Jake
The roar of eight V-twins vibrated through the cold night air as our convoy rolled through the reinforced gates of the clubhouse compound. Floodlights washed over the asphalt, casting long shadows against the perimeter wall.
I killed the engine, kicked the stand down, and walked straight to the chase truck. Nash had already cut the ignition, while Raven stepped out with her shotgun held low and ready.
I opened the rear door. Emma sat wrapped in my heavy flannel, pale but steady, one hand resting over her stomach.
"Any cramping or pain?" I asked, reaching in to cup her jaw.
"I'm whole, Jake," she said, leaning into my palm. "And I'm coming inside with you."
"Church is closed club business, Emma. It gets ugly."
"Trent Ashby sold my medical records and gave away my room," she said
