Page 24 of Wicked Brutal

“We are stupid.”

“That wasn’t helpful,” I tell him.

“No, but it’s true. We’re eighteen. We got pregnant. Objectively, not our strongest tactical decision.”

I kick his shoe. He catches my ankle. “But that’s not what they’re going to care about.”

“You don’t know that. Kaiden’s first response is going to be figuring out who needs to die.” Despite myself, I laugh. “Xander’s second,” he adds.

“Xander will already be halfway to the car.”

“Danny?”

“Will ask twelve practical questions nobody else thought of.”

“Iz?”

Ryan considers this. “Something deeply inappropriate. Then he’ll call Arthur.” That settles somewhere inside me. Not comfortably. But not like terror, either.

“And the girls?” I ask.

“Cat makes a spreadsheet. Penny cries.”

“Obviously.”

“Becca—“ He stops. The room changes. Neither of us says it, because we don’t have to. Becca and Danny, the baby they lost. My happiness suddenly feels sharp around the edges.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

Ryan’s hands tighten around my knees. “Hey.”

“I didn’t even think—“

“Don’t.”

“Ryan, she’s going to—“

“Feel whatever she feels.” I look at him. He holds my gaze. “And we’re going to let her.”

Tears burn behind my eyes. “What if it hurts her?”

“It probably will.” The honesty makes me flinch, and he doesn’t soften it. “That doesn’t mean she won’t love you. Or the baby. Both things can exist.”

I stare at him. “When did you get emotionally intelligent?”

“Tuesday.” I smile weakly, and he rubs his thumb against my knee. “We don’t hide this from Becca to protect her. That’s deciding for her what she can handle.”

He presses a kiss to my knee through the uniform skirt, and then his expression goes serious again. “I’ll tell the boys.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. We need them.” I hate that he’s right, and he keeps going before I can spiral. “Not because we’re helpless. Because five sets of eyes are better than one, and Kaiden, X, Danny, and Iz have connections I don’t. Then we decide together who brings in the parents, and when.”

“We don’t have enough to get Tobias.” I say quietly.

His face hardens. That’s the part. Always. I can leave — I’m eighteen, if this were only about me I could walk out of Roman’s house tonight and never go back. Tobias can’t. And there is no version of freedom where I leave my six-year-old brother behind with the man who has spent his whole life using him as a leash around my throat. Ryan knows that. It’s why he never once says just leave.

“We need more,” he says.