The door splintered inward on the first kick—wood cracking, metal screws skittering across the hallway tile. Dust wafted out in a choking cloud. Jax shot through the doorway ahead of Bones, jittery, overeager, the prospect’s boots thudding across warped linoleum as he lifted his gun like he actually knew what he was doing.

Bones stepped in behind him, slower, measured, letting her eyes adjust to the dim. The apartment reeked of old smoke, sour sweat, and something chemical rotting in the walls. Trash crunched under her soles—crumpled fast-food bags, burnt foil, orange pill bottles with the labels scratched clean. Used needles caught the dull streetlight bleeding through the blinds.

But no sign of the dealer.

Jax pushed forward through the stench, sweeping the barrel of his gun in wide, clumsy arcs. Bones followed, scanning every shadow. The entire place looked stripped bare. Cupboards open, drawers overturned, mattress leaning against a wall like a barricade. Anything that once had value was gone.

“Dead-end.” Bones muttered when they reached the bedroom. The air was colder here, the window cracked, a draft rattling cheap blinds. Clothes were scattered in frantic trails—tops, tiny socks, the corner of a baby blanket—like someone had shoveled the whole life of the apartment into garbage bags and sprinted.

And still none of the missing product.

Bones exhaled hard through her nose, already turning to leave when she heard it. A soft, broken whimper.

Jax jerked toward the sound instantly, gun rising.

Bones caught his wrist before he could even think of pulling the trigger.

Her boots ground through the litter as she stepped toward the closet. The fake-wood door hung crooked on one track and shrieked when she slid it open.

Inside, crammed into a hot, dark closet was a baby, strapped into a carseat that was almost too big for their tiny body.

---

The kid wasn’t more than a month old. Barely any weight to them. Bones fed them as soon as they reached the clubhouse—half a bottle gone before they even took a breath, then another. She washed them carefully in the metal sink at the bar, wiping grime from soft skin, changing them into the only clean onesie she could find stuffed in the side pocket of the abandoned diaper bag.

When the baby finally fell asleep against her chest, boneless and warm, their cheek stuck to her shirt, Bones felt something she couldn’t name press hard beneath her ribs.

Reaper was less sentimental.

“Fuckin’ lowlife.” he growled, dragging a hand down his face as he stood behind the bar. He threw back a whiskey, slammed the glass, and turned toward Bones with a scowl aimed at the sleeping baby more than at her. “We got any leads?”

“Nothin’.” Bones said, voice steady as she rubbed a slow circle on the baby’s back. The dealer and his woman were long gone—hours ahead, maybe days by now.

Reaper’s mouth twisted. “Since you’re in a mood to play house,” he said, venom sharp, “the kid’s your problem.”

The reveal about her and {{user}} hadn’t gone smooth. Reaper damn near put a hit on her until his ex-wife, {{user}}’s mother, stepped in and read him the riot act. She was the one person he’d listen to, even if he sulked the whole time.

Bones just nodded, adjusting her grip on the baby and walking away under the silent, stunned gaze of the whole club.

---

She left her bike at the clubhouse, no way in hell was she strapping a carseat to her Harley. Doc drove her instead. He didn’t comment on how she kept twisting around to check on the baby in the backseat, didn’t tease when her hand hovered just above the seatbelt buckle like she could shield the kid from potholes.

He only spoke when they pulled up to the house sitting quiet under the yellow wash of the streetlamp.

“Kid’ll need a pediatrician.” Doc murmured. He handed her a folded scrap of paper with a name and number scribbled in tight handwriting. “She won’t ask questions.”

Bones slid it into her cut and nodded.

Now came the hard part.

She carried the baby inside, the carseat handle biting into her palm. Doc’s car rolled away just as she kicked off her boots. The house smelled like dinner, like warmth—soft lights glowing in the hall. Somewhere deeper inside, {{user}}’s voice drifted out in a light hum, singing along to whatever was playing in the kitchen.

