Chips groaned, clutching his battered face as Gun loomed over him. The sting of the sp still burned on his cheek, but the fear in his eyes was far more vivid than the pain.

  “For your sake,” Gun hissed, his gre sharp as daggers, “you better be telling the truth.”

  Chips swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “I swear, Gun,” he croaked. “I don’t know where he is. King... he doesn’t stay in one pce. His new duties with the Bratva keep him moving. He only shows up when it’s absolutely necessary. He didn’t want you to find out, so he made sure I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to.”

  Gun’s jaw tightened, his stomach twisting painfully as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but a cold shiver ran down his spine. The thought of King being alive, lurking in the shadows of his life, was suffocating.

  What did this mean for him? For everything he was trying to rebuild? For his retionship with Remmington?

  Gun pced his gun back into the waistband of his pants and turned away from Chips, his head pounding. The dull ache in his stomach surged again, forcing him to clutch it as nausea rolled through him. He grimaced, his free hand bracing against the wall as he steadied himself.

  The situation with King wasn’t something he could fix overnight, but his own body betraying him was an immediate concern. He couldn’t keep ignoring the signs—especially not now.

  With a frown, Gun went to his bedroom, each step heavy with exhaustion. He closed the door behind him, leaned against it for a moment, and sighed deeply. Reaching for his phone, he typed a message to Troy, his fingers trembling slightly:

  “I need you to pick me up first thing in the morning. I have to see Dr. Cassidy. It’s urgent.”

  Hitting send, he pced the phone on the nightstand and exhaled, his mind racing with thoughts of King, the Bratva, and the new complications that loomed in his life.

  As he climbed into bed, his hand instinctively went to his stomach. The positive test fshed in his mind, bringing a storm of emotions—fear, uncertainty, and a flicker of hope. But above all, one thought remained:

  If King was alive, what was going to happen now?

  *

  The car ride was silent, broken only by the hum of the engine as the city blurred past the window. Gun sat in the back seat, his face turned toward the gss, but his mind was elsewhere. King’s voice repyed in his head, a haunting echo that tightened his chest. His eyes stung, tears threatening to fall, but he blinked them away, forcing himself to stay composed.

  Troy gnced at him through the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed with concern. Gun, noticing the gnce, sat up straighter and cleared his throat. Looking at the side of Troy’s head, he asked, “Have you noticed anything... strange about Chips? How he talks, how he acts?”

  Troy frowned, his eyes briefly darting from the road as he tried to recall anything unusual. “Strange? I don’t know. Chips is Chips. Always talking shit, always...” He trailed off, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as a memory surfaced.

  “Wait,” Troy said, his voice slower now. “The night you had the... miscarriage. I remember seeing him off to the side. He was on the phone, and he looked... stressed. Really stressed. I asked him what was wrong, and he brushed it off, said it was nothing. But now that I think about it, something was off.”

  Gun’s lips pressed into a thin line, nodding as if Troy’s words confirmed a suspicion. “Keep that to yourself for now,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I want you to investigate him. Discreetly. Get his phone records, too.”

  Troy blinked, surprised by the request. “Phone records? Gun, what’s this about?”

  Gun didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed back out the window. After a long pause, he said simply, “I can’t expin right now. Just... trust me.”

  Troy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened again, but he nodded. “Alright. I’ll look into it. But, Gun... if there’s something serious going on, you should tell me. I can’t help if I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he watched the world outside pass by, bracing himself for what awaited him at Dr. Cassidy’s office—and the answers he might not be ready to face.

  *

  Dr. Cassidy adjusted her gsses as she sat down behind her desk, her expression professional but tinged with anticipation. She looked up at Gun, who sat across from her, his posture rexed yet commanding. “Are you ready for your results, Mr. Laedeke?”

  Gun’s expression didn’t shift, though inside he felt nervous. He brushed it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just give me the results. I don’t have all day.”

  Dr. Cassidy frowned slightly at his tone but complied, sliding a piece of paper across the desk toward him. “Congratutions, Mr. Laedeke. You’re pregnant again.”

  Gun felt a shudder course through him despite his best efforts to remain composed. Dr. Cassidy continued, pulling out another document. “Here’s a list of guidelines for ensuring a successful pregnancy—diet, supplements, regur check-ups. I know this might feel overwhelming, but with proper care, we can make sure you and the baby are healthy.”

  He reached out, his fingers brushing the paper before curling around it. His eyes scanned the results, and his stomach dropped when he saw the timeline—three months. Gun frowned, flipping through his mental calendar, trying to pinpoint the exact date.

  Then it hit him.

  The memory of that week came flooding back: the heat of Remmington’s touch, the way they’d lost themselves in each other. But then another memory surfaced—the call boy. He had been careful; Gun had seen the condoms scattered on the floor. But they’d gone on for hours, and the call boy’s presence had been dangerous, intoxicating in a way that made him shudder even now.

  He rubbed his temple, the paper trembling slightly in his hand. This child had to be Remmington’s. It had to be.

  Dr. Cassidy watched him, her concern evident. “Mr. Laedeke, is everything alright?”

  Gun forced himself to straighten up, folding the paper neatly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you, Doctor.” His voice was calm, but the storm in his head was relentless.

  He stood and exited the office, nodding briefly at Troy, who was waiting outside. As they walked toward the car, Troy gnced at him, his worry written all over his face. “What did she say? Everything okay?”

  Gun didn’t answer immediately, his mind racing. Finally, he muttered, “I’m fine, Troy. Let’s just go.”

  Troy didn’t press further, but his gaze lingered on Gun’s pale face as they walked to the car. Something wasn’t adding up, and whatever it was, it clearly weighed heavily on him.