Unbreakable (Fallen Aces MC #1.5) - Max Henry

Table of Contents ALSO BY MAX ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE THIRTY-TWO THIRTY-THREE THIRTY-FOUR THIRTY-FIVE THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN THIRTY-EIGHT THIRTY-NINE FORTY FORTY-ONE FORTY-TWO FORTY-THREE FORTY-FOUR FORTY-FIVE FORTY-SIX FORTY-SEVEN FORTY-EIGHT FORTY-NINE EPILOGUE NOTE FROM MAX ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR

UNBREAKABLE Copyright © 2016 Max Henry Published by Max Henry All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Max Henry is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Published: February 2016, by Max Henry [email protected] Edited by: Lauren McKellar Cover Image: DollarPhoto Club Cover Design: Sara Eirew Formatted by: Max Effect

ALSO BY MAX FALLEN ACES MC SERIES Unrequited Unbreakable COMING SOON Tormented Existential Redundant BUTCHER BOYS SERIES Devil You Know Devil on Your Back Devil May Care Devil in the Detail Devil Smoke BANJAXED SERIES Pistol Loaded Recoil OTHERWORLD DESIRES (Paranormal) Battle to Become Methods for Mayhem

I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become. - Carl Gustav Jung

ONE King How fast does a heart beat before it becomes a heart attack? I wish I knew—then I’d know if I should be prepared to drop the bike in a hurry or not. Fuck me. I left her treading water in the shark tank, biding her time before the inevitable happened. I should have pushed the issue—fought harder. I should have taken Elena with me when she asked, damn the fucking consequences. Debris flicks out from under my tire as I skid around another corner, but where am I headed? I don’t even know where the fuck this guy lives . . . where they live. What if I’m too late? Fuck. I should have done this weeks ago. I should have moved Elena first and then worried about convincing the officers I was doing the right thing. Is my loyalty to the club worth a life? Two lives? There was a time when I would have said yes. Now? I’m not so sure. The vibrations from the engine rumble through my legs as I let the revs slow me down. My gut twists, my chest heavy with the gravity of the situation as my heart thunders at an incredible tempo against my ribcage. What do I do? How can I fix this? I don’t want to stop; there’s an incessant need in me to keep on riding until I get somewhere, to be able to do something. But common sense screams the obvious at me: You don’t know where you’re going or what you’ll do when you get there. I need a plan. Moreover, I need my head to calm the fuck down and give me a damn chance to think this through rationally. Breathing is a task as I pull over at a grassy area on the side of the road and idle the bike across to the tree line. I haven’t felt a panic this deep-seated since Garret went missing. I haven’t felt this useless since then either. I’m messing with people whose reach is way beyond mine. If I was to get Elena out today, where could she go? Where could we hide that Carlos wouldn’t find her? Too many loose threads. I heave a sigh to clear my fuzzy head and kick the stand out. From memory, I’ve got two bullets lodged somewhere in my side and shoulder. Strangely enough, the pain isn’t so severe any more. Blood has stuck the cotton of my T-shirt to my skin, and each twist of my arm pulls the fabric taut over the wound site. I roll my shoulders in a few slow arcs, easing the shirt free. The burn returns, spreading with relentless enthusiasm along my entire right side. Why am I so tired? I drop down into the grass, sitting with my elbows hooked over my knees, and fish out my phone from the breast pocket of my shirt. The way I’m feeling, I’m going to need help to get this done. The sunlight glares off the screen as I scroll through to Hooch’s number. Tucking the device against my stomach, I hunch over and shield my eyes as I squint at the display. Yep, got it. I thumb the dial icon and bring the phone to my ear. The connection rings and rings and finally clicks over to Hooch’s voicemail. My hand itches to hurl the phone toward the road, but with a great deal of self-control I manage to set it down on the grass between my legs instead. Gonna need it again later. I punch the bike’s fuel tank to relieve the tension instead. The metal is unrelenting, and my knuckles throb. That shit’s gonna bruise. I should head back to the clubhouse like Judas said and get myself sorted out. Gloria’s probably there by now, threading her curved needle in preparation. I can always count on her to dig the stray rounds out

of me and stitch me up in record time. Putting myself first isn’t such a crazed idea; what use am I going to be to Elena if I can’t muster the strength to fight properly? My heart drives me to try anyway, to show that Carlos fucker I won’t stand by and let him hurt her, but my head screams at me to see reason in this madness. I’m shot. I’m sweating buckets and my heart is racing. I’m no real use to anyone right now. I should plan her escape out and make sure I’m not going to fuck things up by rushing at the situation like a wounded bull at a gate. But damn, he has her. Carlos has Elena, and if this is what he had in store for us, then . . . it doesn’t bear thinking about what he’s potentially doing to her. Heart versus head— who’s going to win? I’m supposed to be her savior. I’m supposed to show the woman how fucking much I love her by taking her out of this bullshit she’s caught up in and giving her the life she deserves, making her my queen. Yet here I fucking am after four hours of semi-delirious riding, sitting an hour out from Kansas City without a fucking clue in the world as to where I should start looking. Some fucking hero, huh? I stare at the green branches around me for what seems an age, mulling over the pros and cons of different tactics to get Elena out. Do we go in guns blazing? Or opt for a covert approach? Do I try to get the backing of the brothers when the club has enough of its own shit to deal with? Or do I go this alone? My phone vibrates between my legs, snapping me out of my growing frustration. Why can’t I see the answer? “Where the fuck are you?” “Hey, Hooch.” My head swims and I drop onto my back, throwing my free arm over my eyes to block the insanely bright sun. “Don’t ‘hey Hooch’ me, you asshole. Everybody else rolled in an hour ago. Where the hell have you gone?” “South.” I tip my head back and let the light breeze that’s kicked up lick over my throat and cool my skin. “I need you to do me a favor.” “Fuck favors. Apex is ready to skin you. You best be gettin’ your ass here, brother.” “Can’t.” Drawing in a breath, I run a hand over my beard. “I need your help sortin’ something out, something I should have done months ago.” “Were we on the same job today?” he asks sarcastically. “Tell me you were there and I wasn’t imagining it. Nothin’ you got goin’ on could be more important than this.” “Maybe not to you,” I reason, “but I sure as fuck know I couldn’t live with myself if I left this any longer.” So tired . . . The wounds are really doing a number on me. The line goes quiet, only the distant hum of conversation audible while Hooch gives me the silent treatment. I almost nod off. “There’s a rumor that today has somethin’ to do with you,” he finally says. “That true?” I struggle to concentrate on his words; the blood I slowly lose messes with my focus. “Possibly. Don’t know.” I shouldn’t have stopped; relaxing has only given my body an opportunity to shut down. I don’t need this right now. “Care to explain what’s going on then?” Hooch’s tone is cold, sharp, and nothing less than I’d expect. “We lost good men today, so before I do you a favor, I want to know I’m not helpin’ out a rat here.” “Fuck you.” The heel of my hand slams into the dirt beside me. “You think I’d be the rat?” “Rumors aren’t good, brother. They say you’re muddyin’ the waters.”

