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My husband died six months ago. At least… that’s what everyone said. While I’m drowning in his debts, working double shifts just to survive, the only person who refuses to leave me alone is the man I should fear the most — Drakon Vasilios, my husband’s best friend and the ruthless VP of the Wolves MC. He watched me from the moment I became Nikos’s wife. Now he’s the one breaking down my door, dragging me into his world, and claiming he’s the only thing standing between me and a brutal rival gang who wants me dead. To the club, I’m “property.” To Drakon, I’m something far more dangerous. His obsession is raw. Possessive. Consuming. Wrong. Because when the truth explodes — that my husband is still alive, a traitor, and the reason everyone wants me dead — everything shatters. And then I discover I’m pregnant. The problem? I don’t know if the baby belongs to the man who betrayed me… or the man willing to burn the world to keep me. Now the club is at war. Loyalties are breaking. Blood is being spilled. And the only place I’m safe… is in the arms of the one man I should never love. He’s my husband’s best friend. My protector. My greatest sin. But once Drakon claims something… no one takes it from the Wolf.
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Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 141
Five years.The number sits in my head, heavy and sweet, like a shot of the top-shelf bourbon I now stock behind the bar.I wipe down the mahogany counter of The Iron Crown. It’s not sticky anymore. It doesn't smell of stale beer and desperation. It smells of espresso, expensive leather, and success.Sunlight streams through the plate-glass windows—bulletproof, naturally—illuminating the dust motes dancing in the afternoon air. The lunch rush is over. The place is quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators and the sound of a very small, very fast engine.VROOOM.A miniature black motorcycle tears across the polished concrete floor."Watch the corners, Elias!" I call out.My son drifts the electric toy bike around a table leg, his little boot skimming the floor just like his father’s does. He’s five years old, with a mop of dark curls and eyes that burn with an intensity that scares his kindergarten teachers.Drakon’s eyes."I got it, Mama!" Elias shouts, revving the plastic throttle
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-04-01Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 140
Drakon kicks the door to the master suite shut.The sound echoes like a final gavel strike, sealing us inside our own private world. The noise of the party downstairs—the bass, the laughter, the clinking bottles—fades into a dull, rhythmic thrum in the floorboards.He doesn't put me down. He carries me to the center of the room, his chest heaving against mine. He looks at me with a hunger that has nothing to do with the war we just survived and everything to do with the peace we are about to build."You meant it?" he growls. "About the babies?""I meant it," I say, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. "I want a dynasty, Drakon. I want this house full of noise.""You're insatiable.""I'm yours."He growls, a low vibration that rumbles through his chest and into mine. He walks to the bed. He drops me onto the mattress.The silk sheets are cool, but my skin is burning. I scramble back against the headboard, watching him.He stands at the foot of the bed. He strips.He pulls the Pre
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-31Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 139
The bass vibrates through the soles of my boots.The clubhouse is alive. Not with the frantic energy of a siege or the grim silence of a war room, but with a roar of celebration that threatens to lift the new roof right off the beams.Music blares from the jukebox—classic rock, heavy and driving. Smoke hangs in the air, a blue haze that smells of expensive cigars and victory. Bourbon flows like water.I stand near the bar, leaning against the polished wood. I am wearing my cut. The white silk dress is gone, replaced by jeans and a tank top, but the leather jacket remains. Property of the President."Another?" Riker asks, sliding a glass of water toward me."Please." I take a sip. I’m still nursing, still recovering, but the adrenaline of the day hasn't faded. It hums in my veins.I scan the room.The brothers are laughing. Men who were bleeding three days ago are now slapping each other on the back, retelling stories of the bridge and the warehouse. The new prospects are running drink
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-30Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 138
The white dress is simple. Silk. Vintage. It flows around my legs like water.It’s the kind of dress a bride wears to a garden party. Innocent. Pure.It doesn't belong here.I stand in the center of the clubhouse, the morning sun streaming through the open doors, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The room smells of floor wax and the lingering scent of last night’s bourbon."It needs something," Zara says. She’s standing behind me, adjusting the straps. She’s wearing her own cut now—a patched member of the new order."It needs armor," I say.I reach for the chair where I laid it out.The leather is new. Stiff. Black as a moonless night.It’s not Eleni’s cut. That one hangs in a frame on the wall of the Chapel now—a memorial to the girl who burned the bridge.This is mine.I slip my arms into the sleeves. The weight settles on my shoulders, heavy and comforting. I zip it halfway up, leaving the white silk visible underneath.I turn to the mirror.On the back, stitched in b
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-29Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 93
The lodge smells of pine resin, woodsmoke, and the metallic tang of gun oil.It sits on a ridge overlooking a valley of black trees, miles from the nearest paved road. Old Man Petros built it as a hideout for when the law got too close in the 80s. Now, it’s a refugee camp for the broken remnants of
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-31Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 95
The spotlight burns the back of my neck."Hold on!" Drakon screams over the roar of the rotor blades.He wrenches the handlebars hard to the left. The Ducati skids on the wet pine needles, the rear tire sliding out. We aren't riding anymore; we are falling with style.The bike goes down.We hit the
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-31Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 88
"Wrong number," Kyros says, dropping the crushed pieces of the burner phone onto the carpet.He snaps his fingers.Two Reapers step out from the hallway. They don't grab me. They grab Zara."No!" I scream, lunging forward.Nikos catches me. He wraps an arm around my waist, pinning my arms to my sid
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-30Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 89
The room Kyros locked me in is an office. Mahogany desk. Leather chairs. No windows. Just a heavy oak door locked from the outside and a vent pumping in recycled air that smells of lemon polish and impending death.I pace the expensive Persian rug. My reflection in the glass-fronted bookcase is a g
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-03-30
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