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2026-01-31 22:34:30
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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
Pregnant 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
Pregnant 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
Pregnant 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
Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 137
The Chapel is empty. The brothers have dispersed to the barracks or the bonfire outside, celebrating the end of the war and the return of the King.Drakon doesn't take me to the bedroom.He takes my hand and leads me back into the main barroom.It’s quiet here. The air smells of lemon polish—freshly applied to scrub away the scent of the Reapers who defiled this space—and the lingering, permanent aroma of stale beer and leather. The neon signs buzz softly, casting the room in a wash of electric blue and red."Why are we here?" I ask."Because this is where it started," Drakon says.He walks behind the bar. He pours two fingers of amber liquid into a heavy crystal glass. He doesn't drink it. He sets it on the polished wood."Nikos sat right there," Drakon says, pointing to the stool I’m standing next to. "The night before he died. He drank a toast to the future."He looks at me. His eyes are dark, heavy with the weight of the patch he now wears."He toasted to a lie," Drakon says. "Ton
Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 136
"I want my vote," Eleni says.Her voice is dry, cracking like old parchment, but it cuts through the silence of the Chapel louder than a gunshot.She stands there, leaning on her crutch, her face a map of scars and burns. The faded PROSPECT patch lies on the redwood table next to the canvas bag soaking with Kyros’s blood."You don't have a vote," Riker growls, stepping forward. His hand rests on his knife. "You're a Reaper, Eleni. You wore their cut. You rode with them.""I survived them," she spits back. "And I killed them. Which is more than you did while you were hiding in the woods.""Watch your mouth," Riker warns."Enough," Drakon says.He looks at the patch on the table. Then he looks at his sister. The conflict in his eyes is a storm. Blood versus code. Family versus the law he just swore to uphold."You left," Drakon says heavily. "Ten years ago. You didn't come back.""I couldn't come back," Eleni says. "Not while he owned me. But I'm back now. And I didn't come empty-handed
Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 57
I sit on the edge of the desk in the VP suite, holding the patch under the lamp.ELENI.The red thread is faded, turning brown with age and grime. The denim is soft, worn thin by years of friction.It doesn't make sense.Drakon said she was sent back in pieces. He said she was dead. He said this pa
Huling Na-update : 2026-03-25Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 55
The truck engine idles, a deep, mechanical growl that vibrates in the pavement beneath my boots.I press myself into the brick recess of the corner building, holding my breath. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.The Reaper who stepped out of the garbage truck—a giant with a shave
Huling Na-update : 2026-03-24Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 54
"Wait."Drakon grabs my arm just as I step toward the loading dock doors. The slaughterhouse looms above us, a monolith of red brick and black iron against the night sky. The smell of ammonia is stronger here, burning my nostrils."What?" I whisper, touching the wire taped to my collarbone. "We're
Huling Na-update : 2026-03-24Pregnant by My Dead Husband's Best Friend 53
"The third party?" Drakon keeps his gun trained on the man’s chest. "You look like a fed.""Special Agent Miller," the man says, closing the folder. "ATF. Organized Crime Division."Drakon laughs. It’s a harsh, barking sound. "ATF? You boys usually knock with a battering ram, not a Mercedes.""We'r
Huling Na-update : 2026-03-24
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