I flip the heavy table over, tossing it on its side, throwing a chair against the wall and watching it break into a million pieces.

Someone dared to harm her? To hurt her? The pain she suffered, I know it shattered her.

I destroy everything around me, not giving a fuck to what it is until the rage is embedded inside of me.

I rest my head on the wall, breathing hard, and it feels like my chest is going to cave in. I rub my chest, hating that I went away for training and wasn’t home to protect her.

Whoever is the one that dared to hurt her is dead—no, death would be too easy and simple. He is going to suffer the worst torture imaginable for the rest of his days.

“I need to go to her, is she home?” I turn around to look at Derek.

He is standing with his arms crossed next to my dad, my grandpa, and Lawson, all three giving me the stare-down.

“Why?” Derek asks me, and I want to throttle him for not telling me.

“Why the fuck not?” I snap back, pissed, not caring that I’m not showing respect to those above me.

I see my dad turn his head to the side, trying not to smile at me—a look I’m familiar with. Whenever I was a little shit as a kid, he would just laugh and encourage me to be the terror I was.

Derek steps up to me but I don’t back down. I have known him my whole life. He doesn’t scare me, but I will fucking scare him if he doesn’t tell me where she is.

“Elle is pregnant,” he states plainly, and the world moves from under my feet once again, almost knocking me on my ass.

“Fuck me,” I growl, throwing my head back to look at the ceiling. “Is she keeping it?”

Derek nods. “She is, and I won’t let you hurt her.”

I look at him, confused as to why he thinks I would hurt her. “What the fuck are you talking about, Derek?”

His nostrils flare, pissed himself. “She is fragile right now, and we all know that you both have been in love with each other for years. She thinks you wouldn’t want anything to do with her after everything that happened to her, and now that she is pregnant with her rapist’s kid.”

That rips my heart out of my already broken chest. “You’re wrong.” I put my hand on his shoulder. I’m not going to hold it against him, the way he is acting right now, because if it were my daughter, I would be insane.

The thought of her being so scared that I wouldn’t want her on top of everything else that happened to her is awful and makes me sick.

If a man whose woman has been hurt and he leaves her because of it, he is the worst piece of shit and needs to be put the fuck down.

I meet Derek's gaze unflinchingly, my voice low and steady. "That baby is Elle's, and that's all that matters to me. I'm going to step up and take care of both of them."

Derek's eyes narrow, searching my face for any hint of deception. I can see the conflict warring within him, the protective father battling with the man who's known me my entire life.

You're young, Chris," he says, his voice gruff. "Both of you are. This isn't some game or some romanticized notion of playing house. This is real, and it's going to be hard as hell."

I clench my jaw, feeling a surge of frustration. "You think I don't know that? I've been in love with Elle since before I even understood what love was. She's mine, Derek. Always has been." I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "And now, that baby is mine too. I don't give a fuck how it came to be. It's part of Elle, and that's enough for me."

Derek isn’t liking my announcement, my claim, but I don’t give a fuck. He lost that right the second he kept all of this shit from me. I should have been here the second he found out about her assault, and maybe she wouldn’t have suffered so much.

“First thing I’m going to do is reassure her of her fears, because that shit is so far from the truth. This shouldn’t be on her after everything that’s happened,” I inform him.

He studies me for another few seconds before stepping to the side, nodding. “My guest house. She wanted to be alone.”

I turn around and don’t say another word, just needing to get to her. I need to see her like my next breath.

Elle

I 'm sprawled out on the couch, my eyes fixed on the TV screen but not really seeing it. The drone of some daytime talk show fills the room, a poor substitute for the bustling hallways of my high school. But I can't go back there, not yet. The thought of those pitying glances, the whispers behind hands, the way everyone would look at me… it makes my skin crawl.

Homeschooling seemed like the best option. Here, in the guest house, I can pretend the world outside doesn't exist. I can ignore the fact that somewhere out there, the person who did this to me is walking free.

The distant rumble of a motorcycle engine breaks through my thoughts. My body tenses instinctively, then relaxes as I recognize the familiar sound. Dad, coming to check on me again. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

All day, Mom's been here too, finding endless tasks to keep herself busy. Sweeping floors that are already clean, rearranging books on shelves, anything to avoid sitting still.

