Page 18

Mom looks between us, confused. "What?"

"Nothing," we say in unison.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Astrid asks me. "Privately?"

I follow her to a quiet corner, away from the breakfast rush.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she starts. "We didn't think?—"

"It's fine," I interrupt. "Just maybe... quieter next time?"

"Deal." She glances around, then lowers her voice. "How are you doing? With... everything?"

We both know she means the secret.

The baby's real paternity that only she, Regnor, and I know.

"I'm managing," I say carefully. "It helps, knowing someone else knows. That I'm not carrying it alone."

"I haven't told anyone," she assures me quickly. "Not even Geirolf. It's not my secret to tell."

"Thank you."

"But Everly..." She bites her lip. "What happens when the baby comes? If it looks like Dylan?"

The question I try not to think about.

"Regnor says it doesn't matter. That the baby's his regardless."

"And you believe him?"

"Yeah," I realize with some surprise. "I do."

She nods slowly. "He's a good man. One of the best. If anyone can pull this off..."

"It's still terrifying," I admit. "Sometimes I wake up in a panic, thinking about all the ways this could go wrong."

"I know." She squeezes my hand. "But you're not alone. Whatever happens, we've got your back."

"Everly!" Regnor's voice cuts through. Kirkja is starting."

I find him by kirkja doors with Tor, both looking grim.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Tell her," Regnor says to Tor.

Tor glances around, then pulls out a folder. "Been going through the Patriot's financial records. Found something interesting about your ex."

My stomach drops. "What kind of something?"

"Payments. Regular ones, going back over a year.

To 'DM' for 'information services.'" His eyes are hard.

"The dates match up with MC activities that went sideways.

That warehouse raid where we almost got ambushed?

Two days after a payment. The time someone tipped off the cops about our gun shipment? Day after Dylan got paid."

The floor tilts under my feet.

"No," I whisper. "He's just a pot dealer. Small time?—"

"That's his cover, sure, but think about it—how would he really be able to afford living in that nice apartment of his if there wasn’t something else going on?

" Tor continues ruthlessly. "Found more.

Deposits into accounts that trace back to him.

Payments for 'product distribution.' Your boyfriend wasn't just selling weed to college kids, Everly. He was moving the Patriot's fentanyl."

I'm going to be sick again.

"How many?" My voice sounds far away. "How many overdoses?"

"Too many, and you know he’s been targeting certain minorities."

Those people—college kids—dead because of drugs Dylan sold.

And I was sleeping next to him.

Carrying his baby.

"But there's more," Regnor says quietly. "Tell her about the photos."

"Photos?" I look between them.

"He was at the farm we hit during our raid," Tor explains. "Taking pictures. Professional camera, long-range lens. Documenting everything—faces, bikes, license plates."

"Evidence," I breathe. "He's gathering evidence."

"For the Patriot or the feds, we're not sure which." Tor closes the folder. "But either way, he's more than just an abusive ex. He's an active threat to the club."

"I brought him into our lives," I say numbly. "I'm the reason?—"

"No," Regnor cuts me off firmly. "He targeted you. This was planned, Everly. You were a mark from day one."

The truth of it hits me hard.

Every moment was a lie.

Every touch was calculated.

Every 'I love you' just another way to manipulate me.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

But this time it's not morning sickness.

This time it's the realization that I've been sleeping with the enemy for over a year.

That the baby inside me is the product of a relationship that was never real.

"Hey." Regnor pulls me against him. "Breathe. This isn't your fault."

"I should have known. Should have seen?—"

"How? He's been doing this for years. You think you're the first person he's fooled?" His hands frame my face. "You're a victim here, not a collaborator."

"Kirkja!" Runes calls from inside the chapel. "Now!"

"I need you to stay with the women," Regnor says. "Can you do that? Stay visible, stay safe?"

I nod, still reeling.

He kisses me hard. "We'll figure this out. All of it. But right now, I need to go plan how we're going to end this."

The doors to kirkja close behind them, leaving me standing in the hallway trying to process everything.

Dylan wasn't just an abuser.

He was a spy. A drug dealer. A killer by proxy.

And I'm carrying his child.

"There you are." Mom appears with Astrid. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Something like that," I manage.

They exchange glances, then each take an arm.

"Come on," Astrid says. "Let's get some tea in you. You're shaking."

They guide me to the kitchen, settle me at the table with chamomile tea and shoot me some concerned looks.