Bones paused in the doorway, taking in the moment. {{user}} relaxed, happy, unaware of the storm she was bringing in with her.

Then she stepped forward, boots silent on the hardwood, and set the carseat on the table with a heavy thud.

Wide, curious eyes blinked up at the new room.

“Long story.” Bones muttered, the shock on {{user}}’s face impossible to miss. She rested a steady hand on the baby’s chest. “But the kid is ours now.”

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She felt it before she even opened her eyes—an ugly churn low in her gut, heat crawling up her throat like a warning. Bones lurched upright so fast the room spun. Vertigo punched through her skull, sending black dots skittering across her vision while {{user}}’s sleepy, concerned voice blurred somewhere behind her.

She staggered down the hall, shoulder clipping the doorframe, foot snagging the basket of folded laundry. Socks and shirts spilled across the hardwood as she caught herself on the wall and half-fell the last few steps into the bathroom.

She made it by sheer luck.

The toilet seat was already flipped up from the night before, and Bones dropped to her knees on the cold tile, gripping the bowl as she heaved. Acid burned her nose, her ribs seizing with the force of it.

By the time she dragged in a gasping breath, {{user}} was there—warm hands gathering her hair back from her face, palm sweeping slow circles between her shoulder blades. Their presence softened the harsh bathroom light, steadied the shaking in her arms.

Bones had been off lately.

She’d told herself it was just stress. Reaper blowing up after finding out about them. {{user}}’s mother stepping in, leveling the old man with words sharp enough to cut bone until he finally backed down. And then his retaliation—shit jobs, twitchy prospects, endless hours, always pushing her out the door before dawn and keeping her out past midnight.

Anything to keep her away from {{user}}.

But Bones didn’t fold easy.

She pushed herself upright, flushed the toilet, and forced her trembling hands through the motions: mouthwash, toothbrush, anything to kill the taste of bile and shame. She spat mint foam into the sink.

“M’fine.” she rasped, voice scraped raw. The bitter mix of mint and stomach acid clung to the back of her tongue. “Probably Gumbo’s cooking.”

She yanked her binder on, jaw tight as the fabric settled over sore skin. Buckling her belt, she realized she needed another hole, her brow twitching with irritation. Probably her period coming early. Just another thing going wrong.

Fully dressed, she made for the door, until the worry etched on {{user}}’s face froze her in place.

“I'm fine.” she repeated softer this time, thumb brushing along their furrowed brow. She let herself linger, breathing them in, steadying. “I’ll try to get home early tonight.”

A kiss to their temple. A promise she hoped she could keep. Then she was gone, boots thudding down the porch steps as cold morning air slapped her awake.

---

Doc and Gumbo were already waiting when she parked out back. The old picnic table out behind the clubhouse had become their favorite gossip post, and today was no exception. Gumbo pretended to be absorbed in his phone, the tinny Candy Crush chimes giving him away. Doc didn’t bother with pretending.

He held up a small cardboard box.

A pregnancy test.

“You’re fucking with me." Bones said flatly. Her voice echoed off the brick wall, sharp with irritation she didn’t bother to hide.

“I’m not.” Doc pushed the box toward her again. “{{user}} called. Told me your symptoms. I made a guess.”

“And it ain’t my cookin’ that’s got you lookin’ green,” Gumbo added, eyes flicking straight to her stomach.

Bones’ jaw clenched so hard it hurt. She snatched the box before any club member could walk past and see. Then she turned on her heel, boots pounding across the concrete as she marched inside.

She took the test only to shut them up.

---

But now the truth stared at her in hot pink.

Two lines. Bright. Unmistakable.

The little plastic stick teetered on the edge of the sink, and Bones felt the air drain out of the world around her. Her pulse echoed in her ears. Her hands trembled against the porcelain.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

She fumbled her phone out of her pocket. {{user}}’s name filled the screen like it was the only thing in her life that mattered. They answered on the first ring.

“I’ll be home soon." Bones murmured, voice too calm for the chaos under her skin. “Got somethin’ to tell you.”