Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(83)

I bought things I didn’t need—toothpicks, limes, Cheez Whiz—filling my basket as I passed the entrance to the feminine products aisle over and over. Each time, I’d stared down the shelves only to chicken out and walk away. Finally, after grabbing a gallon of orange juice, my basket was getting heavy and my purpose for this trip couldn’t be avoided any longer.

I sucked in a deep breath and marched down the aisle. When I got to the pregnancy tests, I quickly scanned for brands I recognized and shoved three different types into my basket. Then I practically ran to checkout, hoping no one spotted me.

The cashier made no comment as she scanned my items, thank God, and when all my things were safely hidden in paper bags, I hefted them to my car and drove home.

The sinking feeling in my stomach was unbearable. The anxiety, crushing. Was I pregnant? I’d been in such a rush to buy the tests, I hadn’t really thought of what would happen after I took them. But as my house, and toilet, drew nearer, a panicked chill settled into my bones.

A month ago, the idea of being pregnant would have sent me into joyful hysterics. But now? If I had a baby, would I lose Dash? Was I enough to raise a child on my own? Would I be heartbroken if the tests were negative?

Three positive pregnancy tests later, I didn’t have to worry about that last question.





“Hey, babe.” Dash walked through my front door without knocking.

I was in the kitchen, sitting at the island, staring blankly at the striations and granules in my gray granite counter. I’d canceled dinner with my parents and texted Dash to come over. “Hey.”

“Got some news.” He took the stool by my side, leaning over to kiss my temple. “Dad met with Tucker today.”

“Yeah?” I faked some excitement about the meeting with the Warriors’ president. “What did he say?”

“Dad says Tucker swears it wasn’t the Warriors. He took a look at the photo and get this.” Dash leaned to the side to fish out his wallet. Then he slipped out a copy of the photo Emmett had printed from the surveillance video, flattening it on the counter.

I leaned in close. “What am I looking at?”

“See this right here?” He pointed to the stitched Warriors logo on the man’s cut. “See at the bottom of the arrowhead, where it flares?”

“Yeah.”

“Tucker said they changed the patch a few years ago, cleaned up some of the edges and got rid of that flare. Everyone in the club got new cuts.”

“Did they confiscate the old ones?”

“Nope. Which means whoever has an old cut has been a Warrior for a while. And that confirms it wasn’t one of the former Gypsies who joined them this past year.”

So a Warrior was trying to restart an old war. “Can we get a list of names?”

“Not from Tucker. He’ll never give up his men. But Dad is going to start putting names on paper. He’s with Emmett and Leo at the garage, doing it now. Told them I’d be over soon. Thought you might want to come along.”

“No, thanks.” I wasn’t feeling up to a trip to the garage. And I had a feeling after I told Dash I was pregnant, he wouldn’t want me along either.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“And, um . . . Genevieve?” He struggled to say her name. Dash hadn’t thawed to the notion of his sister.

“Her flight gets in late tonight. She’s staying in Bozeman and will drive over tomorrow. She thinks she’ll be in town midmorning. She promised to call and I’ll go meet her at the cemetery.”

“Call me when she leaves. Tell me how she takes it.”

“I will.”

I didn’t have a clue how I was going to tell Genevieve that she was Draven’s daughter. And as if that weren’t hard enough, I was also going to try and convince her that he hadn’t killed her mother. That fledgling friendship we’d forged over chocolate chip cookies was guaranteed a crushing.

Dash stood and went to the cupboards for a glass, filling it with water from the fridge. He was itching to get to the garage.

“So, before you go . . .” God, how did I say this? I busied my hands by folding up the photo and reaching for his wallet to put it away. I opened the bifold, ready to stuff it inside, but another folded page caught my attention.

I lifted it out, recognizing a black and white photo. The trophy case behind the kids was familiar. It had been the backdrop for numerous pictures in the Clifton Forge High yearbooks.

“What is this?”

Dash lowered the water glass from his lips and closed his eyes. “I, uh . . . shit.”

Unfolding the page, I scanned the photos, only seeing school photos with no one recognizable. But I turned it over and spotted Amina’s youthful face. She stood smiling with another girl.

It was the younger version of a face I’d seen in an obituary.

Chrissy Slater.

“Dash. What’s this?”

He had the decency to look guilty. “A page I found at the high school when we were looking at yearbooks.”

“You found this and never showed me.” I fought the urge to crumple the photo into a ball and throw it at his face.

“I was going to. Swear. But then it didn’t seem that important after you learned Mom and Amina were friends.”