“Tell me, man. What benefit do I stand to get out of helpin’ Carlos? Or the Blood Eagles for that matter?” He grunts. “I don’t know for sure, but everyone is riled the fuck up right now. We’ve got men here who’ve fuckin’ strapped up and ridden over, ready to roll out the minute they heard of the fuckin’ mess today.” He sighs. “I sure as fuck ain’t ever seen the place like this, and I’ve been runnin’ under these assholes’ feet since I was a wee fuckin’ squirt. This is serious, King.” “I know.” I press my eyes shut; images of Elena, and Twig slumped over his tank, melt together. “You with me?” “Pardon?” “I lost you for a bit there. You good?” “Bit light-headed, to be honest.” “Why?” “May have some stray metal lodged in me.” Hooch’s tone shifts from angry to concerned. “You need help gettin’ home?” Do I? I lie in the sun, relishing the warm rays as I mull it over. I made it this far—could I make it back? “Not sure.” “While you decide, tell me the truth about what’s goin’ on. Lay the rumors to rest and tell me what’s really fuckin’ happening with you.” I need to spill if I want his help, but I can’t discuss it over an open line. Yet getting him to where I am wastes time—time neither Elena or I have right now. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth, suppressing the urge to yell, to growl, and to smash up everything around me to release the tension. I just want to ride, to get to her, to know she’s okay . . . I’m fucking fed up and furious, and if things don’t go my way soon, people will find out what happens when the good ones break. “I need help,” I admit. “I don’t think I can do the ride back to you without coming undone halfway.” “And where the fuck would you be?” I roll my head to the side to look for a sign within view, but my vision’s shot to hell. “About sixty mile out from Kansas City . . . I think.” A quick nap might be on the cards while I wait on the asshole to show up. “You should see my bike from the road.” “You really sound like shit, man. Do I bring first-aid?” I chuckle. Nurse Hooch, at your service. “Yeah, that’d be good.” Hooch sighs, a defeated sound. I can just imagine him sitting there, pinching the bridge of his nose as he holds the phone to his ear. “You realize they’ll notice I’m gone?” “I’m sure they will.” “This better be fuckin’ worth whatever bullshit lie I spin when they ask why I’m leavin’ in a time of crisis, King.” “It fuckin’ is. More than you’d know.”

TWO King “King.” Thump. “King. Wake up, man.” Thump, thump. “Shit.” *** “. . . shouldn’t be much longer. Call me if you need anything. I’m headin’ . . .” *** “His fever’s gone, so he should improve now.” “About time.” *** The incessant whine of a power tool pierces through the delicious dream I’d been having of Elena barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen of our newly finished house. The vision was so strong, the smell of cooking breakfast is still ingrained in my nostrils. I could have sworn it was real, if it wasn’t for the fact that the house is still nothing but framing out the back of Mom and Dad’s, and Elena isn’t with me. What the fuck is that noise? Groaning, I grind the heel of both hands into my closed eyes and roll to my back. Ahh, shit. What the fuck did I do last night? Was it even last night? Memories of the run, the ambush, and patchy visions of the ride after come in dribs and drabs between the skull-rattling drone of whatever the fuck is going on outside. A grinder. The whine is a fucking grinder. Who the hell grinds shit this early in the morning? I roll my head to the right and look around. This sure as fuck ain’t my room—at the clubhouse or my new place. What the fuck . . .? Taut tape pulls on my skin as I push myself upright and swing both legs to the side of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold wooden floor with immediate pins and needles. How long was I lying down? A quick inspection of my side shows a dressing over where I remember one of the bullets catching hold. I lift a tentative hand to my shoulder and find, as suspected, a matching dressing over the other wound. Five solid minutes of wriggling my toes and flexing my calves later, I have enough feeling back in my legs to chance standing without folding over. They don’t have to be capable of running a marathon, just operative enough to shift gears and use the foot brake on my way to Elena. God, how is she? Chills run across my flesh at the thought of her being hurt by that fucker’s hand. If Carlos has laid a single motherfucking finger on her, I’ll— Laughter echoes from outside of the plain bedroom I’m in. I look around again at the picture rail that circumvents the timber walls, the heavy drapes that pool on the floor beneath the window, and the ornate

mirror hung over a simple four drawer dresser. Nothing about the place is familiar. Nothing. Unease prickles down my spine as I locate my boots, clean and polished, sitting by the foot of the bed. My belt hangs over the footboard and my jeans are freshly laundered and folded, resting atop the dresser. No shirt though. Where the fuck is my cut? The voice returns, loud and abrupt as it battles against the fucking horrible sound of the grinder. The tool shuts off and the crunch of footsteps on gravel grows closer to where I am. Fuckin’ paper-thin walls. I tug my clothes on and buckle my belt, as what I assume is the front door closes with a muted thud. The heavy footfalls continue to grow louder until they stop outside my door. Where the fuck is my gun? I check the sheath tucked inside my boot and find it empty. Fuckers even took my knife. The door opens with a quick arc, and I’m left standing half-dressed, half-prepared, and not even close to being half-happy with the current situation. A burly man with dark hair that’s graying around the edges stands in the doorway, dirty work clothes on, and a pleased smile toying his weathered and cracked lips. “Good. You’re awake. You can join us for lunch.” He spins and walks away without another word. Lunch? Explains the “early morning” grinding then. How long was I out? I shuffle across to the built-in wardrobe and open it in the hope of finding a shirt to wear when the guy returns and tosses one at me from the doorway. “Should fit you. We had to trash your old one, sorry.” I nod and tug the over-sized T-shirt over my battered body. “Thanks.” “And your vest is hanging in the entry cupboard.” The guy glances up the hall and then winks. “The good woman didn’t want you worrying that it wasn’t being looked after with due care.” Where the fuck am I? As long as it’s not Bates Motel I guess I should be grateful for what they’ve apparently done. I gesture to the bandages and clear my throat. “Uh, thanks for all of this.” His earlier mirth disappears and a stern apprehension takes its place. “I would have dropped you at the local hospital the day after we patched you up”—he thumbs down the hall—“but your boys here have looked after us very generously.” I frown and walk toward him. My boys? The guy nods once and heads toward where the murmur of voices drifts from, still talking about lunch and how his wife’s got a roast in the oven for dinner so not to overstuff myself. Hungry as I am, I couldn’t care less about eating right now. I sigh and follow where he went into a drab yet tidy living room and gestures to a sight for sore eyes. Hooch, a guy I remember being introduced as Murphy on a previous trip, and one of the other Forth Worth boys whose name I don’t know, play a game of poker using cards that’ve seen better days. On seeing me they all drop their hands to the table, revealing their cards, and stand. “He walks.” Hooch takes my hand in his and starts to pull me in for a clinch before he freezes and backs off, probably realizing the error that could have been if he’d slapped my back. “Good to see you up, man.” “Where are we?” I ask, leaning in close as the man of the house disappears into the adjoining kitchen. “Seems the club has new friends,” Murphy fills me in. “They came across you before we could get there. Your instructions on where to find you weren’t all that flash.” “I know.” “They used your phone to call the last dialed number”—Hooch—“and here we are.” With my eyes to the floor, I try to remember it, any of it. Nothing. “How long?” “Have you been out?” Hooch clarifies. I nod. “A couple of days.” Fuck. Elena. “What’s been happenin’ while I’ve been down?” My heart races as I wait on the next

