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CHAPTER SEVEN

Everly

The thin walls of the clubhouse are a special kind of torture at six in the morning.

"Oh fuck, Geirolf, right there?—"

I bury my face in Regnor's chest, trying to block out the sounds coming from the room next door.

Astrid and Geirolf, going at it like they're trying to wake the entire compound.

"Jesus," Regnor mutters, voice rough with sleep. "They know these walls are paper-thin, right?"

A rhythmic thumping joins Astrid's moans, and I can't help the embarrassed laugh that escapes. "Apparently they don't care."

"Or they're showing off." He pulls me closer, hand splaying across my back. "Want me to bang on the wall? Tell them to keep it down?"

"No!" The thought of them knowing we can hear everything makes my face burn hotter. "Just... ignore it."

"Kind of hard to ignore when?—"

Astrid's voice rises to a pitch that probably woke everyone on this floor.

"Okay, that's just excessive," I mutter.

The headboard banging gets more intense, and I hear Geirolf's deep growl join the symphony.

"For fuck's sake," Regnor grumbles. "At least we try to be quiet."

"Do we?" I think about last night, how he had to cover my mouth with his hand to muffle my cries.

"Quieter than that." He gestures at the wall. "That's just showing off."

"Maybe they forgot the walls are crap?"

"Nobody forgets when the walls are this thin. Trust me." His hand traces lazy circles on my back. "First time I brought a girl back here, years ago, Tor gave me shit for a week about the sounds she made."

"You brought other girls here?" I don't know why that bothers me, but it does.

" Years ago," he emphasizes. "Before you were even legal, Goldilocks. Don't get jealous now."

"I'm not jealous," I lie.

"Sure you're not." He kisses my forehead. "If it helps, none of them mattered. None of them stayed."

"And I will?"

"Yeah," he says simply. "You will."

Regnor chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Welcome to communal living, sweetie. This is why most of us have houses."

"Why don't you?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Never saw the point before. The clubhouse was enough. A bed, a shower, somewhere to crash between runs. Didn't need more than that."

"And now?"

"Now I've got a pregnant woman who deserves better than listening to other people fuck at dawn."

"I don't need?—"

"Yeah, you do." He cuts me off gently. "You need stability. The baby needs a real home. We'll start looking soon as things calm down with Dylan."

Dylan.

Just his name makes my stomach clench, and not from morning sickness.

It's been four days since the grocery store confrontation.

Four days of silence that feels more ominous than any threat.

He's planning something.

Men like him don't just give up, don't just walk away.

They regroup. They strategize. They wait for the perfect moment to strike.

The thumping from next door reaches a crescendo, followed by mutual groans that signal the end of the morning show.

"Thank God," I breathe. "Maybe now I can?—"

The nausea hits like a freight train.

I'm out of bed and in the small bathroom before Regnor can even sit up, barely making it to the toilet in time.

"Here." He's behind me, pulling my hair back, rubbing gentle circles on my spine. "Just breathe, baby. Let it out."

This is becoming our morning routine.

Wake up, listen to someone else's sex life, puke my guts out while he holds my hair.

So romantic.

"I'm sorry," I gasp between heaves. "This is so gross."

"Stop apologizing." He wets a washcloth, presses it to the back of my neck. "This is what we do. I take care of you when you need it."

When my stomach finally settles, he helps me to my feet, steadying me while I brush my teeth.

"Crackers are on the nightstand," he says. "Ginger tea's in the mini-fridge. Got you some of those preggie pops from the pharmacy too."

I turn to stare at him. "When did you?—"

"Yesterday while you were napping." He shrugs like it's nothing. "Looked up morning sickness remedies online. Figured we'd try everything, see what works."

My throat tightens.

Dylan never would have researched anything.

Would have told me I was being dramatic, that women have been having babies forever without making such a fuss.

Would have accused me of trying to get attention, of making his life harder with my "constant complaining."

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Stop thanking me for basic shit." But he's smiling as he says it. "Come on, back to bed. Try to eat something before round two hits."

I nibble on crackers while he makes tea, the domestic quiet a sharp contrast to our neighbors' earlier activities.

This is nice.

Weird, being in the clubhouse with its peculiar morning sounds and lack of privacy, but nice.

"What's your plan for today?" I ask as he hands me the mug.

" Kirkja’s at nine. Got some intel to go over." Something flickers across his face. "Then probably another run tonight."

"Already? You just went out a few days ago."

