Page 15 of Ace's Legacy
But as I watch Sarah take in the scene around her… The weapons being cleaned, the blood being mopped up, the grim faces of my brothers, I make a silent vow.
I will find a way to keep them safe. My child. Sarah. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, I will create a world where my son or daughter doesn't have to fear men with guns and vendettas.
Even if it means becoming something darker than I already am.
Even if it means Sarah might never look at me the same way again.
Chapter 6 - Sarah
I've seen rooms like this in movies.
The aftermath of violence, where men with bloodshot eyes clean weapons as casually as others might wash dishes. The tang of gunpowder hangs in the air, mingling with the smell of sweat and leather and something that I try not to identify as blood.
This is Ryan's world. Ace's world. And now, somehow, it's become mine too.
"You can use my room," he says, guiding me past the main area where several men are sweeping up broken glass. "It's not much, but it's private."
I follow him up a narrow staircase to the second floor, where a hallway branches off into several doors. He stops at the last one on the right, pushing it open.
"Home sweet home," he says with a self-deprecating smile.
The room is surprisingly neat: a double bed with dark blue sheets, a dresser, a small desk with a laptop. No decorations on the walls, nothing personal except for a few books stacked on the nightstand. It feels temporary, like he's ready to leave at a moment's notice.
"You can have the bed," he continues. "I'll take the floor or crash in one of the common rooms."
"I can't take your bed," I protest.
He gives me a look that's half-amusement, half-exasperation. "Sarah, you're pregnant with my child. The least I can do is give you a decent place to sleep."
My child. The way he says it, with such certainty and something like pride, makes my chest heave. I press a hand to my stomach,still flat beneath my pink dress now stained with dust and what might be ash.
"Thank you," I say, because there's nothing else to say.
He nods, then pulls out his phone. "Make a list. Clothes, toiletries, whatever you need for a couple days. Viper will go get it for you."
I shake my head. "No. I want to get my own things."
His expression hardens immediately. "That's not happening."
"Yes, it is," I counter, surprised by the firmness in my voice. "I appreciate your concern, but I need to go to my apartment myself. There are things I need that I can't just put on a list."
"Like what?" he challenges.
"Like my privacy," I snap. "Like some sense of control over my life, which is currently spiraling in a direction I never imagined."
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Sarah, there were men with guns trying to kill us less than two hours ago."
"And now they're dead, from what I could tell." I cross my arms over my chest. "Look, I understand the danger. I was there, remember? But I need to do this myself."
"It's not safe."
"Then come with me," I suggest. "You and whoever else you think necessary. But I'm going to my apartment, and I'm picking out my own things."
We stare at each other, neither willing to back down. I've never been a confrontational person, but something about today—the pregnancy, the violence, the complete upheaval of my life—has awakened a stubbornness I didn't know I possessed.
Finally, Ace sighs.
"Tomorrow," he says firmly. "Not tonight. It's too dangerous to go anywhere right now, and we're all exhausted. Viper and I will take you tomorrow."