words from any one of these three. Hooch glances at the nameless brother and gives him a tip of the chin before retreating to the chair he’d been in. “How about you pop out for a smoke break, Seamus?” The lack of food, the excessive bed rest, and the fear of the unknown slam into me all at once. I shake out my hands as a sheen of sweat pricks at every pore, and shift between my feet while Seamus exits the room, showing his prospect patch in the process. “What happened?” “There’s been meeting after fuckin’ meeting,” Hooch explains. “With Gunner and Twig out, Apex wanted an emergency vote to replace them, but Beefy put a stop to it.” I search out a seat and sit on the very edge of the cushion. “Why?” “Said he wasn’t fully convinced of Apex’s intentions behind the immediate appointment of two officers amidst crisis,” Murphy answers. “Layman’s terms?” “Sorry.” Murphy smiles and takes his seat opposite me. “In other words, Beefy thinks Apex would have had supporters voted in whether they suited the role or not. He thinks Apex was lookin’ to strengthen his backing, usin’ the situation to his own benefit by puttin’ men in place who’ll get behind whatever shit he’s got goin’ on in the future.” “Aren’t we all meant to support the old fuck, though?” I place an elbow on the arm of the chair and try to ease the ache in my side. “Why would he be worried about that?” “Look, people have been talkin’ while you’ve been laid up. We know that this infighting has somethin’ to do with you, brother.” Hooch twists in his seat, cards flicking between his hands as he shuffles them. “Can you tell us what we need to know?” I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands. My worst nightmare came to fruition; the club got pulled into my shit. People are confused and rightly so. But how much do I tell them? “Where were you headed when you rang me?” Hooch asks. “Kansas City.” “Why?” I groan and drag my hands over my beard before facing them both. “What have you heard?” “That you and Apex are at loggerheads about somethin’,” Murphy says. “Rumor has it, the whole thing’s about a girl.” Hooch snorts. “Ain’t it always about a girl?” The two morons high-five each other. “Yeah, it’s about a girl.” Murphy’s face falls flat. “Why should Apex give two shits about who you’re seein’?” I look to the carpet between us, tracing the faded paisley pattern with my eyes. “Because she’s Carlos’s wife.” Hooch chokes on nothing, beating his chest with a closed fist. Murphy just stares. “What?” “You heard me.” I’m not hot on repeating it. “How the fuck did that happen?” Hooch finally blurts out. “Why?” “Didn’t know at first, okay? We met, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about her, and then she dropped the bombshell on me.” “You’ve called it off though, right? Like, Carlos is just pissed about what’s been, you know?” Poor Hooch—he’s so damn hopeful. I shake my head at the guy. “Shit, King. You know how to complicate things, eh?” “Yeah, because I did the whole fuckin’ thing with the specific intention of messin’ everything up.” I

narrow my gaze on Hooch, ready to throw down if he pushes me any harder, fuck my injuries. I shift my gaze to Murphy and soften my expression. “Has anybody heard how she might be?” “Dude, we didn’t know about the woman, so how were we supposed to know we needed to keep our ears to the ground for you?” He has a point there. “Yeah, you’re right.” I absently pat down my jeans. “Where’s my phone?” “I’ll go grab it.” Murphy pushes up from his seat and leaves the room. Hooch lets out a heavy breath and shakes his head. “You know Apex blames this whole fucked up hit on you, right?” “Figured as much,” I murmur. “He’s probably been sportin’ a fuckin’ boner at the possibility of givin’ me the ass from the club over it, huh?” “He’s got tough competition in Beefy, man. A couple of the lifers have heard rumors that the other officers will veto any action Apex proposes to take against you.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. You might have fucked up, brother, but you’ve got some strong support in that chapter of yours.” “And yours?” I ask. “Where does Fort Worth stand in all of this?” Hooch grins, relaxing back into his seat. “You know how my old man feels about Apex.” “Yeah, he gave me some indication on that.” Certainly sounds interesting, what’s going down in my absence. “They expectin’ me back as soon as I’m up?” Hooch nods. “Beefy wants to talk to you about your ‘problem’.” His gaze tracks Murphy as he re-enters and sets my phone down on the small table beside my chair. “You got a plan?” I shake my head as I grab my phone and power it up. Thank fuck. The damn thing has twelve percent left on it. Just enough. I set it aside while it catches up on missed notifications. “I have a contact on Carlos’s side though. Figured I’d start there.” “That wise?” Hooch leans forward, elbows to his knees as he looks me over. “I need to know how she is.” I pick the phone up and clear the screen, scrolling through the contacts until I find the number I need. All eyes are on me as I tap the dial icon beside Sully’s name and lift the phone to my ear. “My head won’t be on right until I do.” Murphy and Hooch exchange glances while I listen to the rings. Our host pops his head around the doorway and indicates lunch is ready right as Sully’s phone clicks over to voicemail. I end the call without leaving a message and pocket the device as Seamus re-enters the room. “Why all three of you?” I ask, trying to push the frustration at getting no answer to the back of my mind. “Didn’t think I’d warrant this much protection.” “We’re not here for protection,” Hooch says dryly, gesturing for the other two to head through for the food. “We’re here to make sure you don’t take off.” I hesitate, my eyes narrowed on Hooch’s back as the he follows the other out of the room. “Thought you’d be on my side through all of this, man.” Here I was thinking he was doing me a solid, but the asshole was working on Apex’s behalf all along. Hooch hesitates, his eyes cast down as he looks over his shoulder. “I am on your side. That’s why I’m makin’ sure you do this right and don’t charge on in there, guns blazing, gettin’ your ass shot the hell up.” He spins around slowly, taking a step toward me. “You rang and said you needed help, so I turned up. No, I didn’t know what the problem was until now, but fuck, man, you rode for hours droppin’ your blood on the road from here to Texas. Take a stupid man not to realize it was somethin’ you weren’t keepin’ a level head about. You needed somebody to tug on your reins and slow you down, and me?” He thumbs his chest. “I’m the idiot crazy enough to try and pull this bronco in.” “I appreciate it, brother. I really do.” The whole situation has me as jumpy as a cricket in spring. One

