Page 9

Chapter 9

Eight Months Pregnant

Elle

I walk through our house with my hand pressed to the small of my back, my body angry at me for carrying all of this extra weight.

I slide onto our couch, looking at the baby clothes piled on the ottoman that I’ve washed and now need to fold.

It’s so hard to believe our little miracle will be here in a month, she is running out of room in my stomach and is making it known with the kicks she’s giving me.

My phone dings with a news notification and with dread, I pick it up.

I want to throw up.

Two weeks ago, the dead body of a young girl around my age was found murdered.

The part that’s freaking me out is the fact that she looks very similar to me.

Then a week later, it happened again, and this time it was a high school girl that was in foster care.

Both of those girls are from the very school I went to. What is going on?

I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault because it seems that this person is going after people who look like me, because he can’t have me.

A cold shiver runs down my spine because this is now three girls in three weeks and they all look like me.

When the second girl was murdered, it became clear that the killer was targeting people who resembled me. We had to accept the terrifying reality that a serial killer was on the loose, and I could be their next victim.

My hands are shaking as I open the article from the news to read the details about the third body.

I stare at the news article on my phone, my heart pounding as I read the details of the latest murder. Melissa Johnson, age eighteen, found brutally murdered in a wooded area near my old high school. Her photo shows a striking resemblance to me—long blonde hair, dark eyes, similar facial features.

Tears prick at my eyes as memories of Melissa flood back. We had English class together junior year. She was quiet, kept to herself mostly, but she was always kind when we interacted. She didn't deserve this horrible fate.

I startle when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up to see Christopher’s concerned face. "What's wrong, Elle? Angel, talk to me.”

I shake my head, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I simply hand him my phone, the damning article still displayed.

His brow furrows as he reads, his expression darkening with each sentence. When he finishes, he sets the phone aside and pulls me into his arms, holding me.

I cling to Christopher, burying my face in his chest as sobs rack my body. I choke out, "Three girls, all dead because they look like me. Because some psycho can't have me. How is that not my fault?"

Christopher strokes my hair, holding me tighter. "Elle, listen to me. The only person at fault here is the sick bastard committing these murders. You are not responsible for his actions."

I pull back, meeting his gaze with tearful eyes. "But he's doing this because of me. Because he's obsessed with me. If I wasn't here, if he wasn’t fixated on me, those girls would still be alive."

"You don't know that," Christopher says firmly. "This guy is clearly unhinged. If it wasn't you, it could have been someone else he latched onto. You can't blame yourself for the workings of a madman's mind."

I shake my head miserably. "I just feel so helpless. Like I'm putting a target on every girl who looks like me just by existing."

Christopher cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away my tears. I never thought it was possible that I could love someone as much as I love him.

Suddenly, a fierce need surges through me, a desperate desire to feel close to Christopher, to lose myself in his touch and forget the horrors of the outside world, even if only for a little while.

I press closer, my lips seeking his. He responds immediately, his kiss deep and passionate, igniting a fire inside me. His hands roam my body, caressing my swollen belly before sliding lower.

"Christopher," I gasp as his fingers find my most sensitive spot. "Please, I need you…"

In one swift motion, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to our bedroom. He lays me down gently, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over my form.

Christopher slowly undresses me until I’m only in my panties, his hands gentle as they caress my skin, worshipping every curve of my heavily pregnant body. "You are so beautiful, Elle," he murmurs reverently. "I've never seen anything more perfect than you, carrying our child."

He settles between my legs, his body heat radiating through his jeans, I feel a shiver of anticipation run down my spine. His hand snakes between my thighs, teasing my wetness through the thin fabric of my panties. I gasp as his thumb circles my clit, sending jolts of pleasure through my body.

He leans in to whisper in my ear, "You're so fucking wet for me, baby."

I moan in response, grinding my hips against his hand as he continues to rub me in just the right spot. I can feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, my breath coming in short gasps.

Suddenly, he pulls away and hooks his fingers under the waistband of my panties. He slides them down my legs, exposing my bare skin to the cool air. I shiver again, this time from the sensation of being so exposed and vulnerable.

He then begins to kiss his way down my body, starting at my neck and working his way to my breasts. He takes each nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing them until they are hard and sensitive.

I moan even louder as he moves farther, his tongue tracing a path down my stomach until it reaches the apex of my thighs. He spreads my legs wider, and I feel his hot breath against my most sensitive area.

