Page 79 of Claimed By the Bikers
I look at him. “I need to go into town.”
“For what?”
“Lady stuff. For my period.”
“It came?” he asks, surprised.
“Not yet, but it will soon. I ran out of tampons.”
He studies my face for a long moment. “Want me to drive you?”
“No.”
“Ember—”
“Please, Garrett. I just want to get tampons. By myself. Can I do that? Please.”
He nods reluctantly. “Take the truck. And call if you need anything.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m inside Murphy’s Super Stores, wandering the aisles aimlessly, pretending to browse vitamins and shampoo while working up the courage to approach the family planning section. When I finally grab a pregnancy test from the shelf, I feel like everyone in the store is watching me.
“Did you get everything you need?” the clerk asks when I approach the counter.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She’s maybe sixty, with kind eyes and gray hair.
“You okay, honey? You look a little pale.”
“Just tired.”
She nods knowingly as she rings up my purchase. “Early pregnancy can do that to you. Make sure you’re taking your vitamins.”
My face burns as I hand over cash. “I don’t know if I’m?—”
“Honey, I’ve been working this counter for thirty years. I can spot a nervous expectant mother from across the room.” She puts the test in a discreet brown bag. “Whatever that little stick tells you, you’re going to be fine.”
When I return to Wolf’s Den, I park behind the restaurant and sit in the truck for several minutes, staring at the brown bag. Inside, I can hear the familiar sounds of lunch prep while I sit here trying to work up the courage to find out if everything’s about to change.
Finally, I force myself out of the truck and into the restaurant. The smell of cooking food makes my stomach roll again, and I have to grip the doorframe to steady myself.
“There you are,” Atlas calls from behind the bar. “How’d the run to the store go?”
“Fine. Got what I needed.”
“Which was?”
“Personal stuff.”
I make it to the upstairs bathroom without anyone following me, locking the door and leaning against it while my heart pounds.
Three minutes. That’s how long I have to wait for my life to either stay the same or change completely.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the plastic stick on the counter, and think about everything that’s happened in the past few months.
What would nineteen-year-old me think about this situation? Pregnant by men I’m not married to, living in a compound, and stepping on the badge I worked so hard to get.
She’d probably be terrified. She believed in following rules, making safe choices, and building a respectable life that wouldn’t disappoint anyone.
