"I know I don't have to."
"My father..."
"I know who your father is and that’s exactly why you’re staying with me.”
She searched my face. Fear still there, but underneath it, the weight shifting. Relief, or the beginning of it.
"Okay," she said.
I took her hand. Led her across the compound yard. Cold night, clear sky, mountains dark against it.
Priest was on the porch. He looked up, his gaze moving from me to Lola to our hands. Whatever he saw on my face stopped the question before it formed. A nod. He went back to his book.
Angel was in the common room. I left Lola in the hallway and walked in.
"Got a minute?"
He set his pen down. Read my face.
"There's a woman in the hall. She's pregnant and it's mine. But it’s more complicated than that. She’s the Jackals president’s daughter."
Angel sat with it. The same methodical patience he brought to every decision. The president's calculation flashed behind his eyes before the man took over. He rubbed a hand across his face.
"Jesus, Ghost."
“I told you it was complicated.”
"How long?"
"Ten weeks. It was only one night, but…” My answer trailed off.
He looked at me the way he had when we were younger, standing in front of brass who wanted us to sign a lie. The look that said are you sure, because there's no coming back.
"You sure it’s yours?"
“Yeah, no doubt.”
"Stone's going to lose his fucking mind. Ghost, I love you like you are my blood, but fucking hell.”
"I know that, trust me. I know.”
"This could blow up everything. Do you have any idea?”
"I know, Angel. Trust me, I know.”
A long beat. Then his expression shifted. He'd brought Callie behind these same gates when the world was hunting her. He'd stood in this room and told the brothers that a woman he shouldn't want was under his protection. He knew the cost. He knew what it was worth.
"Then she stays," he said. "We deal with the rest." He waited until I met his eyes. "This gets ahead of us, we're all in it. You understand that."
"I understand."
He picked up his pen. "Go take care of your woman."
My room. End of the hall. I closed the door behind us. She stood in the middle, jacket still on, taking it in. A bed, a chair, a lamp. The room of a man who'd never accumulated anything because accumulating things meant admitting you planned to stay.
"It's not much," I said.
"It's yours." Her eyes found mine. "That's enough."