comment, one misled thought and I was ready to throw years of friendship with Hooch out the window. “Come, eat. You need to get a bit of strength back if you’re gonna have to deal with Apex’s shit.” I follow Hooch through to the dining table, a hell of a lot more confused than I was when I first stepped in the room. The saying goes that sometimes less is more, and the deeper I go into this mess with the club, with Elena, the more I have to agree. Maybe I should step out before I get stuck at this meal and try Sully again? But what’s the point? His call history will show him who rang, and if he were in a position to, he would ring back. He could be busy. Maybe he’s with Carlos? There are a thousand reasons why Sully didn’t answer. Still, it does nothing to appease my worry. I take a seat at the table and half-heartedly listen to the guys make small talk with our hosts. The woman —Edith—works at an old folks’ home in Kansas City. They’d been on the way in to drop her off for her shift when she’d spotted my boots poking out from behind my bike on the side of the road and had asked her husband to pull over. “It really is great to see you up and about,” Edith says, passing me a plate of bite-sized pastries. “I was worried about you for a bit there.” The woman’s a paradox. Here she is, sitting in her country-themed kitchen, full of manners and being the perfect host, while talking with an outlaw she’s aided off the radar as though it’s no big deal. I take stock of her pressed pale blue shirt and sensible fawn slacks as she stands to retrieve the salt and pepper shakers from the counter. “We’re thankful for your help,” Hooch says, filling the silence and giving me a pointed glare. “Would have been a darn sight harder if you hadn’t stepped in.” “You look confused,” Edith’s husband says, rolling up the sleeves of his work shirt while he eyes me over the table. “Bet you’re wondering why people like us would risk the trouble to help you lot.” “Yeah,” I admit. “A little.” “I was young once, too, you know. Made a few mistakes of my own.” He lifts a placating hand. “Not that I’m saying you boys made any mistakes—each to their own—but priorities change as you get older.” He exchanges a look with Edith as she fidgets with her fork. “You can tell them, Lee,” she murmurs. “It’s okay.” Murphy and Hooch appear as lost as I am, hesitating with food halfway to their mouths as they look between our two hosts. Seamus continues chewing on his lunch while he stares off into nothing, clearly tuned out from what goes on around him. Edith’s husband—Lee—takes a deep breath and sets his lunch down, pushing the plate toward the center of the table. “Bought my first bike when I was fifteen. Saved the money working an after-school job at our neighbor’s farm for three and a half years. Thought I was the biggest, meanest, and baddest asshole in town. Had a chip on my shoulder a mile wide, and an attitude that would eventually get me almost killed.” “Were you patched to anyone?” Murphy asks. The question’s not hostile—he’s genuinely curious. “Devil’s Enforcers.” “Why did you leave?” I say. There isn’t a thing in his place that indicates he ever belonged to an MC. He’s buried his memories, which means whatever the reason for leaving was, it can’t be good. Edith answers for him. She rises from the table and pulls the hem of her shirt out of the waist of her slacks. Hooch clears his throat, and Murphy averts his gaze. Seamus stares at the wall and chews. I lock eyes with Edith as she bunches the fabric up to her ribs to reveal a mass of scars. “Buckshot.” I give her a respectful nod as she tucks her shirt back in and takes her seat again. “We were out on a club ride for a fundraiser when a few uninvited guests thought they’d join in and started causing trouble. Lee

was the Enforcer’s road captain at the time, and so he felt it was his responsibility to get them to leave.” “Take it they didn’t?” Hooch leans back in his chair, paying no mind to his food. “Nope.” Lee shakes his head. “A fight broke out while we were stopped somewhere for lunch. The old ladies were seated outside with the kids, close to the play area. We pushed the intruders back into the parking lot, but when they drew weapons and started toward the building again . . .” He scrubs a hand over his face, clearly trying to keep his composure. I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to say anymore, but he holds a hand up to quiet me and gives a quick tip of the head. “When they started back toward our group, the families were right in the middle of it.” He reaches out and finds Edith’s hand. “This woman is the bravest lady I know.” A lone tear escapes Edith’s eye as she smiles at Lee. Silence surrounds the table, but somehow it’s fitting—respectful. “Who caused the trouble?” Hooch quietly asks. “Blood Eagles.” Seamus finally stops chewing and looks at Lee. The remaining three of us look at one another, and Murphy huffs out a breath as he tosses both hands behind his head. “Of course.” “Anyway,” Lee says, “I know they’ve got a war on with you lot, which is why I agreed to help when I saw your patch. Any enemy of those fuckers is a friend of mine.” “I appreciate everything you’ve done,” I reiterate. Whatever the Aces have done to help these two out while they’ve cared for me, I hope it’s been generous. “We’ll leave this afternoon though and let you get back to normal.” Lee laughs and pulls his plate closer again. “Nothing’s normal any more, King. You know how it goes: once you’re a part of this life it has a funny way of finding it’s way back around to you, no matter where you go.”