He looks up at me with a wicked grin before diving in, his tongue exploring every inch of me. I cry out in pleasure as he finds my clit and begins to suck on it, his fingers probing deeper inside me.

I can feel my orgasm building, my muscles tensing as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. When I finally come, it's with a shout that echoes through the room. He continues to lick and suck, prolonging my pleasure until I can't take it anymore.

When it's finally over, he slides up my body, pressing his hard length against my thigh. I reach down and unbutton his jeans, sliding them down his hips until his cock springs free.

It's thick and hard, and I can't wait to feel it inside me. I guide it toward my entrance, and he slides in easily, filling me up until we're both gasping for breath.

Christopher thrusts into me slowly at first, letting me adjust to his size. Each movement sends waves of pleasure radiating through my body. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

"Harder," I plead breathlessly. "I need to feel all of you."

He complies, his pace increasing, his hips snapping against mine with delicious force. The room fills with the sounds of our lovemaking—the creaking of the bed, our mingled moans and gasps, the slap of skin on skin.

Christopher buries his face in the crook of my neck, his hot breath fanning against my skin as he drives into me again and again. "You feel so fucking good, Elle," he groans. "So tight, so perfect."

His words, his touch, the exquisite friction where we're joined, it all combines, pushing me rapidly toward another peak. Christopher reaches between our bodies, finding my clit and rubbing fast circles.

"Come for me, baby," he commands, his voice rough with lust and exertion. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

His words are my undoing. I shatter, my inner muscles clenching hard around him as ecstasy crashes over me wave after wave. Christopher follows me over the edge with a hoarse shout, his hips jerking as he spills himself deep inside me.

We stay like that, wrapped around each other, enjoying the moment of just us before life changes for us.

"We'll get through this together, Elle," Christopher murmurs, his hand stroking soothingly along my spine. "I won't let anything happen to you, or our baby. I promise you that."

I tilt my head up to meet his eyes, seeing the fierce love and protectiveness blazing there. I know he means every word. With Christopher by my side, I feel like I can face anything. Even a twisted serial killer.

As if sensing the dark turn of my thoughts, the baby delivers a strong kick against my ribs. I gasp, my hand flying to my stomach. Christopher places his hand over mine, wonder crossing his face as he feels our child's movements.

"She's a fighter, just like her mama," he says with a proud grin.

I manage a small smile in return, warmed by his unwavering faith in me. I have to stay strong, for our daughter's sake if nothing else. I refuse to let my fear rob me of the joy of these final weeks of pregnancy.

“We should start thinking about names," I suggest, eager to focus on something positive. "We can't keep calling her 'baby girl' forever." An idea forms in my mind. “How do you feel about Miracle?”

Christopher's smile widens, his eyes shining with emotion. "Miracle," he repeats softly, testing the name on his tongue. "It's perfect. Our little miracle." He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to my belly. "Hello, Miracle," he whispers. "Your mommy and daddy love you so much already. We can't wait to meet you."

Tears prick at my eyes, hormones and love for this man and our unborn child overwhelming me. In this moment, cocooned in Christopher's embrace, the outside world and its dangers feel distant, unable to touch us.

An hour passes before we get up to shower. I have to have him at the clubhouse in ten minutes for Christopher, Mason, and Reid’s surprise party.

“Mom wants me to come to the clubhouse because some more baby things came in and she wants my opinion on the nursery at the club,” I sort of lie, but we are planning a nursery at the clubhouse in case we need to stay there.

This little girl is so spoiled. She has her own nursery at my mom and dad’s house, then Amelia has one at her and Lane’s.

My reflection in the mirror still surprises me. I'm huge and I waddle like a duck at this point.

Christopher gives me a quick peck on the lips and helps me in the driver’s door. We are going separately since he’s riding his bike. I had to talk him into it without him getting suspicious because I know he will want to go riding with his brothers after.

"All right, I'll see you at the clubhouse in a second.” He looks like he’s going to change his mind about us riding separately even though it is right down the road.

I roll my eyes fondly at his overprotectiveness. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid," I tease. "But I promise to be careful.”

He flashes me a grin and a wink before shutting the door. I take a moment to just breathe, my hand rubbing soothing circles over my belly. "All right, Miracle, let's go surprise Daddy and your uncles."

The ride to the clubhouse is uneventful, for which I'm grateful. I'm still on edge from the news about Melissa, flinching at every shadow. I hate feeling so paranoid, but I can't seem to shake the sense of being watched—hunted.

