Sitting on the floor with my legs crossed I look down at the street with my baby book in my lap, one hand on my belly. There are a ton of bikers down there today, more than usual.

The smell of mint overtakes the room and I look over my shoulder to a freshly showered Mac. His wet blondish hair is swept back, and he’s wearing an old looking Levi shirt with blue washed jeans.

His eyes slowly meet mine and I have to keep from smiling, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. He has a look of torment dancing in his eyes, masking what beauty really lies within his soul. His bee-stung lips curve into a smirk when he catches me staring. We’ve been doing a lot of that, smiling and blushing around each other. I think we’re both scared to make a dominant move. I’m terrified. I’m not just a one-night stand, I’m not that girl regardless of what my belly might convey at this moment. I want something more for me and the baby.

“Club is having a party tonight,” he informs, digging his wallet out of a pair of dirty jeans. I look back to the motorcycles on the Strip, the idea of fresh air and being around other people appealing. I’m up for some conversation, loud music, and things that I’ll never unsee.

“Can I go?”

He scoffs, and I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m serious, I’m so sick of being prisoned to a room. I’ll blend in, just five minutes and you can take me back up here,” I practically beg. I’m not a prisoner, I’m being protected and if I’m in his club I’ll be protected from everyone, right?

His eyes fall to my belly, a smile on his face. “You blending in at this point is pretty much impossible, babe.”

My mouth parts, he called me babe. “Besides, it’s not safe. The clubhouse has been blown up once already with your crazy ex looking for you—”

“He’s not my ex!” I snap before he even has a chance to finish the sentence. Using all my strength, I pull myself up off the floor. My stomach is in the way of everything these days.

“I’m not done with this conversation.”

“Zeek would have my head if I took you to the club.” He shakes his head, grabbing his phone off the side table.

I place my hands on my hips, my lips pursed.

“I’m going, Mac!” I demand.

He freezes, his cold eyes piercing through me.

“I’m not staying in this room for another fucking minute. I want to smell the pizza from across the street, hear the bikers chuckle over a few beers, and watch girls make a fool of themselves. I need… I need people.” I shrug, hoping he understands I am human and need to socialize.

He huffs, rubbing his left hand over his chin.

“Please.” I bat my lashes in the cutest, sexiest way I know how. Mac notices, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip.

“Fine, you got five minutes and I’m bringing you back up even if I have to drag you. Understand?” He points at me like a child, and I can’t help but smile. I don’t even argue.

“Got it!”

White tank top that barely hides my swollen stomach, the shorts that Mac got me, and some flip-flops on my swollen feet, I follow him to the Sin City Outlaws’ clubhouse.

I’m so excited to be out of the room I stare at everything we pass. People gambling in the casino, two men fighting and spilling beers over the blackjack table.

Getting closer, the smell of pizza makes my stomach growl and the baby kick. I’ve been staring at that damn pizza place for what seems like forever now. My taste buds salivate actually smelling it, being steps within its gooey cheese. I’ll have to get Mac to take me by there on our way back.

Tightly tucked behind the casino and hotel sits a newly refurbished clubhouse. I stop and look at it. Realization that Gatz died here pounding my excitement into grief. I place my hand on my belly, looking the place over. Mac stops, his hand reaching for mine.

“Stay close,” he warns, not seeming to notice my unease. I wonder how he does it, being in the club and moving forward knowing his brother died inside of it?

Entering the Outlaws’ club, it’s crowded with lots of people wearing leather. The smell of pizza replaced with cheap perfume, weed, and beer. The floor creaks beneath my flip-flops, and I notice it’s clean. New even. I look around the place and notice it’s all new. It was rebuilt after it exploded with Gatz inside. The baby kicks, and a sadness knots in my chest. Maybe coming inside wasn’t the best idea. Everyone disappears, the brand-new interior turning gray and charred as ash and flames fall around me like confetti. It’s as if I’m re-seeing the explosion the day it happened. Clenching my eyes shut, I will it all to turn back to normal. To hear the music, and smell the easy women, and see the men wrestling around.

