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“Home.” She smiles.
The smile I return to her is the last thing she sees before her eyes grow heavy, her exhaustion carrying her into what I hope is a soundless sleep.
Good thing too. She’s going to need it. Both Carter and her.
For the rest of our lives, each and every one of my waking moments will be dedicated to these two.
EPILOGUE
Amara
Some people have to die.
Not as the natural order of things.
Not because the Earth needs to be less populated.
Some people just have to die because they broke Voltage rules.
And guess what? That’s totally okay with me.
It always has been.
Despite what Carter thought, I loved listening to his and Killian’s stories. They’re both such ass-kicking alphas, maintaining the peace in the animal kingdom like they do.
I love it tenfold when they tell me about the morons who disrespect us and our relationship, and what they do to them.
That’s a rare occurrence, though. After all, the criminals of New York and its surroundings aren’t stupid.
Most of them aren’t.
Most of them didn’t even care that we’re together, and very few pulled out of their memberships. No one lamented them leaving. Better off this way.
But those who stayed and were still hateful jerks got punished.
In our office.
They let me watch for a while. That was until their super sperm knocked me the fuck up.
“I’m not sure being around blood and people screaming will be good for the twins,” Killian said at one dinner when I asked to join. “Even in the womb.”
“Please, I just want to see.” I gave him my biggest puppy eyes, batting my eyelashes at him.
His stern expression told me he wasn’t falling for that.
Neither had Carter. He dropped a chunk of sticky rice in his mouth, then pointed the chopsticks at me. “They hear everything in the womb, you know.”
We couldn’t do a DNA test to determine who the father was, since they weren’t reliable for twins. But during the entire length of the pregnancy, it hadn’t mattered to either of the men.
We were family, the three of us. We’d test them later—despite Carter’s aversion to it—though it wouldn’t change a thing. These men would be their fathers and I’d be their mother, end of story.
The two men who stroked my belly every chance they got. Who’d been researching, and reading, and took me to the best doctor in New York. Who’d made the perfect nursery for our future babies in Carter’s old room.
They made me so happy, I thought I’d die. These men were nothing like my parents. They loved the babies from the moment my pregnancy test showed we were expecting, and they loved them hard.
This new side of them was so endearing.
Besides the no-watching-violence bit. That pissed me off.
