Page 96 of Vegas Daddies

And real life fucking sucks.

But it sure as hell sucks slightly less having my three motorcyclists around.

“Daddy?”

Still no reply.

I creep closer.

Maybe it isn’t daddy. Maybe it’s somebody else.

The Bratva.

My nerves twist into knots as I approach the hallway.

Relief floods through me.

“Brander?”

He stands in front of the door looking like my own personal bodyguard. Silver hair sweeps back from his face, and his eyes, two brown-colored marbles, glow in the evening sun as he stares at me. The frown imprinted across his forehead suggests he’s not impressed I walked two minutes alone from the bus stop to my house.

Talk about overprotective…

Although itiskinda hot.

“You scared me,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s getting late.”

“No.”

“It is.”

I slide my phone out of my shorts pocket, click on the device and show him the screen. “Seven PM isn’t late. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

His eyes stare at the floor.

“Brander?”

Still staring.

“Are you okay?”

His brows pinch together. “Is that a pregnancy test?”

My heart stops. My plan was to keep the pregnancy to myself, just for now. To keep it a secret from the boys and Daddy, at least for the foreseeable future.

But none of my plans seem to be manifesting at the moment.

It’s like somebody has hexed me. It’s one disruption after the next.

“Uh.” A lump forms in my throat.

“Alice?”

His eyes find mine.

I could swoop the thing up and shove it back into my pocket. I could lie and say it’s negative, but my body turns paralytic.My arm wants to reach out and pocket the contraption, but it’s heavier than lead. My legs too.

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