Page 172 of Making Choices

She points at me, smiles with contempt, then she turns into a one-woman wrecking ball. Stools are upended. The table I just set up for the party is pushed over. Bikers scatter as she screeches like a banshee. They pull their weapons, although they’re reluctant to use them on a woman.

Of course, their reluctance would be void if they knew who she represents.

The Maddison clan.

As my faction looks to me for leadership in Venom’s absence, our president sneers, then he walks out of the Shamrocks compound with a spring in his stride. My father steps into the fray. Hunter taking up a guard position in front of Mumma.

All the while, I simply stand and stare.

The rounded belly that’s clearly visible roots me to the spot.

Every ounce of hope I had for my future dies in an instant.

Bebe’s pregnant.

With my baby?

Caught in a stupor, I barely register Venom joining us. He speaks to Bebe, but I don’t hear the words. Cub comes to stand next to me and he lays a hand on my shoulder. I don’t feel it. When Toker does the same thing, I realise that I’m on the cusp of a panic attack.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t speak.

I can’t deal with this.

“…I found her in your bed.”

The emphasis Bebe puts on that single word breaks through my daze and I finally find the wherewithal to speak, “You broke into my house?”

“It’s not breaking in when you have a key and the alarm code.”

Even though I know she’s lying since I saw the intruder last night and it was definitely a man, my brain latches onto the wrong part of her excuse at the same time as I catch the key she throws at me. “It is when I asked for my key back and you ignored my fuckin’ request.”

Her response is to shriek like a betrayed lover as she punches me in the chest. “Screw you! Stop trying to deflect from the real problem.”

Every argument my mind provides turns to ash when my duchess ventures out of the chapel. Sporting a tear-stained face and fear in her eyes, Cherub’s feet grind to a halt as she takes in the disaster unravelling in front of the club. Her cerulean gaze darts from me to Bebe’s belly and back to me. Hurt and something that looks like relief fills her expression as she straightens her shoulders and draws in a deep breath that makes her entire body shudder.

I watch my dreams die as Cherub processes the extent of my fuck up.

With an ache deep in my chest, I ask the question on everyone’s mind, “Is it mine?”

“I don’t know. More-than-likely.”

Bebe’s answer tears me apart.

My life has been ruined by a maybe.

Almost by rote, I verbally dig the hole that’s going to house the remnants of my belief in the possibility of me and Lilianna Mayberry finding our way to a happy-ever-after. “When were you gonna tell me?”

“Last night… except you ruined it.”

“I ruined nothin’. We’ve been over for months. You have no claim over me—just like you told me that I had none over you.”

Each word is another nail in matching coffins.

Today, I lose them both.

My duchess.

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