THREE Elena Another dull crash resounds around the library as something heavy hits a distant wall. I close the book I’m trying to read; the third time re-starting the same paragraph kills the mood for me anyway. Carlos has been on a hair trigger for the last few days. Yesterday Sully had to disarm him before he shot the groundskeeper for leaving grass clippings amongst the stone path that leads through the gardens. Poor guy was out there on his hands and knees until well after dark, picking the blades out by hand. I’ve perfected the art of staying on the opposite side of the house from him. I figure if I’m going to be here a while, I may as well learn how to deal with such a volatile spouse. I made my bed, now I’m lying in it. I’m still confused after leaving King two weeks ago. He said to wait, that we deserve a better future together, but that kiss, his despair . . . he wasn’t hopeful. I spend most mornings in bed with the covers over my head while I wonder if it was all a lie. Perhaps he was giving me hope to try and let me down gently? I don’t know—I can’t figure him out. He’s not the happy, shy guy who stole my heart at a small café anymore. He’s . . . changing. Adapting to his surroundings maybe? Whatever it is, becoming a patched member has set a fire alight in him. It’s as though he has something to prove. But to who? “There you are.” I whip my head toward the doorway and release my breath at the sight of Carlos's bodyguard. How could I let myself get lost in my thoughts and be unprepared like that? What if it had been Carlos standing there now, not Sully? Stupid, Elena. Stupid. “Everything under control out there?” I ask. Sully smirks and steps inside the library, pushing the door closed softly behind him. “You know how he is—probably couldn’t get a staple out or something.” I smile at the visual—it takes a lot to make me actually laugh these days. “What’s up?” Sully sighs and crosses the room to sit on the arm of the seat opposite mine. His fingers twist one of the cufflinks on his sleeves to the point where I’m convinced he’s about to snap it in half. “I don’t want to reopen old wounds. I mean, you’ve only just come right.” This is right? I haven’t been right for a while. I’m not okay; I’m numb. “But?” “I missed a call from King.” The book in my lap hits the floor as I scoot forward. “And?” “I couldn’t answer—I was driving at the time . . . with him.” “So ring King back.” I wind my hand in circles, indicating he should hurry the hell up and pull his phone out. “Why are you waiting?” Sully’s dark eyes lift to find mine. “I thought you could do it.” My heart is as frantic as a hummingbird’s wing. I was so convinced I didn’t want to talk to him again, so angry, and so fed up with being hurt by Carlos for my betrayal that I destroyed the phone King gave me in a fit of rage the day after he left me behind. I feared it would be found and I’d pay the price. I’d regretted it immediately, but the funny thing with having nothing but time is I’d had all I needed to come to terms with my snap decision and volatile temper. I’d made peace with my stupid mistake . . . until now. I’d do anything to get that damn phone back and working.

“Gimme.” I wiggle my fingers at him. Sully grins and hands over his smartphone. I stare at the screen and roll my eyes. “It’s locked.” He takes it back and releases the screen, handing it over with King’s number poised and ready to go . . . at least, I assume it’s King’s. “Blue?” “Color of his balls, given your situation,” Sully says with a dead-straight face. “Couldn’t have his real name in there now, could I?” I stare at him a beat before bursting out in laughter. It feels good. “Nice.” He sits quietly while I stare at the phone, tapping the screen every so often when it dims so it doesn’t go to sleep again. “Nervous?” “I shouldn’t be, huh?” Sully shrugs. “Understandable. Would you like a moment alone?” The muted tones of Carlos’s shouting filter through the walls. “He’s going to be busy for a while?” “I’ll go keep watch.” Sully winks as he pushes up to stand. “Just . . . hear King out is all. I don’t know what he was ringing for, but I’m pretty sure it has to do with you,” he says dryly. I nod and settle back in my chair as he disappears through the door, leaving it unlatched. What do I say? King’s going to be expecting Sully to phone back, not me. What if for some reason he actually doesn’t want to talk with me? With two quick slaps to the chest to get my shit together, I tap the dial icon and wait out the rings on the other end. My knotted stomach is a living thing, trying to crawl out of my throat as I wait on him to answer. The ringing finally cuts out, and the voice I’ve missed more than I care to admit fills the void. “Hey, man. I hope I didn’t put you in an awkward situation by callin’.” “It’s me, King,” I whisper. The line goes quiet for an insanely long time. I pull the phone away from my ear to check he hasn’t hung up and see the timer clicking over as he finally speaks. “Elena?” “Last time I checked.” I laugh nervously and smack a closed fist on the side of my head for sounding so ridiculous. “Baby . . .” “Sully thought maybe you’d like to talk directly to me?” “God . . . yeah, I . . . I just . . . are you okay?” He rushes the question out as though he finally snaps to his senses. “As okay as can be expected.” My mood sours. My anger at him for leaving me here fights to take over any elation I feel for speaking with him after so long. “Elena, I’m so sorry. I should have taken you that day; I should have listened. Fuck it all, I shouldn’t have ignored my gut feelin’. I . . .” He pauses, seemingly trying to catch a breath given how his words have started to run together. “Why did you call? Has something happened?” His worry is infectious, and I raise a hand to my chest to will my breaths to even out. “Yeah. Things have blown up here big time. Look, I need to bring you home, and I need you to help me work out how.” Home. “When?” My heart races for an entirely different reason to before. This time tomorrow I could be out of here—gone, free. “As soon as I can. But, baby?” “What?”

“I have to do it without the club behind me.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Whether his club approves of us or not doesn’t worry me in the slightest, but I know what he alludes to—we’re outnumbered, underprepared. Carlos has every chance of ruining anything the two of us can achieve on our own. “Does he know?” King asks quietly. “Has he noticed?” “No.” I’ve been dressing in loose clothes, getting artistic with scarves, and avoiding Carlos like the plague. “I’ve kept out of his way pretty well these past weeks.” But for how much longer? How long until Carlos isn’t preoccupied with his work and starts paying more attention to me? I can’t be a ghost in this house forever. I turn my head at the sound of snapping fingers. “Better wrap it up,” Sully says. “Incoming.” “I have to go, but I’ll ring again, okay?” “I tried the number I gave you—” “Long story,” I explain. “I have to go.” “Elena?” “Yeah?” My eyes are glued to the door as Sully wiggles his fingers for the phone. “Love you, baby.” “I love you too.” For some reason, even after all of this. The words fall from my mouth effortlessly, spoken from the heart. Despite all the hurt, the pain, I know his mistakes come from a good place. He’s just trying to do right by everybody, and I still respect him for that at least. I just wish it wasn’t me who had to suffer while the masses reaped the reward of his loyalty. I hang up and toss the phone to Sully, who catches and pockets it. By the time Carlos appears at the door and eyeballs his bodyguard, I have the book open over my crossed legs again. The bulky hardback does a fine job of detracting from my stomach; its size covers the emerging bump with the thickness of the pages. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Carlos barks at Sully. “Mrs. Redmond was arranging a trip into town tomorrow,” Sully responds with a blank stare. “Did she fucking ask me if she could go anywhere?” Carlos storms past and slams the door in Sully’s face after he enters the room. “You need me?” I refrain from giving him a witty greeting, given his current mood. “I need you to sign this.” He lifts his hand to reveal a slip of paper I hadn’t noticed. “And you’re not going anywhere tomorrow. You need to shop? You order it online. You don’t leave this God damned property, got it?” “Got it.” Looks like we got away with that lie. He thrusts the paper at me. “Now sign.” “Why?” “Just fucking do it.” A vein pulses on his temple. I give him a onceover and notice the dark bags beneath his eyes. The usual tan glow of his skin has faded, and his hair has lost its shine. He’s working himself into the grave, and for that I’m not sorry. He belongs there. I sign the slip of paper, well aware he’s folded it so I have no idea what the document entails. There’s no point trying to straighten it out to see, or arguing with him. Whatever it was, it would have happened with or without my help—I’m sure my signature simply gives him the easy option. I recap the pen and hand both it and the paper across to Carlos. The gray of his irises flares as he snatches the items back and scours the document to check I’ve done my part sufficiently. With a grunt, he storms from the room, paper clenched in his fist so it concertinas like a fan. My skin

