Apollo (Cerberus MC)

Right there in front of people I don’t know, I want to confess that lie, that I wasn’t invited on the senior trip to Cabo. I want to tell her that most of the things I said to make my life in South Carolina seem better were lies. I really need the distraction right now, but from the look in Cara’s eyes, I know she can’t be deterred.

“Cara, don’t, please,” I beg.

Hiding the bump under my clothes hasn’t been exactly easy. I have a very small frame, and although I’m not very far along, you’d think I was smuggling a basketball under my shirt.

“Are you pregnant?” she asks, reaching for my stomach.

My cheeks flame as I take a step back, my eyes looking for the reason I came to New Mexico in the first place.

It doesn’t take long for my eyes to land on the most handsome man I ever met, a man I’d considered my hero, a man who made my knees weak despite only having interacted with him briefly several months ago.

Javier, my sister’s boyfriend, a man I recognize from our numerous video chats, follows my line of sight, and I know all hell is going to break loose.

Javier glares at Apollo, his face screwed up in disgust and betrayal.

“You slept with her little sister?” he roars before pulling back his right arm and punching Apollo square in the mouth.

Apollo’s head jerks back from the impact, but it only takes a few seconds for his eyes to find mine once again. A slow smile spreads across his handsome face as he lifts his fingers to the blood beginning to trickle from his busted lip.

“Hey, April,” he whispers, and it feels like a caress, like the hug I’ve been yearning for my entire life.

I place my hands over my swollen belly. “I need to tell you something.”

Chapter 2

Apollo

Most men would freak out if an obviously pregnant woman showed up out of the blue.

Don’t get me wrong, my heart is pounding like crazy, but not in a bad way.

Sure, there’s a surge of adrenaline that’s telling me to sucker punch Thumper like he just did me, but the gorgeous girl on the other side of the room seems more worthy of my attention.

“It’s good to see you,” I tell her.

“You motherfucker,” Thumper growls, his voice so low I don’t think anyone but me can hear him.

Using that kind of language around the women as a whole is frowned upon. I know these guys don’t stop cussing once they’re behind closed doors with their women, but they refrain from doing it while in mixed company.

“It’s cool,” I tell Thumper, clapping him on the shoulder before inching closer to April.

God, the girl is absolutely gorgeous, prettier even than I remember from months ago.

I lick at the blood on my lip, the sting of the cut bringing me back to reality a little faster than I’d like.

“We’re going to have a discussion later,” Thumper hisses in my ear, his fingers wrapping around my forearm before I can cross the room.

“Sure thing,” I agree because I’d say just about anything to make getting to her quicker.

She blinks up at me as I approach, her green eyes brighter and her mahogany hair silkier than I remember.

“Can we talk in private?” she asks, studiously ignoring the way Cara’s mouth is hanging open in disbelief.

“Of course,” I tell her. Risking her rejection, I reach down and clasp her hand in one of mine before grabbing the straps to the two bags she brought in with her.

The room remains silent as we head toward the hallway leading to my room.

“April?” Cara asks, her voice a broken whisper, but April’s feet don’t stop moving.

It’s clear she doesn’t want to face whatever is going to happen with her sister, and I’m in no position to force the subject. If the girl wants away from the crowd, I feel obligated to give her exactly what she needs right now.

Her eyes don’t dart around the room when she enters. She drops to the corner of my bed, making it very hard for me to not picture that beautiful hair of hers fanned out on my sheets. I blame my attraction to her—the first time I laid eyes on her outside of her California high school—on her exotic looks. She is absolutely stunning, and had I not seen her birth certificate, I’d call her a liar if she said she was only eighteen.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, that desire to make her closer to my twenty-six years—something a little more acceptable. Something that wouldn’t get me punched in the mouth by Thumper.

“You look exhausted,” I say when she doesn’t immediately open her mouth to explain.

“Thanks,” she mutters.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. You’re stun—” I clamp my mouth closed and reevaluate what would be an appropriate thing to say. “You’re more than welcome to get a nap.”