No more staying in our downstairs bedroom. She kept guys for a few weeks, then left them for someone else—usually, this announcement was made when she was caught cheating with or plain walked off with her new conquest. This almost always resulted in some kind of violence.

I tried talking with Sierra about how the big, bad criminals she exchanged like her acrylic nails, were human beings with feelings, too. But Sierra had just laughed and assured me, “Aw, Mimi, they’ll be alright.”

Maybe. But at the beginning of the summer, my aggravated husband had to implement a “No More Fucking Fighting Over Women” rule at the compound. And by women, he meant Sierra.

I’m pretty sure the only reason he didn’t kick her out was because she was my best friend. Also, admitting that a woman could cause that much turmoil within your gang of brothers wasn’t a great look.

But I’ve barely seen her since she began her monthly rotation of biker boyfriends, so I’m surprised to find her on my front porch. And dressed in scrubs like she’s ready to work.

“Titi Sierra!” Antonia cries happily when she sees my best friend at the door,

She’s wearing a mask and, to my shock, a pair of scrubs.

“What's going on?” I ask.

“What am I doing here? You tell me,” Sierra answers with an irritated look. “I got a text message from Waylon saying I needed to get over my shit and take over the clinic today because you aren’t feeling well.”

“Titi, no cuss!” Antonia says at the same time I ask, “And you just did it?”

“Hel—”

Sierra cast a nervous glance at Antonia and substitutes, “Heck no! But Road Rash just about kicked me out of bed when I showed him the text. Wouldn’t even let me put on my dang mascara!”

Sierra flares her eyes which I’ve never seen make-up free outside the house. “Dude barely gave me time to get in the shower and drove me here himself. He said that if Waylon gives an order….”

I roll my eyes and finished, “He expects it to be followed.”

“Yeah, I guess that's what's up.” As bad-ass as Sierra’s been since hitting the compound like a song by The Gap Band*, she rubs her arm self-consciously, like an insecure first-year nurse.

“Sierra, you don't have to run the clinic,” I assure her. “I'm not feeling too great, but once this morning sickness and fatigue passes, I'll get to work.”

Sierra twists her lips, a frank expression replacing the insecure one. “Yeah, I’m kinda thinking I do have to run that clinic if I want to stay on here.”

She frowns at me like the nurse she used to be. “And I should probably do a temperature check while I'm here, and maybe a prenatal exam—have you had one yet?