Page 35 of Kneeling to Candy

“You thick-headed Neanderthal. Stop saying I’m pregnant when we have no proof I am yet.”

Chase chuckles deeply. “Oh, I don’t need a pee-stick test to confirm. It’s in your genetics.”

Simone scoffs. “Excuse me?! My genetics?”

“If you’re anything like your little sister, Jo, you’re baking one in the oven as we speak. Your family is more fertile than mares in heat.”

All three of us in the SUV vocally gasp. Chase is likely to be castrated by Simone for saying something so stupid. The woman he married handed over her ex-boyfriend to the mob after all.

The blue vein in Simone’s temple looks about ready to burst through her ivory skin.

“Did you compare me and my sister to farm animals?!”

Oh, shit. This biker is about to get his ass handed to him. And I’m here for it.

Punk bursts out laughing. “Should I intervene or see how this plays out?”

Ziggy shakes his head. “I don’t think it would be wise to get between those two. You remember Jo and Simone fighting in the front yard of headquarters? Chase’s hellcat would rip us to shreds.”

Chase wrestles Simone into the SUV, buckles her in, and steals a kiss before she takes a swipe at him and misses.

“AAAAH!” she screams, punching the back of Punk’s headrest in her frustration.

Punk’s head lurches forward, almost eating the steering wheel. “Jesus, Tyson! Calm your ornery ass down.”

“Blame your best friend,” she angrily snaps back.

“Take good care of our baby, Numbers,” Chase calls through the open window. He places his hands in the shape of a heart to his chest as he walks backward to his hog.

“Idiot!” she yells out her window.

“Love you, too,” he hollers as he swings his leg over his bike.

Simone grumbles, sinking back against her seat.

We glance at her, then at her stomach, and back at her. We’re nosey like that. Can’t help curiosity.

Punk bites the bullet. “Sooo…are you?”

“Do I look like I’m pregnant, moron?” she hisses heatedly. “He found out on our wedding night my depo shot was overdue. He’s as delusional as Atlas with the ‘baby’ nonsense.”

Punk puts the SUV in drive, chuckling. “Yeah, but Atlas got our sister pregnant—like, immediately. Twice.”

“One, she’s my sister. Not yours. And two, just because we want to be pregnant, doesn’t mean it happens at the snap of your fingers,” Simone counters.

“One,” Punk mimics Simone’s whiney voice. “Jo’s my adopted sister, Priss—so are you. And two, you’re having unprotected sex. You could be pregnant. No reason to get snippy with me. Your man is trying to protect you and your potential child.”

Simone falls into contemplative silence as we pull out of the parking garage and onto the road, following Butch and Chase on their bikes.

She sniffs, wiping at her eyes. Is she crying?

Oh my gosh, I think she is.

This is awkward. I’m not exactly the best at providing comfort to others. Therapy has helped me open up to the people I care about. Yet I haven’t learned a damn thing about consoling anyone in need.

Unsure if I’m qualified to soothe, I tentatively pat Simone’s knee. “There, there. It’s going to be okay.”

Simone surprises me when she grips my hand with her free one, squeezing it. She gives me a small smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry you had to witness me and my husband bickering.”

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