Page 9 of Nitro
“Now,” I said, “we figure out how this works.”
She studied my face, looking for the trap, the angle, the thing I wasn’t telling her.Finding nothing but what I’d already said -- she was mine, the babies were mine, that was done.Whatever came next would be built on that foundation, whether she was ready for it or not.
“I don’t know the rules,” she said.“For any of this.”
“You don’t need to.”I kept my voice level, matter-of-fact.“I do.And I’ll make sure you understand everything that matters.”
She nodded.
Beast called the room back to order with a raised hand, his expression sobering.“Nitro, you need anything -- medical, housing, whatever -- you let me know.The club’s got you covered.”His gaze moved to Willa.“Both of you.Whatever you need.”
It wasn’t just an offer.It was an oath -- the promise the club made to its own, to the women who belonged to its brothers, to the children who would carry its legacy.I’d heard it a hundred times, directed at other women, other situations.Never at mine.
“Thank you,” Willa said, the words careful.“I appreciate that.”
Beast grunted.“That’s what family’s for.”
The word hung between us -- family.I watched Willa, watched her turn it over in her mind, testing its edges.She hadn’t come back expecting family, and now she was standing in a room full of people who’d already decided she belonged to them.
It was a lot to take in.I could see her doing it -- processing, recalibrating, making the necessary adjustments to a reality that was far from what she’d anticipated.Her hand moved to her stomach again, a protective gesture she probably didn’t realize she was making.
“We good here?”Beast asked, looking between us.
I nodded.“We’re good.”
“Then Church is adjourned.Everyone out.Nitro’s got things to figure out.”
The room emptied with the efficiency of men who understood when they were no longer needed.Chairs scraped, boots thudded against the floor, voices dropped to murmurs as they filed out.Beast was the last to go, pausing at the door to give me a look I’d seen a hundred times -- the look of a man who’d been where I was standing, who knew exactly how much everything had just changed.
“She’s strong,” he said, glancing at her briefly.“She’ll figure it out.”
“I know.”
He leaned in and dropped his voice so only I could hear him.“She’s also scared shitless, so maybe take it easy for a day or two.”
“I noticed.”
He grinned.“Yeah, well.You’ve never been the patient type.”He tipped his head toward Willa.“Good luck with that.”
Then he was gone, pulling the door shut behind him, and we were alone in the sudden quiet.
Willa stood with her back to the wall, watching me with that same attention she’d shown last night.The anger had receded, but wariness had taken its place -- the alertness of someone who’d learned the hard way that good things rarely stayed that way.
“You could have warned me,” she said.
“I could have.”I didn’t offer an excuse.There wasn’t one.“I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what I was going to do.I didn’t know if you’d try to stop me.”
She considered that, her head tilting slightly.“Would it have mattered if I had?”
“No.”
Her mouth twitched in a near smile.“At least you’re honest about it.”
“I told you that night.I play honest games.”
