Page 75 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“I figured as much as soon as you told me what happened. What are you going to do?”

“We’ll tighten security, close ranks, and alert Sheriff Bentley about the deals and the Hugheses’ movements,” he says. “It’s all we can do at this point.”

“It’s all the sheriff can do with what little evidence he has,” Knox adds. “Marlo Hughes has very good, very seasoned lawyers. I’ve looked them up. They’ve represented mobsters and dealers all over Oregon over the past twenty years. They have low conviction rates across the board, which means they’re particularly capable in this field of law.”

“So without the so-called smoking-gun type of evidence, Marlo could walk,” I grimly conclude. “I suppose you’re worried she’ll try to come after me or Kyra too, right?”

“The thought did cross our minds,” Knox admits. “What do you think? How does that make you feel?”

“Well, it doesn’t make me want to pop open a bottle of champagne,” I mutter, slowly shaking my head as I apply disinfectant and a clean bandage over the stitched wound while Jagger sits still and bites his lower lip. “I think you guys will do everything in your power to keep us safe, I guess. And I think I should help make it slightly easier for you.”

Diesel looks at me, a frown pulling his brows together. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll pull Kyra out of school for a couple of weeks. Get her a doctor’s note or something, and she can do her work at home,” I say. “She can stay here. You said the clubhouse is the safest place for her.”

“Good. That’s a good idea,” Knox agrees.

Jagger leans forward and kisses me softly on the lips. “Thank you for taking such good care of me, baby.”

“You should still get that checked out by a doctor,” I reply.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You did one hell of a job stitching me up.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes as I listen to my men exchanging thoughts and ideas around the Easton incident and what to do next. In the meantime, I brace myself to tell them the truth. They’ve been honest with me—with the good, the bad, and the ugly. What kind of woman am I if I don’t reciprocate?

“With Kyra at the clubhouse, we’ll have two men to spare,” Knox says. “They can join the street patrols or watch the Hughes mansion from a reasonable distance, record their movements, who’s coming in, who’s coming out, that sort of thing.”

“Agreed,” Jagger says. He puts on another tee shirt; a clean one he grabbed from his office on the way in. “We should document everything the Hughes gang is doing. It’ll help the DA later down the road for sure.”

“I’m pregnant.”

I’d had something a tad more explanatory built up in the back of my head, but simpler felt better. The guys don’t immediately register what I’ve just said.

“Sheriff Bentley should deputize us, though,” Jagger says, looking at Knox and Diesel. “You know, to make it official and whatever. It’ll give Marlo’s defense less ammunition in court.”

“Oh, yeah, the sheriff is going to love deputizing over a hundred motorcycle club members,” Diesel says with a dry chuckle.

Finally, Knox cuts in as he gives me a stunned look. “Wait, what?”

“What did you just say?”

Diesel and Jagger catch up.

“Robyn,” Jagger whispers, “say it again.”

“I’m… pregnant.” I say and sigh deeply, lowering my eyes. “I know it’s the worst possible time, but you’ve been honest with me and so supportive, and we’ve already said how we feel about one another, and I meant every word, and I know you meant it too, and I don’t know what to do or what else to say, and I’m scared out of my mind—”

And Jagger pulls me into a kiss to stop me from derailing any further.

For a moment, the world stops spinning.

My heart thuds frantically as I gauge their reactions. I don’t know what I’m scared of. Maybe I’m scared of rejection, of them telling me it is, in fact, the worst possible time or something along those lines, something that won’t soothe me at all.

“You’re pregnant,” Knox says, scooting out of his chair so he can get closer to me. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve known for a couple of weeks,” I say.

“You’re shaking,” Jagger notes, his hands holding mine. “Why?”

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