Page 47 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)

Villain

I hadn’t even finished the damn antibiotics before chaos called again.

Rachel had just stepped out to grab something from the store, prenatal vitamins or more pickles or maybe both, and I was left alone on the couch, leg throbbing, head still stitched from Rome’s ambush.

The painkillers made my mind swim, but I couldn’t sit still.

Something was coming. I could feel it in my bones like a storm rolling up the holler.

The knock on the door wasn’t polite.

It was the kind of knock that meant trouble.

When I opened it, Pagan stood there looking like someone pissed in his bourbon. “We got a problem,” he said.

I followed him over to Cece’s. She was pacing, Eve was calm but deadly in her stillness, and Irish looked like he was ready to throw someone off the porch.

Ember settled on the edge of the couch, hunched forward like she’d folded in on herself.

She had bruises peeking from her collar, a busted lip, and a distant look that chilled me to the marrow.

“She’s not talkin’,” Cece said, shaking her head. “But she needs to.”

“She will,” Kingpin said, walking in behind me. “Go on now, darlin’. Tell the truth.”

Ember looked up at us, her eyes glassy, voice hoarse.

“Rome had me tied up in the back of a van,” she said. “Said if I didn’t come willingly, he’d make me. Said the baby was his, and I was never leavin’ him again.”

A silence fell so thick I could hear the tick of Cece’s old clock on the mantle.

“He was gonna run with me,” she whispered. “Somewhere far. Said we’d start over.”

Cece sat down beside her, touched her hand gently. “And then?”

“He hurt me,” Ember said, voice breaking. “And he said if the baby wasn’t his, he’d make sure it didn’t live long enough to find out.”

Irish cursed low and sharp. Kingpin’s jaw clenched.

“Pagan found her,” Cece explained. “Tracked her phone. If he hadn’t…”

I didn’t want to think about the if.

Kingpin bellowed, “This is all old news. Tell the fuckin’ truth. The whole truth.”

Ember frowned. “Rome was dirty the whole time. Always has been. He’s from New Orleans, sent to spy.”

“How do you know?” Kingpin asked, like he already knew the truth, and wanted me to hear it.

Ember hung her head, “Because I knew. But hear me out. He changed sides at some point. He decided to stay and patch over. Don’t kill him. I’m begging you. I will do anything. He might be the father of my child.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner.”

Ember stood up, pointing at her bruises. It was all the answer we needed.

Back at Royal Road, Kingpin pulled me aside into his office. No beer. No chair offered. Just him standing like a mountain I had to climb.

“She’s gonna stay here, protected,” he said. “We’ll keep her safe.”

“You gonna spare Rome?”

He gave me a look like I was stupid.

“Rome’s patched in,” he said. “I’ll get what I need from him first.”

“What about Rachel?”

“She’s yours, boy. But she left once. That’s twice too many for my taste.”

“I know that.”

“She’s been takin’ care of you. Been actin’ like an Ol’ Lady without even wearin’ your brand. But if you want her to stay, you better give her a reason.”

I nodded.

“And if Ember’s baby’s yours, you’ll still take care of it.”

“I will.”

“But that girl don’t love you, Villain,” he said, straight up. “You know that now. You know the kind of secrets she kept from you.”

I swallowed, the truth like grit in my throat. “Yeah. I do. I couldn’t tell you if I knew much about her anyhow.”

Later, I heard the car before I saw her. Her new little hybrid pulled into the gravel with a soft crunch, and I stood up too fast from the porch, wincing as my ribs flared.

Rachel got out holding two bags, sun catching the flames in her hair. The sight of her never got old. Not even when my whole life was on fire.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

She handed me one of the bags. “Pickles and ice cream. You’re welcome.”

I cracked a smile. “You know how to spoil a man.”

She looked me over, eyes narrowing. “Something happened.”

“Yeah,” I said, setting the bag down. “We need to talk.”

We sat on the porch swing, her hand resting lightly on the swell of her belly. I told her everything. About Ember. About Rome. About the van. About the betrayal. About how the club was keeping Ember safe, and what that meant.

Rachel stayed quiet through all of it, her eyes hard to read.

When I finished, she blew out a slow breath. “So, she’s staying?”

“For now.”

“She safe?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded, lips pressed tight. “And you?”

“What about me?”

She looked at me, straight through me. “Are you done?”

I swallowed. “I was done the second you walked out that first time.”

Her eyes softened, just a little.

“I still love you, Rachel,” I said. “I was an idiot. A scared, selfish, guilt-ridden idiot. I thought maybe if Ember was pregnant, I could fix what I broke. But I was wrong.”

“You think?” she said, but there was a smile ghosting her lips.

I reached for her hand. “I don’t want a maybe. I want you. I want us.”

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the creak of the swing.

Finally, she said, “Then do it right.”

My chest squeezed. “What do you mean?”

“Patch me,” she whispered.

I stared at her. “You want that?”

“I’ve been acting like your Ol’ Lady for weeks. Might as well make it official.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Hell yes.”

We didn’t say much after that.

Didn’t need to.

The sun was sinking low, casting everything in a soft amber glow. Rachel stood, brushed her hands on her thighs, and looked down at me with those green eyes like sin and salvation rolled into one.

“You coming in?” she asked.

“Darlin’, I’d follow you into hell.”

I meant it.

Inside, the house was too damn quiet, but in the space between our silence, I heard everything, our hearts pounding. No more cold stares, no more half-finished sentences. Just heat. Raw and rising.

She turned to face me. “You sure about this?”

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”

Rachel stepped in close, her fingers brushing my chest, right over the patch that bore my road name.

Her touch was soft, but I felt it like a lightning strike.

I reached up, cupped her jaw, and held her there, just breathing her in. Pickles, peppermint lotion, and something that was just her, home and havoc, all at once.

“You’re glowing,” I rasped.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s sweat and heartburn.”

I chuckled low, pulling her into me. “No, sweetheart. It’s love.”

Her mouth parted like she wanted to argue, but I kissed the fight right out of her. Her lips were soft but hungry, tongue teasing mine like she’d been starving for this. For us. Like I was a craving she finally let herself have.

My hands slid down her sides, past the swell of our baby, until I gripped her thighs and lifted her like she weighed nothing. She wrapped around me with a hiss, legs strong, belly warm between us.

“Don’t you dare drop me,” she warned, breathless.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I growled, carrying her to the bedroom.

I laid her down careful as sin and hovered over her, brushing her hair back. “Still time to stop me.”

She grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me down. “Shut up and kiss me, Villain.”

God help me, I did.

The moment our mouths collided again, it was like coming home.

My body knew hers, every sigh, every tremble, every scar we’d given each other.

Her thighs squeezed around my waist, her nails scraping the back of my neck as I kissed a path down to her collarbone, her breasts, the curve of her stomach.

I paused there, kissed the life growing inside her.

“I love you,” I whispered.

Her hand tangled in my hair. “Show me.”

So I did.

I worshipped her with my hands, my mouth, my body, slow and deep, like a promise. We moved like we were making something sacred, not just love. Our rhythm was fire and forgiveness, the bed creaking in time with our heartbeats.

She cried out my name, and I buried mine in her neck.

When we collapsed in a tangle of sweat and breath, her head on my chest, her fingers tracing the tattoo over my heart, I knew I’d never touch another woman again.

Only her.

Forever.