Procreation was strictly forbidden in the Colonies; it was the council’s way of controlling a population that had once been in the billions. Nowadays, the GC decided how many babies were born, and to whom. The female breeders and male studs were chosen based on genetics and traits that the council felt were desirable, and if you weren’t picked to breed, you were shit out of luck. Sterilized like a defective mare.
Although nobody was monitoring who slept with whom in the free land, most outlaws chose to use protection rather than sire offspring. Life was already dangerous enough as it was. Add a screaming infant to the mix, or a toddler clutching his mama’s skirts, a six-year-old throwing a tantrum . . . it was too risky. If an outlaw was caught with a child, the latter was whisked off to the city while the former ate an Enforcer’s bullet for breaking the law. And if you did manage to hide your kid, there was an extra mouth to feed and an extra body to clothe. Kids were too much of a hassle, at least in Rylan’s opinion.
His old friend Arch had disagreed. Rylan had balked when he’d heard that Arch and Bethany were having a baby. The couple had decided it was worth the risk, but look where that had gotten them. Now Bethany was nearly nine months pregnant and all alone, because two months ago Arch had died at the hands of an Enforcer.
So had Kade.
Rylan’s throat tightened. The losses were still too raw, a wound that refused to scab over because the memory of Kade and Arch was everywhere. In Xander’s grief-stricken eyes. In Bethany’s huge swollen belly. He couldn’t escape them, no matter how hard he tried to shove the painful memories aside.
“If I’m still here when she goes into labor, come find me,” he told Sloan.
The man looked startled. “Why would I do that?”
“I grew up on a farm. When our animals gave birth, I was there helping with the deliveries. Had my entire arm inside a cow once, trying to turn a calf that was breeched. Fun times.”
Sloan’s lips twitched slightly.
“You’re allowed to laugh, you know.” Rylan rolled his eyes. “I won’t tell your mistress if you don’t want me to.”
Immediately, the man’s expression hardened. “If Bethy’s in labor when you’re here, someone will get you.” Sloan turned toward the door. “Time for you to go. Reese won’t want you in here when she gets back.”
He bristled. “And why’s that?”
“Because she got what she needed last night. She’s not looking for a repeat performance.”
Rylan slanted his head. “Yeah? And when is she planning on telling me this?”
“She just did.”
Sloan’s expressionless eyes grated on Rylan’s nerves almost as much as the impassive words. He didn’t understand their relationship. Sloan and Reese. Queen and . . . knight? Bodyguard? They weren’t sleeping together. They weren’t openly affectionate. And yet something bound them together. Sloan spoke on Reese’s behalf, and Reese, a woman who never let anyone give her orders, allowed him to do that.
“What if I have a problem with that?” Rylan challenged.
Sloan shrugged. “What can I tell you, boy? She doesn’t want seconds. Tough shit.”
“Would you cut it out with that ‘boy’ crap? You’re what, a year older than me? Two?” Sloan couldn’t be a day over thirty, and Rylan was tired of him acting like he was older and wiser. He was also damn tired of staring at Sloan’s smug face. “And I don’t give a shit if Reese wants to use you as her mouthpiece. She doesn’t want seconds? Well, fine. She’ll just have to tell me that herself.”
Not bothering to hide his annoyance, he muscled past Sloan and marched out of the bedroom.
*
Reese curled both hands around the cracked ceramic mug and breathed in the mint-flavored steam rising from the rim. It heated the tip of her nose and brought a much-needed rush of warmth. She’d felt chilled to the bone all morning, and it had nothing to do with the dipping temperature outside.
“So the raid was a success?” The very pregnant Bethany waddled over to the small sofa under the window.
Reese nodded. “We’ve got enough guns and ammo to start a war.”
Bethany’s eyebrows flicked up. “Or a revolution.”
“Same thing.”
“Is it?”
She didn’t even know anymore. Reese lifted the mug to her lips and took a small sip, all the while doing her best to avoid looking at Bethany’s bulging stomach. Seeing it reminded her of her own losses, the choice that had been stolen from her. And it reminded her of Arch, the ginger-haired giant who was never going to see his baby come into this world.
Arch had been a good man, an exceptional soldier. Everyone in town was still grieving for him, but none more so than his woman, whose brown eyes fixed on Reese now.
“What’s going on?” Bethany stroked her belly in absentminded gestures. “You look worried.”
Reese set down her mug. “Nah, I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. Something’s up.”