Page 28 of Ginger

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Through the window, I noticed a black SUV pull up across the street. Something about it made the hair on my arms stand up.

"So," KiKi continued, oblivious to my sudden tension, "do you think Vegas will let you have a happy ending with your men? Or will he cause problems?"

I forced my attention back to her. "I don't know. It seems like Houston is on our side."

"Well, I hope you’re right." She looked over my shoulder. "Shit."

I turned to see what had caught her attention. Vegas himself was walking through the café door, flanked by Miami. Their appearance couldn't be a coincidence.

Bronx was on his feet in an instant, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sound drew Vegas’ gaze, and his eyes narrowed when he spotted us.

"Ginger," Vegas nodded coolly as he approached our table. "KiKi."

"Morning," I managed, my mouth suddenly dry.

Bronx positioned himself between Vegas and our table. "Problem?"

Vegas’ lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just grabbing breakfast. Small world."

"Small indeed," Bronx replied, his voice deceptively calm.

KiKi cleared her throat. "Why don't you join us? Since you're here anyway."

Vegas didn't wait for another invitation, sliding into the empty chair beside me while Miami pulled up another from a nearby table. Bronx remained standing for a moment, jaw clenched, before returning to his own seat where he could still keep an eye on us.

"How'd you know we were here?" I asked.

Vegas flagged down the waitress and ordered coffee before answering. "Houston mentioned KiKi stayed at your place last night. When I couldn't find either of you at the clubhouse, I had a feeling you might be here."

"You were looking for me?" KiKi asked, surprise evident in her voice.

"Both of you, actually." His gaze settled on me. "We need to talk about what happened. Something tells me Ginger knows more than she’s admitted."

I felt my heart rate accelerate. "I don't know what you’re talking about."

"Really?” The waitress brought his coffee and he took a swallow. “Because you seemed to know KiKi here was pregnant. Makes me wonder what else you know about the situation.”

I remained quiet, knowing I shouldn’t said anything.

Vegas leaned forward. "I don't like mysteries in my club. Now, one of you needs to tell me… who the fuck is the father of that baby?”

I swallowed hard and dropped my gaze to the table. I couldn’t betray KiKi by saying anything. I wouldn’t.

“I told you I’d leave,” KiKi said. “I just need a month. Give me enough time to get a job and a place to live. I’ll be gone without any fuss. I swear it.”

Vegas’ eyes narrowed as he studied KiKi. "That's not an answer. And I'm not sure I want you to leave."

The tension at our table was thick enough to cut with a knife. I glanced at Bronx, who was watching the exchange with calculated intensity, one hand resting on his thigh where I knew he kept his knife.

"Why would you want me to stay?" KiKi asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Because," Vegas said, twisting his mug slowly, "you've been a valuable part of this club for years. And because I want to know who in my ranks is irresponsible enough to get you pregnant and then leave you to deal with it alone."

Miami, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. "We take care of our own. Always have."

KiKi's hand trembled slightly as she set down her fork. "I appreciate that, but—"

"But nothing," Vegas interrupted. "This isn't just about you anymore. There's going to be a child with MC blood. That makes it club business."

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