After Burn (Lost Kings MC 10)

Bricks takes Carter over to his section and starts explaining the job to him. I sling my arm around Teller’s shoulders and steer him into the side yard.

“You sure about this, Rock?” he asks, stopping in his tracks.

“That mouth the worst thing about him?”

“I guess so.” Teller seems to think it over. “He’s clever. Has a good way of thinking through things from a different angle. He works hard. Honestly, once you have him set up, he’ll get into a groove. You’ll probably have to tell him when it’s time to stop or he’ll keep going.” He glances at the garage again. “I just wouldn’t let him speak to your customers too often.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Winding down my workload turns out to be easier than I expected. Even telling the court I wouldn’t be accepting any more assigned cases went smoothly. I almost feel bad about how easy it is to walk away from something I worked hard for and once thought I’d do for many years.

No, I guess I feel bad about how little it bothers me. I’m much more excited about this next phase in my life. And I can always go back to practicing law later. I’ll only have this pregnancy once.

I’m busy cleaning out my sitting room. It finally dawned on us that we might want to think about a nursery soon. I like the idea of keeping the baby—Grace!—in a bassinette close to us for the first few months. Rock was less enthusiastic about that approach.

My phone rings, and when I see it’s Adam, I almost swipe to send it to voicemail. I don’t want to discuss work stuff.

“Hey, Adam. How’s it going?”

“I need you to come into the office.” Adam’s grave tone sends a trickle of anxiety traveling down my spine.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’ll be easier to talk to you about it in person.”

“All right. Give me a couple hours to find someone to drive me down there.”

I’m not sure what to make of the sigh that comes over the line. “I’ll be here.”

Turns out I don’t need a few hours. Rock’s coming in the door as I’m slipping on my coat.

“Where are you going?” he asks immediately.

“Adam needs me to come see him.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “He was vague, but it sounded important. I assume it’s about one of my clients.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and regards me with an expression that suggests he’s contemplating saying something I won’t like. “I don’t want you upset.”

“I know you just got home, but do you mind taking me?”

That seems to appease him. His stern expression softens and he takes my hand. “Of course I’ll take you anywhere you need to go.”

If he expected me to argue, he’s wrong. My hand settles over my stomach. All my independent urges have been muted in favor of doing what’s best for the baby. No matter how far along I am or how many reassurances the doctors give me, I’m still so damn worried I’ll lose our child.

Once we’re on our way to Adam’s, Rock fills me in on a few of the projects he’s working on at his shop.

“How did Carter work out?”

“Not bad, honestly. He’s a hard worker. He gets so wrapped up in a project, I don’t even think he knows where he is half the time. I’ll have to remember to make him take a break every couple hours.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet.”

“Sweet my ass. I’m protecting an asset. With Bricks headed out of town soon, I can’t afford to lose another artist.”

I chuckle, because God forbid Rock ever take credit for any of the positive things he does. He always assigns some ulterior motive to his goodness.

“You don’t have to prove you’re a badass to me, Rock. I know you have a heart of pure gold under that black leather.”

He reaches over and takes my hand. “You’re the only good thing my heart’s made of.”

My breath catches and I squeeze his hand, too overwhelmed to respond.

In the parking lot of Adam’s building Rock pats my leg before stepping out and coming around to open my door. My feet barely touch the pavement when his phone goes off.

He growls a bunch of annoyed noises as he pulls out his phone.

“It’s fine, Rock. I should only be a minute. Take your call.”

He leans over and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be in as soon as I deal with this.”

I cringe as he barks out a greeting to the poor soul on the other end and make my way into Adam’s office.

“Look at you,” Adam says, holding his arms open for a hug.

“I’m huge. I know.”

“Stop. You look great.” He gives me a quick squeeze and then glances over my shoulder. “Oh God, is some scary biker man going to break my arms for touching you?”

I’d laugh if I thought he was making a joke. “No, smartass. Rock’s in the parking lot on a phone call.”

His mouth flattens at the mention of my husband’s name. Something, I can’t say I really care for. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Come have a seat.”

Now I’m really not liking this, but I follow him into his office and take the chair he offers me.

Without any warm-up conversation, he pulls out a thick manila envelope. “Don’t be mad. I don’t get a lot of mail for you anymore, so I didn’t look at who this was addressed to before I opened it.”

“Oh,” I say, still not understanding why he seems so dramatic today. He opened something from the court. No big deal.

I part my lips to say exactly that, but he cuts me off.

“Is everything okay? I’m worried about you.”

Huh? “I’m fine.” I rest my hand over my belly. “I’m taking it easy and watching my diet.”

“No, I mean you.”

I huff out a laugh. “This is me, now, Adam.”

“God, Hope. What happened to you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You were like uber-feminist in law school, I never thought you’d be the type to turn into some breeding wife-bot.”

Well, that’s not going to help my blood pressure. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I worry about you. Do you really want to be dependent on him for everything? What if he leaves you or something happens to him?”

“Adam, where is this coming from?”

“Have you thought this through?”

“Thought what through? Having a child with my husband? Yes.” I take a few deep breaths before continuing. “You know feminism is about every woman being able to make the choices that are right for her, right?”

He opens his mouth to interrupt me and I cut him off.

“As you pointed out, you’ve known me a long time, so you also know I’ve never loved being a lawyer.” I settle both hands against my stomach. “The hustle you like so much? I hate it. The constant need to network is torture for me.” I take a deep breath. “This makes me happier than I’ve ever been. My family brings me joy. That’s where my focus needs to be. As for my marriage, Rock’s not going anywhere.”

“Hope.” He sighs and I feel like he didn’t hear a word of what I said. “He’s already been in jail once.”

“And I survived. The club will take care of us.” I hold up a hand to stop whatever else he’s going to say. “I get that you don’t understand the club thing. But even if I didn’t have the club, I’d be fine. I survived when my life fell apart before. I can do it again.”

“I know you did.” He sighs and stands, coming around the desk to lean over and give me a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

Another heavy sigh eases out of him, and he drops into the chair next to me. He reaches over and snags the envelope from the desk and hands it over.

“What is it?”

“It’s a petition for a paternity test.”

“For one of my clients?”

He huffs out a sad laugh. “Not exactly.”

I pull out a thick petition on fancy cream-colored paper with the familiar blue backer. I don’t recognize the name of the law firm, but I recognize the name of the parties.

INGA MARCH v. ROCHLAN NORTH, WYATT RAMSEY, ANGUS FRAZIER, et al.

“What the hell is this? Is she suing the club for something?”

“Oh yeah. She’s suing them for something all right.”

“What?”

“Child support.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Hope and Adam’s many years of friendship is the only thing that stops me from beating the fuck out of him when I overhear him questioning my marriage.

There are days I wonder if I’ve brought too many changes to Hope’s life. She was on a much different path before we met. A part of me has a twisted need to know she’s truly happy with where our life has taken her.

Hearing her vehemently declare how much she trusts me, trusts the club, and wants our future is a reassurance I need.

But once they finish that part of the conversation and I learn what really prompted Adam’s concern, it’s time for me to step in.

I rap my knuckles against his slightly-ajar door and push my way inside.

Adam stands and backs away from Hope. Doesn’t offer to shake my hand like he normally would.

Can’t say I blame him.

“You two can use my office. I have some stuff to take care of out there,” Adam says, edging toward the door.