Page 2 of Always My Fate

“Only for you, woman.” He kept the pressure steady, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of her neck. One hand slid around to rest on the curve of her belly, palm spread wide. The baby gave a strong kick right against his fingers, and he chuckled, low and rough. “There’s my little hellraiser. Already givin’ his momma grief.”

Peaches covered his hand with hers, threading their fingers together over their child. “He’s strong. Just like his daddy.”

Blackie swallowed hard, emotion clogging his throat. He buried his face in her hair for a moment, breathing her in. “Don’t know what I did to deserve this life. But I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to any of you. Where are the littles?” They had five kiddos now, Randi, Tater, Possum, Punkin, Lil Bit, and this boy would be named Daniel. All his kids had started with normal names, Miranda, Donald, Evelyn, Nancy, and Edith. It wasn’t his fault they all had enough quirks their nicknames were given to them early.

“Randi has them out back, I asked for twenty minutes to stretch out the pains.” The quiet grew, comfortable and warm, until Peaches glanced back at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You keep rubbing like that and I might need a different kind of attention.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped, heated. “Careful what you ask for, woman. I’m already half-hard just from touching you. I could tell Randi we need more destressing.”

She laughed softly, the sound wrapping around his chest like a vise. “Promises, promises.”

Blackie kept one hand on her belly, protective and possessive, while the other continued its slow massage, inching lower with clear intent. The bond between them hummed—deep, unbreakable, forged in fire and time.

***

Years earlier, at their brand-new clubhouse, Blackie had stood frozen on the driveway while Slate—fucking Slate of all people—had given him the push he needed. “She’s waitin’ on you, brother. Don’t fuck it up again.” One look at Peaches across the way and everything else had fallen away. She’d been his then, and she was his now. Always had been. Always would be.

Blackie shook off the memory and pressed another kiss to Peaches’ shoulder, his hand stroking tenderly over the life they’d created together. “Love you, darlin’. More than anything.”

“I know,” she whispered, squeezing his fingers. “We love you too.”

***

Blackie lay tangled with Peaches, her breathing slow and even against his chest, when his secure phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen—Horse—and cursed under his breath. The clock indicated it was after midnight, and calls at this time of night never brought good news.

He eased his arm out from under her, careful not to wake her, and slipped from the bed. Grabbing the phone, he padded barefoot onto the back porch and answered on the third ring.

“Horse. Talk to me.”

“Prez.” Horse’s voice was low and tight. “Sorry to hit you this late, but we’ve got movement. Two of my guys spotted what looks like MDMC colors near the south fence line about an hour ago. They didn’t engage, just watched and reported. Three bikes, no cuts showing, but the ink and the bikes scream Monster Devils.”

Blackie gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening. “Motherfuckers. You think they’re testing the waters this soon after the ass-whoopin’ we gave ’em?”

“Either that or they’re stupid enough to want round two. I’ve got eyes on the ranch and doubled the watch at the new clubhouse. Glenna’s safe inside, and Shamu’s on high alert, but I don’t like it. Feels like they’re circling.”

“God how I hate them,” Blackie growled, pacing the kitchen in the dark. His gaze drifted towards the bedroom door. Peaches was in there, round with his kid, vulnerable as hell if anything spilled over. The thought of leaving her right now twisted something ugly in his gut. “You hold the line down there. You need bodies tonight?”

Horse exhaled. “Not yet. We’re locked down tight. Wanted you to have the heads-up. Figured you’d want to know before some asshole tried to be cute.”

“Damn right I do.” Blackie rubbed a hand over his beard, voice dropping. “I’ll get Duane and Oaky spun up. We can roll a crew your way by morning if things get heated. Listen, brother. You did good calling it in. Stay sharp, but don’t go hunting unless they force your hand. We protect what’s ours—your ranch, your woman, our territory. Those MDMC pricks come at you, they come at all of us. I got your back.”

“Appreciate it, Prez.” Horse sounded steadier. “How’s Peaches?”

Blackie’s chest tightened. He glanced back towards the bedroom again. “Resting. She’s... she’s everything, man. I hate the idea of rolling out and leaving her, but if those bastards push, I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Understood. We’ll keep the front lines quiet as long as we can.”

“Keep me posted on everything. Even if it’s just a raccoon knocking over a trash can. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

Blackie ended the call with Horse and stood on the back porch for a long moment, letting the cool night air settle over him. The ranch was holding. No new movement. For tonight, at least, they could breathe. He shot off a couple of texts to Duane and Oaky explaining what he wanted and how early he expected it.

He slipped back inside the quiet house, nearly tripped over his own boots left by the door, and moved down the hallway like a shadow. Old habits died hard—even when the world felt steady, he still needed to check.

First door on the left was Randi’s room. He eased it open, the faint glow of her nightlight spilling across the floor. Their oldest at eleven, she was curled on her side, dark hair spread across the pillow, breathing slow and even. Blackie stepped in quietly, tugged the blanket up over her shoulder where it had slipped, and brushed a gentle hand over her hair.

“Sleep tight, baby girl,” he whispered.