I push those dark thoughts aside as I pull up to the clubhouse. Today is about celebrating new life, not dwelling on death. I heave myself out of the car with a grunt and I catch Christopher’s glare as he runs over to me, not liking me getting out on my own and exerting myself.

Amelia greets me at the door with a broad smile and a gentle hug, mindful of my bump. "There's the mama-to-be! You look radiant, Elle."

I snort because at the moment I don’t feel like it. Christopher puts his hand at the small of my back. Most of the people here are parked around the back so Christopher and Mason don’t get suspicious.

Right on cue, Mason pulls in right next to Christopher’s bike and walks over to us. “Lord, I swear you get bigger every time I see you.”

I don’t know why, I know he is totally joking but I start crying dramatically.

Mason looks absolutely horrified. "Elle, I'm so sorry! I was just kidding around. You look beautiful, I swear!" Mason scrambles to apologize, his eyes wide with panic at my sudden tears.

Christopher shoots his brother a death glare before pulling me into his arms, rubbing my back soothingly. "Shhh, it's okay, angel. You know Mason's an idiot who doesn't think before he speaks. You are absolutely stunning, glowing with our little miracle."

I sniffle against Christopher's chest, feeling a bit foolish for my overreaction but helpless against the hormonal surge of emotions. Amelia comes to my rescue, looping her arm through mine and tugging me toward the clubhouse.

"Come on, Elle. Let's get you inside and off your feet.”

As we enter the clubhouse, Amelia steers me toward a plush armchair, fluffing the pillows before helping me settle in. The main room is suspiciously empty and quiet. I exchange a sly glance with Amelia, the anticipation building.

Christopher and Mason walk in a moment later, deep in conversation, then everyone pops out from different places through the main room, yelling, “Congratulations, Mason and Christopher!”

In the center of the room is Lane and Wilder, their dads, holding out cuts.

Christopher and Mason stand, stunned, emotions playing across their faces as they take in the scene before them. The clubhouse is packed with their brothers, their family, all here to celebrate the two of them.

Lane steps forward, clasping a hand on each of their shoulders. "We've watched you both grow into strong, capable men. Leaders in your own right. It's time for you to take your rightful place at the head of this club."

Wilder joins him, holding out two cuts bearing the NG president and NG vice president patches. "Christopher, as my eldest, you will take on the role of president, with Mason as your VP. Together, you will lead the Next Generation into the future.

“Congratulations to the Next Generation president and vice president.”

Christopher accepts his cut with steady hands, shrugging it on as the weight of this new responsibility settles on his shoulders. Mason does the same, standing tall and proud.

Cheers erupt from the crowd as Christopher and Mason embrace their fathers. Watching the transfer of power, the love and respect between the generations, brings tears to my eyes once more. This club is more than just a brotherhood, it's a legacy passed down from father to son.

As if reading my thoughts, Christopher seeks me out in the crowd. Our eyes lock and he makes his way to me, the sea of his brothers parting before him. He kneels in front of my chair, taking my hands in his.

He has a strange look on his face and before I can question him, he reaches into his back pocket, holding a ring box.

I look over his shoulder to see my dad smiling while he’s holding my mom. They knew this was going to happen.

Christopher opens the ring box, revealing a stunning diamond ring that takes my breath away. It sparkles under the clubhouse lights.

"Elle, from the moment I first saw you, I knew you were special. You've brought light into my life, shown me what true love really means. You're my everything, my reason for breathing." His voice is thick with emotion—deep. "Now you're giving me the greatest gift of all, our little miracle. I can't imagine facing this world, raising our child, without you by my side."

He takes a deep breath, his grip on my hands tightening.

"Elizabeth, will you marry me? Will you be mine, and let me be yours, for the rest of our days?"

Time seems to stand still as I gaze into Christopher's eyes, seeing the depths of his love, his devotion, his vulnerability in this moment. Tears stream freely down my face, my heart so full it feels fit to burst.

"Yes," I whisper, then louder, I add, "yes, Christopher, yes! A thousand times yes, I'll marry you!"

His answering grin is blinding as he surges up to capture my lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his joy and passion into it. Around us, the clubhouse erupts into raucous cheers and whistles.

Christopher slides the ring onto my finger, a perfect fit, then pulls me to my feet and into his arms.

We're immediately engulfed by our loved ones. Hugs, backslaps, tearful congratulations. My mom and dad wrap me in a tight embrace, their eyes shining with happiness for me. Amelia squeals as she admires my ring, already gushing about wedding plans.

