Page 15 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)

Rachel

I didn’t sleep after the patch-over party.

My ears still rang from the roar of the crowd, from the sound of bikers I’d mended up too many times to count calling themselves something new.

The Bastard Sons now.

But me? I was still just the girl Villain fucked when he remembered I existed. The girl he kept promising to give his property patch to… but never quite did.

I left early, snuck out through the crowd while everyone else was too drunk or too rowdy to notice. I figured I’d hear from him.

I didn’t.

Not until noon the next day when he banged on my trailer door like a cop with a warrant.

I opened it wearing his old shirt, black cotton, faded graphic, his club’s old logo, cut wide at the collar. It fell off one shoulder. My hair was piled on top of my head in a claw clip, and my eyes were probably still smudged from last night’s mascara. I didn’t care.

He stood on the stoop, eyes sharp, face tense.

“You been ignoring my calls?”

I leaned against the doorframe. “What gave it away?”

His nostrils flared. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“Yeah, we fucking do.”

I stepped back, letting him in. He stalked past me, looking around like maybe he expected to find someone else hiding inside.

“You’re not even gonna ask how the patch-over went?” he demanded.

“I was there, remember? Waiting to see you with your new Ol’ Lady.”

“You left.” He scoffed. “She ain’t my Ol’ Lady.”

“Sure looked like it the other night.”

He turned, leveling that glare on me. “What the hell is your problem, Rachel?”

I stared at him, heart pounding. I didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to hand over the last piece of myself I’d been holding onto.

But the truth burned in my chest. I couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words slammed into the room like a pipe bomb.

He blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then his mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You serious right now?”

“You think I’d joke about that?”

He paced in front of the coffee table, hands on his hips. “You telling me this because of Ember?”

My stomach dropped. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I’m asking if this is about that. About her. You heard about Ember. What she told everyone in the goddamn club last night. You get jealous, and now suddenly you’re having my kid?”

I walked right up to him and shoved him in the chest. Hard.

“You arrogant, gaslighting son of a bitch.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back up.

“You think I’m lying?”

“I don’t know what to think,” he snapped. “You knew what this was. You agreed. Open. No strings.”

“I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else,” I yelled. “Not once! I was loyal to you while you were out here playing with sweetbutts and Ember and whoever the fuck else made your dick twitch.”

His jaw ticked. “That ain’t fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you acting like I’m just some bitch on your rotation when I’ve been by your side for months… no… years. Years… Cleaning blood off your cut. Taking stitches out of your brothers. Holding your secrets. And now I’m knocked up, and you think it’s a goddamn manipulation tactic?”

He rubbed his face with both hands. “Jesus Christ, Rach…”

I stared him down. “You wanted truth? There it is.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Then he looked at me, really looked at me. His voice dropped. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Two tests. Three. Two at home. One from work.”

He let out a slow breath, like the weight of it finally sank into his bones. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “Fuck.”

He stepped toward me, reached for my hand, then stopped like he didn’t know if he had the right anymore.

“Rachel…”

“No,” I said, backing up. “You don’t get to come here and accuse me, then touch me like that fixes everything.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You never mean. That’s your whole thing, Villain. You don’t mean to hurt me. You don’t mean to sleep with someone else. You don’t mean to keep me waiting while you decide if I’m worth something.”

His hands clenched into fists. “You are worth something.”

“Then why do I feel disposable?”

We stood there in silence, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Finally, he muttered, “I need time.”

I nodded, trying not to let him see how badly that broke me.

“Take all the time you want,” I said. “But don’t expect me to wait around while you decide if being a father fits your aesthetic.”

I turned away, walked to the door, and opened it wide.

“Get out.”

He hesitated.

Then left without another word.

And this time, I didn’t cry.

I just stood there, palm pressed to my stomach, and whispered to the tiny flutter of life inside me, “You’re mine. That’s enough.”