prickles with relief as he departs without so much as an inkling that he knows Sully and I lied. My conversation with King turns over in my head. A part of me holds on to the fear that Carlos won’t be so nice if he catches me trying to deceive him again. Given what I carry inside, it’s not worth the risk. But in the same vein, if he knows that I’m pregnant who’s to say he won’t kill me along with the unborn child? Who knows what his crazed mind would come up with as a suitable punishment? I have to try. I have to work out how I can get us out of here and live. Although, escaping is only the first part. What happens when I step outside the gates is a whole new problem.

FOUR King A prospect drags the gate open as I approach the clubhouse—seems the guys haven’t cleared the tracks out, as usual, and burnt the motor out again. I idle into the garage to find my spot is taken. What the hell? Fingers glances up from the oil change he’s halfway through and wipes his hands off on a rag as he heads over to where I’m astride my idling bike with my feet flat on the floor and a confused frown on my face. “Who’s is that?” I ask, pointing to the forest green machine. “New guy. Old guy. He’s sort of a bit of both.” Fingers stares at the bike for a moment before he steps closer to inspect the engine. Mind always on his work, that man. “Where the fuck do I park?” Fingers lifts a hand and gestures to the spots near the door that are first in, first served for the prospects. Fuck. I walk the bike back and slip it in beside a machine that looks as if it gets dragged around on its side half the time; huge scratches adorn the pipes and tank, and the outside of the footrest is worn to a rough edge. Fuck that. If the guy who owns it treats his own ride like that, I don’t fancy the chances of mine being left untouched. Fingers eyes me as I walk up to his work area and pick out two solid blocks from the stack by the end of the workbench. “What you doing?” “Fucked if the moron who owns that go-kart is going to knock mine over or gouge it up getting his out.” I weigh the foot of the stand down with one block, and use the other as a makeshift stand on the opposite side, effectively locking my bike upright. Fingers laughs as I complete the precautions with a heavy dust cloth over the paintwork. I brush my hands off on the way indoors, a huge grin on my face. Sorted. Now for the worst of it. Callum spots me first from his position on the sofa. He leans on one end of the seat, his leg propped up on a couple of cushions and an Easy Riders magazine in his hands. “Hey, shithead.” “Fuck you, too.” We both laugh. “How’s the leg?” I ask, tipping my chin to how he has it elevated. “Serious?” “Eh, not too bad.” He shrugs, placing the mag down on the floor. “Made a mess on exit though, so I’m on orders to keep it elevated when I can and to take it easy. Gloria’s worried about infection if I stress it too much.” Gloria. Bless her. “How were things here when everyone got back?” I motion for him to scoot his good leg out of the way and sit on the edge of the cushion. “Not sure on how it was initially. Got my ass dragged off to the fuckin’ vet for a couple of itchy extractions.” He winces at the memory. “All I can say is thank fuck I ain’t a dog. Those animal docs aren’t quite as gentle as your standard GP.” “Guess the patients don’t usually complain.” “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have either, but fuck me, man. I was seriously debatin’ tellin’ the old bitch to saw my leg off and be done with it.” I chuckle. “Can’t imagine you in a cage the rest of your life.” Callum nods. “Yeah, right. I’d have Fingers sort something out. Pretty sure it’s possible to ride with

one leg.” I glance around at the common room and the apparent lack of people besides us. “Where is everyone?” “Out. Working. Home.” Callum props himself up on both elbows and looks across the vast space at Apex’s office door. “Avoidin’ the dragon.” “Heard he ain’t happy.” “Wants your fuckin’ head on a platter.” I sigh. “Heard that too.” Callum scratches the stubble on his jaw. “He wants you out, but Beefy won’t let him.” I sink my head into my hands, my elbows propped on my knees. “It’s a fuckin’ mess, man.” “You’re tellin’ me. You got your patch a month ago or some shit and here you are fightin’ to stay in.” He narrows his gaze “You are stayin’? Right?” “Yeah.” I nod. “Tryin’ to. But fuck, man, I can’t let this go.” “That girl?” I look across at him and he shrugs. “Everyone knows it’s about a girl.” “She ain’t a girl.” She’s all woman, every last curve. “She’s a grown-up, brother, not some underage kid.” “Each to their own,” he says with a smirk. “Anywho, I think Beefy is out back on the deck as usual. Better try to get to him before Apex gets to you.” “Thanks.” He holds out his hand and I take it in a clinch. “You need anythin’ while I’m here?” “Nah, I’m all good.” He picks his reading material up and opens it again as he shakes out the pages. “Go sort your shit, and then get back here to explain to me what the fuck is goin’ on, yeah?” “Sure.” I chuckle. He’s acting like a miffed girlfriend, and rightly so. We were best buddies when we were both given our prospect titles, and during the last few months the distance between us has grown to the point where anybody who didn’t know us would think we were near strangers. One of the club’s property girls makes her way down the stairs as I cross the common room toward the back doors. She has Abbey tucked under her arm, the kid’s hand wrapped around the older woman’s waist. The property’s head lifts—her name elusive to me—as we cross paths. I’ve never really bothered my time with her kind—not on first-name basis with the lot of them, like some of the guys around here. She gives me a weak smile and steers Abbey away. “Everything okay?” Her mouth twitches at the side and she runs an exasperated hand through her long bleach-blonde hair. “Nothing a bit of down-time won’t fix, eh Abbey?” She gives our live-in street rat a squeeze. The girl’s dark hair parts, falling away from her face as she looks up to me. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. A crease on her chin gives away her determination not to cry again. “You sure it’s not more than that?” I ask the property. “We’ll be fine, King.” She strokes Abbey’s hair from her face and places a stiff, talon-tipped finger under her chin, forcing Abbey to look at her. “We don’t complain, do we?” What the fuck is this whore on about? We don’t complain. About what? I fix my gaze on Abbey as she pulls free of the property’s hold. “What happened, Abbey?” The attention, the grilling—it’s getting to her. She tugs on a lock of her hair and shrugs out of the woman’s grasp. The whore tries to wrangle her back. A hiss escapes the terrified girl as she backs towards the bar, boxed in and unable to escape. The kid’s almost as much animal as she is human. What the fuck happened to her to make her like this? “Abbey?” I ask again softly, body-blocking the bitch who scowls as she tries to grab a hold of Abbey’s

