Page 20 of Dagger

She inputs the information, and after a few seconds, her face softens, and a small smile tugs at her lips. “According to this, you’re about ten weeks along. Still in your first trimester.”

“Ten weeks?” I echo, the reality of it hitting me all over again. I press a hand to my stomach, the weight of everything settling in. “I guess I need to go to the doctor, huh?”

She nods firmly, her hand covering mine. “Yeah, you do. And I promise you, Chlo, I’ll be there for every single appointment. Whatever you need, you’ve got it. I’m officially aunty Soph now.”

Her words make my throat tighten again, but this time it’s not from fear—it’s from gratitude. I throw my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she says, her voice steady and warm. “We’re in this together, okay? You’ve got this, Chloe. And I’ll be right here every step of the way.”

Perdition is buzzing tonight, packed with the usual crowd of club members and regulars who come in for drinks and good company. I’m behind the bar, pouring a round of shots for Tank and a couple of the guys while keeping an eye on the other patrons. It’s a normal night, or at least it should be, but my stomach is not cooperating.

I set the bottle of tequila down and press a hand to my stomach, trying to ignore the queasiness creeping up on me.

“You okay, Chlo?” Hawk’s gruff voice cuts through the noise as he leans against the bar, watching me closely.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just need some water.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go as I grab a glass and take a sip. For a while, I think I’ve got it under control. I focus on mixing drinks, sliding beers across the bar, and chatting with the customers who call out for me.

But then, without warning, my stomach flips, and I feel the wave of nausea hit hard. My eyes widen as I slap a hand over my mouth and bolt from behind the bar.

I barely make it to the back hallway before I’m hunched over a trash can, emptying what little is in my stomach. The sound of the bar fades, replaced by the pounding in my ears and the sour taste in my mouth.

“Chloe?” Hawk’s voice rumbles behind me.

I glance back to see him standing there, arms crossed, his expression a mix of concern and suspicion.

“Go home,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “I’ve got the bar covered. You don’t look like you should be here right now.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and shake my head. “I’m fine,” I insist, even though I know I’m anything but.

He raises an eyebrow, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. “Fine? You just ran outta here like your hair was on fire. Don’t bullshit me, Chloe.”

“I swear, I’m okay,” I say, standing up straight and forcing a smile. “It’s probably just something I ate.”

Hawk narrows his eyes but steps back, giving me space. “Alright,” he says gruffly. “But you pull that stunt again, and I’m sending your ass home. Got it?”

“Got it,” I mutter, brushing past him and heading back to the bar.

For the next hour, I do my best to keep things running smoothly. I pour drinks, joke with customers, and try to pretend like I’m not on the verge of losing it again. But deep down, I know it’s only a matter of time.

Sure enough, the nausea hits again, stronger this time. I grip the edge of the bar, my knuckles white as I fight to keep it together.

“Chloe,” Hawk says sharply, catching my attention.

I shake my head, mouthing,I’m fine,but he doesn’t buy it.

“Go,” he orders, jerking his chin toward the hallway. “Now.”

I don’t argue this time. I make a beeline for the bathroom, barely managing to hold it together until I’m kneeling in front of the toilet.

When I come back out of the bathroom, Hawk is waiting for me, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. The bar is still running smoothly—some of the regulars are laughing, and a couple of the guys are shooting pool—but his attention is locked on me.

“You wanna tell me what’s really going on?” he asks, his tone softer than before but no less direct.

“I told you, it’s nothing,” I say weakly, avoiding his gaze as I try to brush past him.

He steps in my way, blocking my path. “Chloe,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t lie to me. This isn’t just ‘something you ate.’”

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