"What happened?" Mom asks. "What did Tor tell you?"

"Dylan's been working with the Patriot," I say numbly. "The whole time. Our entire relationship was... God, I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid," Mom says firmly. "You were targeted by someone very good at what he does."

"I brought danger to the club. To all of you."

"The danger was already here," Astrid points out. "Dylan was just one tentacle of it."

"A tentacle I was fucking," I say bitterly. "That I let into my life, my bed. That?—."

I almost blurt out the fact Dylan’s actually the baby’s biological father, but thank the Gods I stop myself.

Mom gets a phone call and it gives me the chance to get up and move around.

I can’t stay still today.

I can’t sit around and do nothing, so I help with laundry, play with the kids, anything to keep my mind off everything.

But every quiet moment, my brain circles back.

How many times did I tell him things about the club?

Innocent comments about where people were, what was happening.

How much information did I unknowingly give him?

How many people were hurt because of the intel I provided?

"Stop," Mom says, appearing at my elbow as I fold the same shirt for the third time. "I can see you spiraling."

"I can't help it. All those people who overdosed?—"

"Were going to get drugs somewhere," she interrupts. "Dylan didn't force them to use. He just provided the supply."

"That doesn't make it better."

"No, but it makes it not your fault." She takes the shirt from my hands. "You didn't know. You couldn't have known."

"I should have questioned things. Like how he always had money but barely worked. Or how interested he was in the club's business."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," Mom says. "And beating yourself up won't change anything."

But I can't stop thinking about it.

All the red flags I missed.

All the warning signs I explained away.

Kirkja runs long—nearly three hours.

When the men finally emerge, they look grim and determined.

"We ride tonight," Fenrir announces. "Full force. This ends now."

The energy shifts immediately.

Women who were chatting casually snap into preparation mode.

Weapons cleaned, medical supplies gathered, children corralled.

This is what it means to be an ol’ lady—supporting your man as he rides into danger.

Regnor finds me helping Gwen prep medical supplies.

"Hey," he says, pulling me aside. "You okay?"

"No," I admit. "But I'll manage. What's the plan?"

"Heading to one of Patriot's warehouses. Big one. Tor tracked it through Dylan's payment records." His jaw tightens. "We're going to burn it down. All of it. The drugs, the money, the whole operation."

"What about Dylan?"

"Being handled," he says cryptically. "Focus on staying safe. We'll be gone most of the night."

"Regnor—"

"I know you're worried." He cups my face. "But this is what we do. This is how we protect our family. Trust me?"

"Always," I whisper.

He kisses me deeply, like he's trying to memorize the taste.

"I love you," he says against my lips. "Both of you. Remember that."

"Come back to us," I plead. "Whatever happens, come back."

"Always," he echoes my earlier words.

Then he's gone, joining the stream of men heading for their bikes.

I watch from the window as they gear up—bulletproof vests, weapons, all of them sporting grim faces.

My hand drifts to my stomach, to the tiny life that started all this.

"Your daddy's going to come back," I whisper, meaning Regnor. "He has to."

The sound of engines fills the air, then fades as they ride away.

Leaving us to wait.

To worry.

To pray to whoever's listening that they all come home.

The hours crawl by.

I help make dinner, but can barely eat.

Help put kids to bed, but can't imagine sleeping.

Every sound makes me jump.

Every car engine could be them returning.

Or it could be bad news.

The women gather in the common room, pretending to watch TV while really just waiting.

This is the hardest part of being an ol’ lady—the not knowing.

"First time is always the worst," Starla says, appearing beside me on the couch. "The waiting."

"Does it get easier?"

"No," she admits. "You just get better at hiding the fear."

"Helpful," I mutter, and she laughs.

"Honesty usually is." She studies me. "Regnor's tough. One of the toughest. He'll come back."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because now he has something to come back to." She pats my knee. "Makes a man fight harder when he's got family waiting."

Family.

Is that what we are already?

But I guess it is.

It's nearly midnight when the first cramp hits.

Sharp and low, different from the usual discomfort I have.

I ignore it, chalking it up to stress.

But then another comes, stronger.

"You okay?" Vail asks, noticing my wince.

"Just a cramp," I say. "It’s probably nothing."

But the third one doubles me over.

"Bathroom," I gasp, and Vail's eyes widen.

I make it to the toilet just as the blood starts.

Not spotting.

Real blood, bright red and terrifying.

"No," I whisper. "No, no, no."