arm. “Corinne. What’s goin’ on?” Callum calls out from his spot on the sofa. Corinne. Knew I should know her name. “Nothing,” she singsongs back before mumbling under her breath as she lunges for Abbey. “Get over here, you little bitch.” I halt Corinne in her tracks with a stiff forearm across her chest. To both of our surprise, Abbey lunges for me and wraps her bony arms around my waist. Her feet leave the floor and she climbs me like a monkey, wriggling around my torso until she hangs on my back. My side burns, and pain shoots through me in two sharp spikes, but I ignore the inconvenience for the comfort it gives the kid. Corinne steps back, her arms crossed over her chest as Abbey and I make our way opposite to where I was initially headed and out to the garage. I’ve seen the little street rat on occasion hanging out with Fingers; it’s one of her safe places. The kid should be okay enough around him to tell me what the fuck happened back there. Yeah, I’ve got my own trouble to sort out, but there is no way in conscious hell I could see what was going down right in front of me and walk away, let alone turn a blind eye. It’s not in my nature. “Hey, Ratbag,” Fingers greets as Abbey slides from my back. “How’s my right-hand girl?” She looks between the two of us and then walks away to a pile of tools Fingers has on the worktop. We watch her in silence as she climbs up on the wooden workspace and begins the methodical task of putting the items away in their places on the shadow board. “She okay?” Fingers asks, still watching Abbey sort and house. “Nope. Somethin’ went down that Corinne was trying to brush off as nothin’. I don’t buy a bar of it.” “Don’t trust that bitch,” Fingers says with a scowl. “Leave the kid with me and I’ll get her to spill.” I give the guy a slap on the back. “Thanks, brother.” He has no family that I know of; Fingers permanently lives, sleeps, and eats in his workshop. But it doesn’t stop him being one hell of a guy when it comes to helping people in need. Fingers is like the father Abbey doesn’t have, and some days when I watch the pure happiness between them when she’s out here giving him a hand to fix things up, I wonder if he thinks of her the same way—as family. I find Beefy exactly where Callum said he would be, eating on the back deck in the waning afternoon sun. He doesn’t acknowledge me as I pull up a plastic chair and sit beside him. I wait on the guy to finish his mouthful before I speak. “Heard you’d like to talk to me.” He nods. “How serious are you about this woman?” “She’s carryin’ my kid.” “Never stopped a man from walkin’ before.” True that. “I’m serious, brother.” He stares off across the backyard as he wipes his lips on a paper napkin. “If I back you, I need to know that she’s it. I’m not about to put my position, the brotherhood of this club, and our reputation on the line if you’re goin’ to decide in six months’ time you’d like to be stickin’ your dick elsewhere.” “She’s it,” I reassure him. I look to my hands as I twist one of my rings around a finger. “Been thinking about makin’ it official once this is all sorted.” That grabs his full attention. “You goin’ to ask her to be your old lady?” He stares at me, waiting on the answer. I shake my head. “Nope. Marry me. Make us a proper family.” “You realize she’s already married, right?” he asks dryly. I nod again. “Doesn’t matter to me, man. I’ll do whatever it takes to annul that bullshit and set it right

with my name.” “She know?” “Haven’t had a chance to talk it through with her,” I deadpan. He smiles. “Right.” “You have an idea, then?” Beefy scratches his chest and clears his throat. “A few of us have managed to stall Apex bringing the table to vote on new officers.” I glance over my shoulder at the doors that lead inside. Beefy pats my shoulder. “You’re good. He’s gone out for a bit. Fuck knows where, actually. Wouldn’t say, as usual.” I let out a sigh of relief and turn back to the big guy. “I heard you’re worried he’ll vote in his own supporters so he’ll have bomb-proof backing.” “Yeah.” The chair creaks under Beefy’s weight as he leans back. “There are two positions vacant and three in situ. Four lifers who have the right to vote in crisis as well . . . if Apex decides to bring them in on it.” He laces his fingers over the swell of his stomach. “Of the three left at the table, you’ve got me and two others. One I have on side; he gave me his word he’d back me up. The other I’m unsure on. Don’t trust him, so haven’t spoken to him.” “And the lifers?” “Even split as well.” Fuck it. The votes could swing either way. “Who is Apex proposing to vote in?” “He hasn’t said.” Beefy checks the doors before leaning closer and continuing a little quieter. “But I get the feelin’ one is our impromptu visitor.” I grunt at the thought. “I saw his bike in my spot.” “That’s just Apex messin’ with your head. Ignore it.” “Who is it? Fingers said he’s a new guy/old guy. Makes no sense.” Beefy nods as he straightens up again. “He’s both, Fingers is right. Nomad. Been through the clubs like a roulette ball doin’ the rounds. Hence to say, not many people around here like the guy.” “Apex say why he invited him here?” Beefy stares at me, en eyebrow cocked. “What you think?” “He’s an Ace, though?” “For now.” I shake my head, confused. “Who the fuck would keep lettin’ him back in if he’s a hopper?” “Brick.” President of our Californian chapter. “Jesus.” “Even he won’t help this time,” Beefy says with a chuckle. “I’m puttin’ you up for Twig’s spot.” He drops the news as if it’s nothing. VP—after all the bullshit I’ve been caught up in? “You think you’d get the votes?” “I’m workin’ on your campaign strategy,” he sasses. “But yeah, I think if I get the right people whisperin’ in the right ears I might be able to sway the vote.” “Why would you do that?” Backing me is one thing, but to put me in a position of such power? “You’ve made mistakes,” he says. “You’re in love. But what have you actually done that’s a direct insult to this club?” He turns his head to stare me down, daring me to answer. “You let her go when we asked you to. You’ve put your life on the line for your brothers several times over now. You follow rules and procedure when there’s conflict. And even after all this shit, knowin’ that your pres guns for your head, you still walked in here intent on sortin’ it out.” He sighs and leans forward with a hand to his knee,