I hear her in the kitchen now, the clink of dishes as she unloads the dishwasher for the third time today. My chest tightens. I know she's hurting, probably blaming herself.

My heart aches knowing she’s in pain, and while I wear that smile, deep down, I’m really broken. What's even more heartbreaking is me having to distance myself from Christopher, because he deserves someone without all this emotional weight and baggage.

But as the engine cuts off, something feels different. The footsteps approaching the door are heavier than my dad’s usual cautious steps.

My heart rate picks up, a mix of fear and anxiety. The knock on the door is firm, insistent.

"Elle?" The voice that calls out my name isn't my dad's. It's deeper, rougher, achingly familiar.

Christopher.

My breath catches in my throat. How is he here? Why is he here? I'm not ready for this. I can't face him, not now, not like this.

But even as panic rises in my chest, a part of me I thought was dead stirs to life. Because despite everything, despite my best efforts to push him away, a tiny, traitorous part of me is glad he's here.

The door handle turns, and I realize I never locked it. I sit frozen on the couch, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips as the door slowly opens.

The door swings open, and my breath catches in my throat. Christopher stands there, filling the doorway with his imposing presence. My eyes trace over him, drinking in every detail. He's changed, grown somehow in the months he's been away. His shoulders seem broader, his stance more commanding. The short buzz cut accentuates the sharp angles of his face, drawing attention to those piercing blue eyes that have always seen right through me.

My heart hammers against my rib cage, a mix of longing and fear. I want to run to him, to bury myself in his arms and forget everything that's happened. But I can't. I'm not the same girl he left behind.

"Christopher," I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible. "What are you doing here?" I hear the back door shut and I know my mom has left to give us some privacy.

He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving mine. The intensity in those blue depths makes me shiver. "Elle," he says, my name a rough caress on his lips.

I struggle to maintain my composure, fighting against the urge to spill everything, to let him see how broken I truly am. But I can't do that to him. He deserves better than the mess I've become.

It’s always been me and Christopher, and everyone would make jokes that I was his little ole lady since we were in diapers.

My heart is shattering as he stands in front of me.

"You shouldn't be here," I say, hating how weak I sound. "You should be finishing your training, preparing to take over the club. That's what's important."

Christopher's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Don't tell me what's important, Elizabeth," he growls, using my full name in a way that sends shivers down my spine. "You're what's important. You always have been."

I can’t bear to look at him. I let my face fall to the floor, looking there because if I stare at him any longer, I will burst into tears for the hundredth time.

I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. "Things have changed, Christopher. I've changed. I'm not… I'm not who I was before."

“My Elizabeth,” he says in that husky voice of his. He separates the distance, tugging me into his broad chest and holding me so tight.

My grip on the back of his jacket tightens, as if I'm trying to hold on to him forever. It's the first time since everything happened that I've felt truly safe in someone else's arms.

But, I have to tell him. He deserves that.

“Christopher.” My voice cracks as I prepare myself to tell him all of the horrible and life-changing details.

"I know what happened, Elle," he says softly, his voice a mix of pain and barely contained rage. "And I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink rapidly to hold them back. How can he say that? How can he look at me like I'm still whole, still worthy of his love? "You don't understand," I choke out. "I'm… I'm pregnant, Christopher. With… with his baby."

I expect him to recoil, to look at me with disgust or pity. Instead, his eyes soften, filled with a tenderness that threatens to shatter the walls I've built around my heart.

"I know," he says simply, closing the distance between us. "And it doesn't change a damn thing."

I pull away from him, feeling a mix of shock, embarrassment, and shame after realizing someone told him before I could.

I sink into the couch, my body heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. The leather creaks beneath me, cool against my bare legs. I can't bring myself to look at Christopher, afraid of what I might see in those piercing blue eyes.

"I understand why you're here, Christopher," I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm raging inside me. "It's okay. You don't have to…" I trail off, unable to finish the thought. “You don't have to stay. You don't have to pretend or do the right thing or what you think is the right thing.”

But before I can spiral further into my dark thoughts, Christopher is there. He drops to his knees in front of me, his large hands coming to rest on my thighs.

Baby," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Look at me."

I hesitate, but I can't resist him. Never could. Slowly, I lift my eyes to meet his gaze. What I see there steals the breath from my lungs. There's no pity, no disgust. Just a fierce, burning intensity that makes my heart stutter in my chest.

