Page 175 of Jace
“Pft.” Grant fists a can of beer. “Fuck no. But it won’t stop our sister. She’s like a pitbull with cute bangs.”
“That’s my twin. When we want something, we get it and don’t let go.” Loch toasts Sasha with his pint before turning to Alena. “Right, Babygirl? Need more ginger ale?”
Alena’s reclining in a chair behind us, sunglasses on, rubbing her pregnant belly with a giant yawn. “Nope. I need a nap.”
Loch leans down, giving her a puckered kiss before tucking a green blanket tighter around her. “Close your eyes, Babygirl,” he whispers warmly. “I got ya.”
Like he’d ever leave Alena’s side. But at five months pregnant? He’s like us. Doting and deadly for his queen.
Grant heaves a relieved sigh. “Y’all keep doing it. Have all the babies so me and Delphine don’t have to.”
“You really don’t want ’em?” Nick swigs his ale. “Not at least one?” He and Zar are waiting for their second to be born via surrogate. Speaking of, Zar’s disappeared to the family restroom to change Zarina’s diaper.
“Nah, man.” Grant sounds serious. “Child-free is a legit choice. It’s what me and Delphine want. We’re happy without ’em.” He shrugs. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Nick yawns, exhausted. “Zarina’s teething. It’s a struggle sometimes. You wait.” He points at me. “This is the calm before the storm.”
The best storm.
Keep my life in the eye of the hurricane of fatherhood, and I’ll be happy.
With my body aimed at Vivian, I’m ready to pounce if she needs me. I’ll always guard her. Some habits never die.
She’s twenty steps away, sitting in a chair and cozied under a blanket, feeding our son. This is our first time out with him, and she’s soaking it up. Sunshine. Laughter. The photography buffs. You couldn’t keep her away.
“Speaking of a storm,” Loch mutters to Sire. “Any word?”
Sire’s mouth hardens as Nick shakes his head. Grant looks away, seething, making Loch clench his jaw.
We don’t say the names. We’re trying to move on. Ruslan died last year, and I can’t say we grieved. Can’t say we cared.
But something shifted from that moment—a sense of being untethered. But unlike losing a parent you love, when you feel lost for a while, we felt liberty.
A strangling rope loosened, and we were free.
Guess I hope Ruslan found peace; I don’t wish hell on anyone.
It’s the other name we don’t mention: Sheremetev.
Not that we forget the threat. Not that we leave Sasha unguarded. Glancing around the grounds of the brewery, the barns, stables, and homes that dot The Lawless Ranch, Bratva soldiers are hiding, some in plain clothes.
Tariel, the new Pakhan, is keeping his promise. Until Sheremetev is caught, we have peace and protection.
But you can only live so long in the shadow of your abuser. Every day, you step out of the darkness and into the light. Light we’ve found. Light Sasha’s finding.
“Who pooped the party over here?” Wren bursts into our somber circle, carrying a large paper food tray of fried pickles.
“Hell, yes,” Sire whoops as we descend like vultures, grabbing some.
“Arrête!” But Delphine slaps our hands. “It is for the queens. Did you have babies? No. Do you make milk? No. Do you?—”
“I make cream for you, ma chère.” Grant wraps around her. “Doesn’t that count?”
She swats Grant’s arm, laughing, but that’s my cue. A queen’s reminder as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“Gonna see if Viv is hungry.” I leave them to find my world.
Squatting in front of Viv in her chair, I peek under the baby-blue blanket. “How’s he doing?”