Opening my eyes, breathing heavily everything is as it was, as if there never was an explosion here.

Trying to take my mind off the loss of Gatz tugging the strings of my heart, I stifle a whimper and look around.

Mac could get laid here with a snap of his fingers, makes me wonder if he’s holding out for me or just coming down here. I don’t want to think about it actually.

Everywhere my eyes look there’s something to make them widen with disbelief. I’ve worked with outlaws of every kind, but I’ve never gotten a peek behind the mask of their lifestyles before. Even when I lived with Kane, what I got to see was limited and strict. This though… is unreal. It’s exciting, and I never want to return back to my room. I could stand here all night and watch everything. Like a wallflower at prom night.

Sex is everywhere. A girl taking turns on two men with their bare cocks out sitting on the pool table, two women are making out on the bar, and there’s a man in ass-less chaps walking around without a care in the world. It’s a whole other world in here, and nobody seems to care of the carefree atmosphere.

A young man sitting behind the bar stares intently into a textbook. He looks out of place. His wavy blondish hair and sharp face lined with light stubble makes him appear ruggedly good looking. His shirt is missing the sleeves and is hanging off his shoulders to where you can see his hard chest.

“You must be Simone!” A man with red hair steps in front of me. He’s tall, and lumberjack looking. My eyes catch his name on his leather cut. Machete. That’s not scary at all. I feign a smile and hold my hand out to shake his. His eyes seem glued to my belly though, and I shift uncomfortably.

“Hey, keep an eye on her? I’m going to go grab a beer,” Mac demands rather than asks the tall man. I swallow, my hand reaching out for Mac but missing by inches. Lips tight with a smile I look back up at the man.

“I’m Machete, I was close with Gatz, not Kane,” he bluntly puts it. Gatz never mentioned him, but I sadly didn’t get to do much pillow talk with Gatz.

“Nice to meet you,” I holler over the music. He grins and turns to a man trying to talk to him over the loud music.

“That’s Bishop,” Machete points to the man I was staring at.

“He seems young to be in here,” I shrug. God, I’m already starting to sound like a mother.

“He’s seventeen, don’t let that sun-kissed baby face fucking fool you. We all thought he was just a kid too, but he’s about to be eighteen.” I nod, seeing it now that I look a little harder at him. The muscle in his arms, the wrinkles on his forehead. He fondly smiles at the blonde behind the bar, chewing on the end of a pencil. “Trust me, he’s better here than where he was.”

My brows furrow, curious what that means. Where was he before that being in a motorcycle gang is better for him?

“Holy shit you’re pregnant!” The wisecrack over my shoulder, has me glancing behind me at a man without a club cut on. He’s got really blonde curly hair, and a neck tattoo of a spider crawling through his throat. I give him a look, one conveying how idiotic he is.

“You giving barebacks?” He chuckles, a man behind him giggling like a school girl. Glancing back at the lumberjack, he’s gone, and I tense, not liking that Mac isn’t here.

The man with the spider tattoo reaches for my belly, and I take a step back not wanting the contact.

He glares at me with heated eyes. Fear beads down my spine, my jaw clenching.

“What’s your problem, bitch?” He reaches for my stomach again and before I can raise my hand to smack him away, Mac is standing in front of me slamming his knuckles into the guy’s face.

They fall to the ground and the crowd surrounds us. I’m nearly knocked over, but a firm grip grabs me by the elbow. I follow the hand, finding Machete trying to pull me from the crowd.

The music cuts and a loud whistle has everyone looking to the left. Zeek stands on the bar, his face red with anger.

Mac stands from the ground his lip bleeding, but the other guy isn’t getting up.

“You two, outside.” Zeek points to me and Mac. My hand on my chest my eyes widen. What’d I do?

I follow Mac through the crowd until we reach outside. The fresh crisp air makes me hiccup, it was stuffier in there than I realized.

“What the fuck is she doing down here?” Zeek wastes no time getting to the point.

“She wanted some fresh air, man?” Mac throws his arms out, his bloody lip making me feel bad.