"Do you think I would just let you go?" Christopher asks, his thumbs tracing small circles on my skin.

Wait, what?

I swallow hard, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. "But I'm not… I'm not the same anymore. I'm broken, Christopher. And this baby…" My hand drifts to my still flat stomach, a gesture that's become habit over the past few weeks. “I feel like a shattered piece of glass.”

"You listen to me, Elizabeth," he says, using my full name again. "You're not broken. You're the strongest person I know. And that baby?" His hand covers mine on my stomach, his touch impossibly gentle. "That baby is a part of you. And that means it's a part of me too."

I shake my head, not daring to believe him. "How can you say that? How can you want…" I can't finish the sentence, the words sticking in my throat.

Christopher leans in closer, his forehead almost touching mine. I can feel the brushing of his breath on my face, can smell the familiar scent of leather and motor oil that clings to him. "Because I love you, Elle. I've loved you since we were kids, and I'll love you until the day I die. Nothing changes that. Not this, not anything."

His words wash over me, a balm to my battered soul. But still, doubt lingers. "But your training, the club…"

"Fuck the training," Christopher growls, his grip on my thighs tightening slightly. "Fuck all of it. You're what matters. You and this baby. I'm not going anywhere, Elle. I'm right here, and I'm not leaving. Do you understand me?"

I stare into his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation, any sign that he's not as certain as he claims. For the first time in a long time, I feel something other than fear and despair. I feel hope.

A tear rolls down my face, not one of sadness but of overwhelming relief. “It shattered my heart the most because I always dreamed my first time would be with you. It feels like it was stolen from us both.”

He climbs onto the couch next to me, lifting me until I’m lying on his chest and in his lap. “I’m fucking sorry that someone hurt you this way. I will absolutely destroy whoever has done this.” The safety he provides is intoxicating.

I tilt my head back to look at him, thankful that he is still wanting to be a part of my life, but feeling disbelief. “Everyone had such plans for us, it’s like everyone just knew we were meant to be. Is that why you want to be with me?” My eyes search his for any hint of doubt. “Is that what you want, Christopher? To be with me not because it’s expected, but because it’s what you truly want?”

My voice trembles with the weight of the questions, my heart pounding in my chest at the thought that he might feel obligated. The fear gnaws at me, a sharp edge that I can’t ignore. What if he’s only here because of our families’ close ties?

But for me, it’s always been more.

From the moment I saw him when I was fourteen, climbing out of the pool with water cascading down his abs, I knew. His presence hit me like a storm, overwhelming and inescapable. He wasn’t just good-looking, he was everything I wanted. Every glance, every smile from him has been etched into my memory.

Christopher's eyes darken, a storm brewing in their depths. He shifts, pulling me closer, his muscular arms encircling me like a protective shield. I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my back.

"Elle," he breathes, his lips brushing against my ear. A shiver runs down my spine at the contact. "You've always been the one. Not because of what anyone else thinks or expects, but because I can't imagine my life without you."

His words wrap around me, a blanket of comfort and desire. I turn in his arms, needing to see his face. His eyes are intense, boring into mine with an emotion so raw it takes my breath away.

"You mean it?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to him

“With everything I am,” he replies, his grip tightening around me as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away. His voice takes on a darker edge. “Family told me that when I was a baby, I would toddle over to you and declare you as mine. Even then, I knew. And I still do.”

I can’t help but laugh slightly at the image he’s painting.

I run my fingers along his strong forearm then interlace our fingers. "For as long as I can remember, I’ve taken comfort in knowing that you were always going to be there. We've never spoken the words, but I knew," I say, my voice calm and steady.

His presence has always been my anchor, a constant in my life. The intensity of the moment is clear, every touch, every word finally expressing what we both have felt for years.

Deciding to take control and do what I have wanted to for years, I press my lips against his.

He freezes under me, shocked. His large hands glide up my body, warm and safe, cupping my face. He takes over the kiss with a fervor and intensity that sends shivers down my spine, erasing any lingering doubt about how he truly feels. My heart races, not from fear but from the overwhelming rush of pure, unfiltered emotions.

"Please don’t leave again, Christopher," I gasp against his mouth a few moments later.

His hand glides softly along my scalp, then down my back, a touch so tender it aches. "There is no way I will be leaving you," he murmurs.