Through it all, Christopher never leaves my side, his arm secure around my waist, his hand splayed protectively over my belly. I lean into his solid strength, still a bit overwhelmed by the enormity of this moment.

As the excitement dies down, Christopher leads me to a quiet corner. He frames my face with his hands, his expression tender yet fierce.

"I meant every word, Elle. You're my whole world. I will spend every day of the rest of my life loving you, protecting you, being the man you and our daughter deserve. I promise you that."

Fresh tears well in my eyes at his heartfelt vow. "I know you will. There's no one else I'd want to take this journey with. You're my forever, Christopher."

He kisses me again, soft and sweet, a seal upon our promise. Our future stretches before us—full of challenges, yes, with the looming threat of a serial killer on the loose. But also full of hope, love, and the strength of the family we've built.

As if on cue, a sharp pain radiates across my belly, stealing my breath. I gasp, clutching Christopher's arm as I double over. Concern etches his features as he supports my weight. "Elle? What's wrong?"

"I don't know," I pant, trying to breathe through the pain. Fear grips my heart as another wave of pain crashes over me. This isn't like the Braxton Hicks contractions I've been having. This pain is intense, nauseating.

Christopher scoops me into his arms and strides toward the door, barking orders. "Meadow!” he calls, knowing my doctor is here somewhere.

The clubhouse erupts into controlled chaos as everyone springs into action. Amelia rushes to my side, her face pale with worry. "Just breathe, Elle. Everything's going to be okay."

I try to focus on her soothing words, on the steady beat of Christopher's heart as he carries me outside. But the pain is relentless, and a new fear takes root.

My mom is hugging me and my dad looks like he is going to rip the clubhouse apart.

Christopher is raging through the room looking for Meadow. A few moments later, he finds her with her hair completely wrecked on one side.

Even through the pain, I can’t help but laugh because I know what she was doing with Mason coming up behind her.

"Let’s get her to your house and I will check her over,” she tells us, putting her hand on my wrist to check my pulse.

Christopher sweeps me off the ground again, carrying me bridal style and rushing me out to the car, cradling me gently in his arms. Each step jostles my aching body, sending fresh waves of pain and fear over me. He settles me into the passenger seat, buckling me in with shaking hands.

Meadow slides into the back seat as he peels out of the clubhouse lot, tires squealing. He reaches over, gripping my hand tightly, his eyes wild with worry. "Just hold on, Elle. We'll be home soon. Everything's going to be all right."

I nod, biting my lip against another moan of pain. I try to take comfort in his words, but the fear is suffocating. It's too soon. Miracle isn't ready. I'm not ready.

The drive home is filled with anxiety, and we screech to a halt in front of our house. Christopher barely puts the car in park before he's out and racing to my side. He lifts me out, carrying me swiftly inside and straight to our bedroom.

He lays me down gently, smoothing my hair back from my sweat-dampened face. "I'm here, angel. I'm right here."

Meadow takes charge, checking my vitals and feeling my belly.

Her hands move in sure, efficient motions, but I can see the concern in her eyes. "Elle, I need you to describe the pain for me. Is it constant or coming in waves?"

I take a shuddering breath, trying to focus past the fear clawing at my throat. "It's… it's coming and going. Starts in my back and wraps around to the front. Oh God, Meadow, it's too early. She can't come yet."

"Shh, try to stay calm," Meadow soothes. "Let's see what's going on before we panic, okay?"

She hooks me up to a fetal heart rate monitor from her bag, the rapid whoosh, whoosh of Miracle's heartbeat filling the room. Christopher grips my hand like a lifeline as we wait for Meadow's assessment.

After what feels like an eternity, Meadow looks up with a reassuring smile. "Baby's heartbeat is strong and steady. These pains you're feeling are contractions, but they're not regular. I think what you're experiencing is false labor."

Relief crashes over me so strongly I feel lightheaded. Christopher exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to our joined hands. "False labor?" he asks, his voice rough. "What does that mean?"

"It means Elle's body is preparing for labor, but she's not in active labor yet," Meadow explains. "These practice contractions can be intense and scary, but they don't mean the baby is coming rightnow.

Meadow's words allow me to breathe a little easier, but I'm still on edge. Every twinge, every flutter in my belly has me tensing, fearing the real thing. Christopher never leaves my side, his hand constantly resting on my stomach as if he’s willing our daughter to stay put a little while longer.