"Patriot's getting desperate. Moving safe houses every few days, trying to stay ahead of us. We hit one, he pops up somewhere else." He sits on the bed beside me. "But Tor thinks he found something in those documents. Might give us an edge."

"Something about the Patriot?"

"Among other things." He's being evasive, which means it's bad.

"Regnor—"

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Gwen calling.

This early, it can't be good.

"Hey," I answer, trying to sound normal. "What's up?"

"Dylan's here." Her voice is tense. "At the station. Says he's looking for you, that you haven't been at work and he's worried."

My blood turns to ice. "What did you tell him?"

"That you called in sick. But Everly, he's not buying it. He's making a scene, demanding to know where you really are. Says you're in danger, that the MC is holding you against your will."

"Shit."

Chief knows better than to believe anything coming out of Dylan’s mouth.

Regnor's already moving, pulling on jeans, his face dark.

"Chief's about to call the cops if he doesn't leave," Gwen continues. "But I wanted to warn you first. He seems... different. Aggressive. More unhinged than usual."

"Thanks for the heads up. I'll?—"

"He said something else." She lowers her voice. "Said to tell you that Tuesday's appointment is still on. That he'll be there whether you are or not. What does that mean?"

Tuesday.

Bjorn's physical therapy.

The threat he's holding over my head.

"Nothing," I lie. "He's just trying to scare me."

"Well, it's working on everyone here. Vail's about ready to go out there and deck him herself. Already had to stop her twice from confronting him."

"Tell her not to engage. He's dangerous when cornered."

"Yeah, we're getting that impression. He's been taking pictures too—of the station, the ambulances, our personal vehicles. It's creepy as hell." A pause. "Are you safe where you are?"

"Yes. I'm with Regnor at the club."

"Good. Stay there. And Everly? Maybe it's time for a restraining order."

"Yeah," I agree, knowing it won't help. Pieces of paper don't stop men like Dylan. "Maybe."

I hang up to find Regnor fully dressed, jaw clenched.

"He showed up at your work?"

"Looking for me. Making threats about Tuesday—that's when Bjorn has physical therapy. You know he's threatened to hurt him before."

"Motherfucker." He pulls on his cut. "Get dressed. You're coming to kirkja with me."

"Women aren't allowed in kirkja ."

"They are when their psycho ex is making moves." He cups my face. "I'm not leaving you alone. Not for a second."

I dress quickly in jeans and one of his t-shirts that hangs loose enough to hide my slowly changing body.

The common area is already busy when we emerge—kids eating breakfast, women chatting over coffee.

Normal morning chaos that feels surreal given what's happening.

"Everly!" My mom waves from the kitchen. "Come help me with breakfast?"

I glance at Regnor, who nods. "I need to talk to Tor before kirkja anyways. Stay with your mom, yeah?"

He kisses my forehead and heads off to find Tor.

I join Mom in the kitchen, where she's making enough scrambled eggs to feed an army.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, studying my face. "You look pale."

"Morning sickness is brutal," I admit, taking over stirring duty so she can start more toast.

"Gets better after the first trimester." She hip-checks me gently. "Usually."

"That's what everyone keeps saying."

We work in silence for a moment before she speaks again.

"You know, I couldn’t believe it when I was pregnant with your brothers."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. Kraken and I had thought because of my age that ship had sailed." She smiles at the memory. "But fate gave us something beautiful together."

"What did you think of it, when you found out I mean?"

"That my life was about to change into something even more amazing than I thought" She laughs. "But also that I was terrified, yet somehow couldn’t wait to be a mother. Sometimes the craziest parts of our lives are the things we never expect."

"This feels bigger than crazy," I confess. "This feels insane."

"Because of the baby?"

"Because of everything. The situation with Dylan, the threats, living here..." I gesture vaguely at the club.

"But not Regnor?"

I think about this morning—him holding my hair, bringing me remedies he'd researched, the careful way he takes care of me.

"No," I say softly. "Not Regnor."

"Then the rest is just details." She plates the eggs for both of us, "Hard details, yes. Dangerous ones, certainly. But if the core is solid—you and him—you can weather the rest of what life throws at you."

"When did you get so wise?"

"Somewhere between Njal learning to hot-wire cars and Ingrid discovering boys." She winks. "Experience is a hell of a teacher."

Astrid appears in the doorway, freshly showered and glowing.

Our eyes meet, and her face flushes.

She knows I heard them this morning.

"Morning," she says, grabbing coffee like nothing's awkward. "Everly, how are you feeling?"

"Like I need soundproof walls," I mutter, and she chokes on her coffee.