She’d paid for a cab to take her to the clubhouse. Now, only a few cab drivers would actually take her within the walls of the clubhouse. Most often, they dropped her outside, or a few feet away. Some would even make her walk ten minutes so they didn’t appear on Preacher’s radar.

There was always a reason there was a huge secure wall keeping outsiders out.

This had been one of the days when the cab driver made her walk ten minutes. When she finally arrived, she happened to notice that most of the people weren’t there. There were no women, no club men hanging around.

They were so quiet.

She’d heard the screams first.

Trying to find her dad, she’d stumbled onto a scene of torture.

A man and woman had been stripped of their clothing, and there was no mistaking their dirty selves. They’d been covered in piss, shit, and other bodily fluids.

When it had come time to kill them, she’d seen it.

Afterward her father had yelled at her and Preacher had forced her to repeat the words he’d spoken.

“I didn’t see anything. I was sick. I passed out.”

“That’s all you say. If you don’t, I will not hesitate in killing you, Robin.”

“I know.”

The threat had been real, but she knew enough about the life to know she had to keep her mouth shut. She wondered if it hadn’t been for her father, if he’d have killed her already.

“Are you okay?” Preacher asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Sorry, I think I drifted off for a second there.”

“You did. Do you believe me?”

“Do I believe what?”

“What I said, that I will never hurt you.”

“I know.” He made no move to touch her and went back to stirring some onions and garlic in a saucepan. “Do you enjoy cooking?”

“No, I hate it, but I also don’t like takeout. I can’t help but wonder if someone has spat in my food.”

She laughed. “I don’t for a second believe anyone would dare spit in your food.”

“I’ll never know. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with cooking. It’ll be good for you and the baby.”

“How do you feel about all of this?” she asked, touching her stomach. “I don’t feel any differently. I mean the morning sickness is horrible and the tender bre—I mean, tender body can be a little upsetting, but other than that, you know, I’m okay. I feel okay most of the time. I should be okay.”

“I do believe they have creams for sore breasts.”

“I didn’t mean sore breasts.”

“I’m a guy. I know what you meant. I can pick you some up.”

“Okay.” She couldn’t look at him. “I guess you know about this.”

“There’s only been one time I’ve been through this with Bishop.”

“Were you close to his mom?”

“Nope.”

“Ah.”

He sighed. “If there is ever anything you need, anything at all, creams, or … books, or whatever it is you are into these days. Just tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”