Page 51 of Ginger

I forced my shoulders to relax, tried to arrange my face into something less panic-stricken. Reno's hand pressed a fraction harder against my back.

"Better," he murmured.

We moved through the crowded room, Bronx leading, me in the middle, Reno guarding the rear. The noise of the main room faded as we approached the staircase. One of the prospects stepped forward as if to speak to Bronx. One look had him stepping back, gaze dropping to the floor.

That's when I saw him—Detroit, emerging from the hallway that led to the back. Our eyes met for just a heartbeat, and something cold slithered down my spine. His mouth curved into what might have been a smile if it hadn't been so empty of humor.

Reno must have felt me stiffen because his hand pressed more firmly against my back, urging me forward. I stumbled on the first step, and Bronx's hand shot out, catching my elbow.

"Easy," he said.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Detroit's gaze followed us as we ascended the stairs, his gaze a physical weight I could feel between my shoulder blades. My heart hammered against my ribs, too fast, too hard.

The second floor hallway stretched before us. Reno guided me toward our suite, his hand never leaving my back.

Bronx pushed the door open, gesturing for me to enter first. I stepped into the dimly lit room. The door closed behind us with a soft click that sounded final somehow, like the period at the end of a sentence.

Now, in this private space I would have to lay out KiKi's secrets. The weight of that responsibility pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe.

"Sit," Bronx said, nodding toward the couch.

I sank onto it, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had kept me wired was beginning to ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue. Reno settled beside me.

Bronx remained standing, arms crossed over his chest. "Tell us everything," he said. "From the beginning."

I took a deep breath and prepared to betray my best friend's confidence to save her life.

"Take your time," Reno said, his voice gentler than most people ever got to hear. "But tell us everything."

I looked down at my hands, trying to find the right words.

"KiKi lied when she said she didn’t know who the baby’s father was. She’s pretty sure it’s Vegas’, and Detroit overheard her telling me.”

“Shit,” Bronx muttered.

“He forced her to go tell Vegas, and I went with her. I don’t think he took it well, but he threw me out. I texted KiKi to see if she was okay, but she hasn’t read the message much less answered. I’m scared. What if Vegas is so furious he hurts her?” I swallowed hard. “Is that something I need to worry about? Would he really do something like that? Detroit made it sound like Vegas wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her, or even kill her.”

The silence that followed felt thick enough to touch. I forced myself to look up. Bronx's expression hadn't changed, but something in his eyes had—a sharpening, like a predator catching a scent.

"In the past, yeah. Vegas has been known to kill a girl or two. Always for lying to him or betraying the club. And KiKi lied by telling him she didn’t know who the baby’s father was. That’s definitely not good.”

“But the fact it’s his…” Reno paused. “It could go either way. He’s older now. Whether you believe it or not, he’s mellowed since those early days. I don’t think he’d hurt her, but he’s definitely going to be pissed.”

My stomach twisted at their words. I'd been right to worry. I stared at them, trying to read past their controlled expressions.

"Could he..." I couldn't finish the sentence, the words sticking in my throat like broken glass.

Bronx moved closer. "Vegas isn't stupid. He won't do anything that would bring heat down on the club."

"But KiKi isn't club," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "She's just a club girl. She's dispensable."

Reno's arm slid around my shoulders, pulling me against him. His leather cut was cool against my feverish skin. I could smell the road on him—asphalt, wind, and something darker, more primal.

"She's carrying his kid," he said, his voice a low rumble I could feel through his chest. "That changes things."

"Does it?" I turned to face him, our faces inches apart. "Or does it make it worse? What if he doesn't want the baby? What if he thinks she trapped him?"

Bronx sighed, the sound heavy with something I couldn't name. He lowered himself onto the coffee table across from us, knees nearly touching mine. The leather of his cut creaked as he leaned forward.

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