Page 66 of Devil's Due: Sarge

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Sarge

Six months later…

“Baby,” I call out to no answer. “Greer?” I shout again. The house is huge for two people and I feel like I’m bellowing up the stairs all the time. Nic texted me, she said that Greer got sick at the cabin today and came home, but her Jeep isn’t in the garage.

Best house I’ve ever lived in, and I built most of it with my own two hands. Well, me and my brothers. I had to shop out the plumbing and electrical because I’m not about a pipe bursting in the middle of the night or the house burning down.

I run up the stairs, taking two carpeted steps at a time. The two smaller rooms are empty, seeing as neither she nor I moved in with more than the clothes on our backs. There’s a bathroom that we don’t normally use, either, because of the master suite. The bath in there is as big as one of the guest rooms. She’s not in our bedroom, either.

Late spring in Kentucky brings comfortable evenings outside. Not too cold, not too hot. We’re supposed to have a cookout here tomorrow night. She doesn’t know this, but Vlad does: I have a ring. I want all our family around when I ask her to be my wife. Considering she loves me and we live together, I don’t think there’s much of a chance of her sayingno. The brothers and Nic aren’t for insurance; they’re to help us celebrate.

Until she gets home, I go down to the kitchen to see what I can whip up for dinner. The kitchen is my second favorite room in the house, second to the bedroom. But we picked quality for our appliances. Granite counters save for the large butcher block top island in the center of the room, where it appears she has a Crockpot plugged in. I walk over and lift the lid, smiling. Roast.

Well, then, at least I can throw together the salad. It hits me while I’m bent in the refrigerator, pulling the lettuce from the crisper, how different my life is from just a year ago when Vlad, Reap, Dark, Cut, Roughneck, and I were planning our break from Rage and his followers with a club knee-deep in the ugliest parts of a motorcycle club, and I can’t help laughing at the absurdity of it all.

We’re dealing with some heavy, ugly shit. The brothers smuggled Patrick back to Florida with the agreement that Andrew Broadchurch gets his son to cooperate with us. Either he or his sons get it in them to stab us in the back, dear Patrick goes down for the shooting.

Doesn’t matter that Jinx survived the attack and is now a full-fledged brother—he took a bullet protecting my woman, it was a no brainer. We wanted him in the club. But the fact remains, there’s enough evidence that he’ll do time for the shooting and that’llgive usenough time to make it so he goes down for his role in those Texas women disappearing.

Fuck the Horde and we’ll fuck you back, in ways you never want to get fucked. That’s a promise.

The evidence we’ve been collecting—the high profile/high status men involved makes me sick. Some of the names havedaughtersof their own. What kind of sick fuck could use and abuse a girl knowing she’s someone’s daughter, too?

It makes me sick. Still, I’m here in a house of my own, living a life I don’t believe I’ve earned the right to lead, but I’m too greedy to give it up. Not being part of the problem, but part of the solution. Because of that, I’m actually proud of myself. And as I think about all the positive ways my life has changed, I continue chopping the damn salad.

Shit. I’mdomesticated.And I wouldn’t go back.

Just then, I hear the side door off the family room open. It’s attached to the garage. “Hey, baby,” I call out.

“Just a minute,” she shouts back. What the hell? She sounds off, but I trust if she needs me, she’ll call, so I continue on with the salad prep for the next ten minutes or so until I hear her screech, “No!” and there’s a thud like something hit the floor, hard.

I drop the knife and take off in a dead run, flying up the stairs to our bedroom. She’s not in the bedroom proper, so I check the bathroom and find her lying on the floor, one hand clutching her head and the other her stomach, and I immediately drop down next to her in full assessment mode.

I run my hands over her head to check for bumps. Check her eyes to assess if she might have a concussion. Check over the rest of her body for scrapes or bruises. “Enough,” she says, pushing me off so she can sit up.

“What’s going on?”

“I swear I don’t know how it happened.”

“The fall? Then we need to get you in to see Dusty—now.”

“No. Not the fall,” she says, shaking her head. “I know howthathappened.”

“Then what?”

“The baby.”

Excuse me? “What did you say?”

Slowly, she points to the sink basin. I stand to look inside and sure as shit, there’s a digital pregnancy test that reads, ‘Pregnant.’ I suck in a sharp breath and feel myself begin to sway. Then I’m down on the ground next to her.

“I’m so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen…” She’s beginning to panic, although for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. It’s not like she’s sixteen and telling her parents. “I have an IUD,” she cries. “You know I do.”

I’m going to be a father…again. “Holy shit, woman!” Tears fill my eyes and I don’t give two fucks about it. I lost my boy. I’ll never get him back, but she’s giving me another chance to get it right this time. To take care of the family I’m building.

Fuck.

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