"I haven’t felt safe since it happened, not until now," I admit, my voice breaking with the weight of my vulnerability.

He embraces me more firmly, and I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling my body gradually unwind.

The tension begins to dissolve as I finally relax after so long. “Sleep well, sweet girl.”

And I do, for hours, undisturbed, without the nightmare of faceless shadows for the first time since that night.

This is the moment Christopher and I begin—an unsteady start marked by hurt and anger.

But a start nonetheless.

Elle

Later That Night

T he door to the guest house crashes open with a resounding bang, jolting me from my peaceful slumber. My heart leaps into my throat as I nearly tumble off Christopher's chest, his strong arms instinctively tightening around me to keep me secure.

"Jesus Christ!" I gasp, my hand flying to my chest where my heart hammers against my ribs like a caged bird. My eyes, wide with shock, dart to the doorway.

There, silhouetted against the fading evening light, stands my dad, his imposing figure filling the doorframe. Behind him, my mom hovers uncertainly, a tray clutched in her hands.

Christopher's growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my back. "What the fuck, Derek?" His hands grip my hips, gently but firmly lifting me back onto the couch beside him. The loss of his heat is immediate, and I have to resist the urge to curl back into him.

My mom's eyes widen at the scene before her, a mixture of surprise and something else—is that amusement flashing across her face? She tries to hide a smile behind a curtain of hair, but I catch it anyway.

The tension in the room is intense as my dad and Christopher lock eyes, neither willing to back down.

Thankfully, my mom steps forward, clearing her throat. She places herself directly in the line of fire, effectively shattering the silent showdown. "We brought dinner," she announces, her voice a touch too bright, as if trying to dispel the tension with sheer cheerfulness. Her eyes soften as they land on me. "I'm glad you're taking it easy, sweetheart. You look much better."

She hands the tray to Christopher, who accepts it without breaking his stare-off with my dad. Then she turns to me, enveloping me in a tight hug that smells of home and safety.

As I breathe in her familiar scent, I hug her back tightly. I have been blessed with such an amazing mother and I don’t tell her enough.

When she pulls back, her eyes are misty. "How are you feeling, honey?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before I can answer, my dad's gruff voice cuts through the moment. "What exactly is going on here?" He's still glaring at Christopher, his jaw clenched tight.

I feel Christopher tense beside me, ready for a fight. My stomach churns with anxiety. This is not how I wanted this to go. I open my mouth to speak, to try and defuse the situation, but Christopher beats me to it.

"I'm here for Elle," he states, his voice low and firm. "And I'm not going anywhere."

My dad lets out a grunt, walking over to me, and I smile at him before he pulls me to his chest, hugging me tight. “How’s my girl feeling?” he asks me, and I tighten my arms around him.

"Much better," I say, leaning into my dad's embrace for a moment longer before reluctantly pulling away.

We move to the dining room, the aroma of my mom's cooking filling the air. As we settle around the table, I can't help but notice the tension still simmering between my dad and Christopher. Their eyes meet across the table, a silent challenge passing between them.

My mom, ever the peacemaker, breaks the silence. "So," she begins, her voice light but her eyes twinkling with curiosity, "did you two get everything worked out?" She reaches for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, her eyes shining with mischief.

My dad grunts again and sets his fork down on his plate hard. A giggle bubbles up in my throat, and I try to stifle it, but it's impossible. The absurdity of the situation

My mom joins me with laughter, and Christopher puts his hand on the back of my head, gliding his fingers through my strands to rub my scalp.

“We did,” Christopher confirms, and I feel my face heat from my parents’ attention focused on us.

My dad clears his throat, his fork scraping against his plate as he pushes his food around. "And what exactly does that mean?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next. Christopher's hand stills on my neck.

"It means," I start, my voice stronger than I expected, "that Christopher and I are in this together. All of it."

The words hang in the air, heavy with their implication. My heart races as I wait for my dad's reaction.

My mom is beaming, so I know she’s happy. She reaches over and takes my dad’s hand. His whole body relaxes at her touch.

He studies us both for another moment then gives us a nod and a small smile. “All right,” he says simply, and I let out a deep breath, relaxing.

Life went from being unbearable to me actually having hope in the space of a single moment.

I think I’m going to be okay—no, I know I will be okay.