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“Tash, who else?”

“What’s she done now? Actually, forget that for a minute, I need to talk to you about something. You alone?”

“Yeah.” And as my office is soundproofed, I don’t have to worry about people listening in.

“Gotta get your tour off to an early start. Wasn’t expecting to sell out tickets quite so fast.”

Even though he’s being careful with what he’s saying, it doesn’t take much to read between the lines. We have more product to get rid of, and clearly, it came in sooner than we were expecting. Fuck. I scrub my hand over my face. I’ve only just got back. It’s not that I don’t think my staff can handle it alone, it’s that I find I’m not enjoying being on the road as much as I thought I would. I miss my bike, I miss my club, and it’s starting to frustrate me having to hide that part of who I am.

“Alright, I’ll let Marcus know he’ll be in charge again. When do I need to leave?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll make sure everything’s ready. You just need to turn up.”

As much as it galls me, I can’t tell my president no, regardless of who he is to me. “I’ll be ready.”

“Thanks, son. Anything I need to know while you’re gone?”

“Just keep an ear to the ground. Tasha said some woman came around trying to stir up trouble.”

“Women. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

I chuckle. “Ain’t that the truth.”

9

Emma

“Why call it morning sickness when it’s more like morning, noon, and night sickness?” I mutter when my stomach finally settles.

I splash cold water on my face and glance at my reflection. I wince. The crypt keeper has nothing on me right now.

I climb into the shower, hoping to pour some life into myself, but my energy levels are at an all-time low. I’d forgotten how shitty the first trimester could be. My only hope is that it comes down when I hit the twelve-week mark next week.

Climbing out, I dry off and get dressed in a pair of loose-fitting black trousers and the bar’s polo shirt. I need to do some shopping because I can’t get the button done up on any of my jeans anymore, and I can’t wear dresses to work.

With a deep sigh, I pull my hair up into a ponytail and add a little makeup just so I don’t look like Casper. I throw some ginger lozenges, plain crackers, and some water, along with a spare toothbrush and toothpaste, in my bag just in case.

My phone bleeps, letting me know my taxi is here. As much as I don’t like wasting money when I can avoid it, the bus makes me throw up the second it’s in motion. I’m no stranger to humiliation at this point, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to seek it out. Slipping my feet into a pair of ballet flats, I grab a denim jacket from the coat rack near the door and head out after checking that I have my keys.

There is a cold chill in the air tonight, making me wish I’d worn a heavier jacket, but if I waste any more time, I’ll be late. Toby has already been far more understanding than most bosses would be, given how often I have to run off to puke. I climb in the car and crack the window, needing the fresh air. I deliberately ignore the sticker on the divider that warns me that if I puke in the cab, I’ll be charged a £100 cleaning fee. That thought makes me feel sick in itself.

I zone out as we head to the pub, my thoughts a million miles away, and on all the things I need to do to prepare for this kid. The shock has worn off somewhat now. I guess puking your guts up all day, every day forces you to face reality.

The problem is my reality is far from fucking comforting right now. I’m scared of…well, everything. I know what’s at stake and what can go wrong. And though I know having a partner that is never there is worse than going alone, it doesn’t make the prospect of flying solo through this pregnancy any less daunting.

I close my eyes, thinking back to the night at Shooters with that odious woman. I had hoped the news would have gotten back to Lick and that he’d have tracked me down. After all, he has the advantage of knowing where I live. I thought about returning again and again, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Besides, I doubt the bouncers would even let me in.

I rub my hands over my pants, contemplating my next move. I did a little research on the RBMC. Though there wasn’t much out there, what I did find scared the shit out of me. I’ll admit that what I know about motorcycle clubs comes from TV shows, so I guess everything should be taken with a pinch of salt. But even the most outrageous stories tend to have a pinch of truth to them.

When the taxi stops, I pay with my phone and climb out, heading inside through the back. The smell of beer and fried food has me freezing for a moment so I can take some shallow breaths until I get the nausea under control. “God, it’s going to be a long night.”

I head to the staff room and shove my bag in my locker before pasting on a smile and heading out to the main bar, where Leon and Greg are working.

“Hey,” I greet them both with a smile before grabbing an apron and tying it around my waist.

“Hey Emma, how are you feeling?” Greg asks as he picks up a clean glass and starts pouring a draft beer.

“I’ve been better.”