Rage (Royal Bastards MC 2)

Rolling her eyes, she slips the onesie back into the bag and ties her hair back with a headscarf.

“Baby, you’re doing that thing you do,” she taunts.

“You mean worrying?”

“I mean fretting. I’m only five months, you need to stop. You’ll be home tomorrow.”

“I hate leaving you to sleep alone.”

“I’m not alone.” She strokes her rounded stomach, pulling on one of my old tees.

“I’ll be back before you wake up.” I kiss her lips, soaking her in. I’ll never tire of her taste. “You keep cooking our son, and I’ll cook you breakfast when I get back.”

“Finally, I can cook something right.” She giggles, snuggling into my embrace.

“Call me before you go to sleep.” I grasp her cheeks in my palms, kissing the tip of her nose.

“I’m going to start painting the nursery, then take a bath, and go to bed,” she sighs against my lips.

“Jameson is home so if you need anything—even if it’s ice cream at two a.m., you call him.”

Shaking her head, she pulls free, picking up my satchel and pushing it against my chest. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

“I love you,” I tell her, looking back at her over my shoulder as I follow her pointing finger to the door.

“I love you more,” she calls out.

Not fucking possible.

Jimmy frowns when he sees it’s me coming with him to secure a club’s weapons deal. “Jameson had something come up,” I tell him, opening my cut to show him I’m armed and ready for whatever the fuck he needs. Jameson’s mother dropped the girls at his apartment alone. Luckily, the neighbor found them outside and called him. So like a loyal brother and friend, I told him I would take his place tonight. Usually, I’d be on the team anyway, but with Willa being pregnant, I haven’t been going on out of town rides.

“I’m good to have either of you. This shit should go smooth, but if it doesn’t, these pricks like to make examples out of business going bad.”

Fucking great.

“Go take a piss and do whatever the fuck else you need to. We roll out in twenty.”

I love the open road, but already feel the need to turn around and go back to my woman. She has me by the balls. And I never thought I’d think it, but I’m okay with it.

I conjure up her image, smiling when I think about her painting our kid’s nursery while dancing to some stupid boyband Jameson’s sisters got her into.

The ride goes by fast, thank fuck, and we’re at the meet a good hour early to scope the place out and make a plan for if shit turns sour.

The engines of four SUVs signal the arrival of the seller. They pull up to the plane hanger we’re waiting inside of. An army of suits unload from the cars, and two containers the size of small coffins get placed down at Jimmy’s feet. Suspicious eyes on both sides glare from one man to the next. The atmosphere is heavy. I remain focused on everyone and everything.

Our weapons guy, Miles, steps up to inspect the merchandise. He got his road name for sniping an enemy from over a mile away, saving our Prez’s life in the process.

“Looks good,” he confirms with a nod of his head.

“Deal is good.” Jimmy waves our boys forward with the duffel bags of cash.

Goods exchanged, my heart rate quickens. If anything was going to happen, it would be now. This is a new business partner for us. Our usual weapon supplier got taken out by the Russian mob. They were finding pieces of them for months.

When the SUV doors close and the cars pull away, I let out a relieved breath. Returning home with a bullet wound and blood on my hands was not how I wanted things to go.

“I like a smooth transaction.” Jimmy grins. “Load up. Let’s go home, boys.”

Amen to that.

My phone keeps going off, forcing me to pull over. I wave on the brothers in the trucks behind me, letting them know I’m good.

Kicking my stand down, I pull my phone from my pocket. Eighteen fucking calls from Jameson. A cold hand curls around my spine as I call back.

“Gabe.” His voice breaks, sending a shudder through my body. Fear knots in my gut.

“Just tell me,” I urge, knowing it’s bad news. Did something happen to one of the kids, his mother, the club? Sirens blare in the background.

“Is that firetrucks?” I ask anxiously.

“Gabe…it’s your house—it’s Willa.”

Willa.

“You need to get back here.”

I end the call and pull back into traffic, my head a cloud of fog.

“It’s Willa.”

“It’s Willa.”

“It’s Willa.”

The smell of burning wood is pungent in the air, the flames glowing above the tree line as I pull up the driveway. Lights swirl like disco lights. Voices echo around me. My legs almost buckle beneath me as I stumble off my bike. I don’t even know how I made it back here without crashing. Jameson’s broad figure steps in front of me, blocking the view of my house, my life, now black cinder.