“Get her back to the tower, and now!” Zeek raises a brow and turns to return back to his club. The way he’s talking to Mac has me pissed, this was my idea, not his.

“I’m not fucking Rapunzel!” I clip. Zeek stops, his hand rubbing the scruff lining his cheek.

“No, you’re a pain in my ass and until your little crush stops killing fellow brothers, your ass is to be hidden and not seen!” He lowers his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Got it?”

Dark beady eyes make me suck in my strength. If I didn’t need his protection, I’d tell him to go fuck himself. So instead, I glare in a different direction.

“Come on.” Mac taps the soft skin under my arm, urging me to follow him.

Walking back to the hotel, that melty cheese smell has the baby kick and I stop in front of the pizza stand.

“Can we—”

“Keep fucking walking!” Mac barks.

“Oh, come on!” I argue, wanting it so badly I could cry. It’d take us just a few minutes to stop. Face pinched in rage, he jerks me forward by the arm.

“What the hell is your problem!” I tug in his grip, trying to free myself. I’ve never seen him so angry at me before.

He doesn’t say a word the whole way up to our suite, which pisses me off. It’s as if we went three steps back in our … whatever we are.

Once inside the suite, he slams the door and pushes me up against the wall; my head thudding off it. His hand punches the wall beside my head, making me flinch.

“Having you come to my club with me, was not an invitation for you to let just any fucking hangaround fondle you like street pussy!”

Rearing my hand back, I slap him across the face. He makes it sound like I wanted to be touched, and that is not even close to the truth. Little beads of rage form on my neck, my chest heaving with rage.

“Maybe if you didn’t leave me, I wouldn’t have had some cruddy biker putting his greasy hands on me!” I defend, not backing down. Our eyes lock, neither of us saying a word, but the silence between us is doing all the talking. It’s sexual, jealous, and possessive.

“Do you fuck girls down there?”

His eyes narrow in on me in confusion.

“Since I’ve been here, have you fucked anyone?” I clarify.

He takes a step back, his hand on his jaw like he can’t believe I’m asking him that. Maybe I have no right to ask him, we’re not anything.

“Do you think I have?” he finally asks, his face devoid of any emotion.

“I don’t know.” Thinking about the man that Mac is, the glimpses I have seen of him, I don’t think he’d get so jealous of me if I wasn’t anything to him.

“Well, I haven’t.”

My head snaps up, our eyes meeting. Maybe my hormones are reading into it a little more than I should, but a biker who is being turned down by one woman and is refusing sexual favors from willing women says a lot to me.

“Really?” I can’t hold the smile back that rips through my lips.

He doesn’t reply, just smirks.

Raising my hand, I swipe at the blood crusting around his split, lip.

“You got punched for me,” I whisper. Before I can pull my thumb away, he nips at it with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth. Warm wetness surrounds my thumbnail, and my clit twitches with arousal.

“While you’re stuck in this tower with me, you and that baby are only to be touched by me, understand?” His throaty voice hitting me in every way.

I nod. Why do I nod? I’d never comply with being made an object.

In my room, I saunter to the floor to ceiling windows and press my forehead against the tinted glass. My chest is barreled tight with unfamiliar emotion. Seeing that guy touch Simone like that, it unlocked something feral and uncontrollable. The way that fucker’s eyes seared into her pregnant belly like it was a fuel to getting his rocks off. I became… protective. I mean, Zeek ordered me to protect her, but what I felt, what I feel. It’s more than just a job. A task.

Simone is more.

Her and that baby have become more.

I cannot deny it, and I will kill every motherfucker that tries to tell me different.

Maybe my mother dying being pregnant with me has torn the soft spot in my armor just enough for her and this baby to slip in, but either way… I can’t turn away from them. I just keep pulling them in deeper, even if I know deep down Simone can do way better than me.

Winds blows against the glass, the city becoming foggy as a storm blankets over the streets. Heaven and hell are fighting tonight, and the gods know it.

I shove myself away from the glass and call it a night.