his elbow popped. “If the members can’t see that you’re a man of the club, then they best be checkin’ where their own priorities and loyalty lie.” I lean back to huff out a heavy breath between loose lips. “It’s a big ask.” Beefy grins, his eyes alight. “You gonna sit there and lie to me, tell me that you haven’t been thinkin’ about it?” I smile back at the smartass. “Yeah, you know I have.” One of the old ladies exits the laundry-room door a ways to our left, a basket of clothes on her hip. “Just been preoccupied is all.” “I bet.” He heaves a sigh and watches as the blonde wanders down to the clothesline to drop the basket to the ground. “There’s no easy way to get her back. You know that, right?” I nod absently as sheets get pegged to the line. “Well aware of that. Just wish I knew a way that made me comfortable about it, you know? A way that didn’t involve a fuckin’ unborn kid as collateral.” “Nobody’s safety is ever guaranteed when you mess with the kind of people we do.” “Yeah.” Twig and Gunner are heavy proof of that. “I can’t do it though; I can’t lose Elena and fuckin’ survive that. I can't lose our kid.” “Well,” Beefy states as he pushes on the arms of his chair and fails to stand, “best we be makin’ sure you don’t.” He attempts to get up again and succeeds. “Starting with voting you into a position where you get some say in how this fuckin’ circus is run.”

FIVE Elena “I’ve got friends coming over tonight and I’d appreciate if you could show your fucking face for a change.” Carlos sips at his after-lunch coffee, eyes glued to his phone while he sits at the far end of the dining table. “I don’t waste my money on you for you to be no use to me.” “Showing off your fake marriage is impressive to your ‘friends,’ is it?” His gaze drifts to meet mine, his finger poised over the smartphone’s screen. “You know, you keep being a smart cunt enough, I might grow to like it.” He grimaces and then lets go of a low growl in the back of his throat. “Feisty.” “Doubt that would ever happen,” I mutter under my breath before shoveling another piece of melon into my mouth. Maria enters the room and beelines across to Carlos. “Sénor. There is a delivery here for you. They require you sign for it.” He frowns at her, seemingly confused before the expression flattens and his stone-cold glower slowly turns to a pleased smile. “Well, that was quick. I’ll be right there.” Maria’s eyes flick across to me, and something akin to pity crosses her features before she dips her head and walks out of the room. My heart beats a little faster as Carlos turns his smarmy grin my way. What’s going on? “You might want to come see what it is, Elena. I think you’ll enjoy this.” Enjoy it? Hardly. He never does a single thing for me out of kindness or the desire to see me happy. Why would he think I’d enjoy this? Unless . . . “I think I’ll decline your invite. Thank you.” “It wasn’t a request.” He pushes his chair back and stands, his palms gliding over the fabric of his shirt. “Come.” I wipe my mouth with the crisp white napkin and then cross the room to where he waits for me at the door. “I’m not in the mood for games, Carlos. If you want me to play the part of doting wife tonight, then drop this.” My voice wavers despite the low resonance of my warning. “You think this is a game?” He reaches out and fingers the light scarf I have loosely tied around my neck. Thankfully he hasn’t questioned why I’ve started wearing them. Thankfully the autumn days have grown cooler as the seasons start to turn so I have a valid excuse to be wearing more layers. Thankfully our relationship isn’t a physical one . . . “Everything’s a game with you.” I turn away before he can carry on the debate, and storm across to where Maria stands on the top step, visible through the open front door. She turns as I approach and the fear on her face when she realizes it’s me, not Carlos, is damn near palpable. “What’s going on?” I stop beside her and take the hand she offers in mine. A small delivery truck is parked at the foot of the steps. A man in high-visibility work clothes waits beside it with his gloved hands tapping a rhythm on his thighs. “Elena . . .” Maria’s eyes dart from my face to behind me and across to the truck in an errant pattern.

“Brilliant!” Carlos claps his hands loudly over my shoulder, making me jump. “Maria, open the other door so he can get our delivery inside easier.” Maria gives my hand a squeeze before she darts over to unbolt and swing the second entrance door open wide. I return my gaze to the truck and note the writing on the side that marks it as property of the Kansas City International Airport. “I was hoping for this last week,” Carlos muses, taking the steps at an agonizingly slow pace, “but the connecting flight was delayed.” He huffs. “And then the paperwork.” My thoughts dart to the document he had me sign this morning as he rolls his eyes at the apparent inconvenience of it all. What the fuck did I sign for? I should ask what the hell he’s talking about, but I can’t bring myself to utter a single word. The flesh on my scalp prickles as the uniformed man disappears behind the truck and lifts a long control box off a hook. The whine of the small motor fills the air around us as the back lowers to make a platform for the guy to stand on. He steps onto the steel and reaches up to swing the rear doors open. Only his feet are visible as he climbs into the back. The motor whines again as the platform raises to level out with the bed of the truck. “I haven’t been this excited for a delivery since I bought my first new car off the showroom floor.” Carlos grins, his eyes glazed as he watches the show before us. The heavy breaths of the delivery guy as he drags something along the truck floor precede his feet reappearing. His boots make the gravel crunch as he drops back down, control box in hand. My heart is in my throat as I watch him lower the platform to the ground, the cargo slowly revealed as he does. A long box sits on a wooden tray, wrapped in what looks like industrial cling film—the sort they wrap new appliances with. Why does Carlos want me here for this? So he can show off his latest “toy”? Why did he need me to sign for it? Do I own it? “What is it?” I frown as the delivery guy walks toward us with the packing notes he’s pulled from the wrap. “I need the delivery documents also signed by the nominated next of kin,” the truck driver states, handing them over to Carlos. “I assume that’s you?” “Actually, it’s her,” Carlos sneers. Next of kin? I glance back at the long, rectangular box again and fight back the need to vomit as the driver hands me the papers. The country of origin for the consignment glares at me in bold black lettering. But she died months ago. Carlos told me she was buried by the state—that it was all taken care of. My hand shakes as I sign off on the delivery, my mind preoccupied with trying to work out a reasonable explanation that doesn’t involve Mama. I draw a blank. The driver takes the signed documents back and separates the different colored sheets to hand a pink copy back over. He hesitates as Carlos snatches it from me and reaches into his pocket to produce one of his gold-embossed business cards for the guy. “Pass this on to your head of department and get them to send through bank account details for yourself and anyone else involved in the delivery. I’ll ensure your families receive a bonus in time for Christmas.” He nods tightly at the wide-eyed guy. “Very generous of you, Mr. Redmond.” The middle-aged man takes the card and pockets it before he returns to the rear of the truck and closes it up. Does he care? Does he wonder what’s going on here? Or is he just happy to have a little extra for his family? Maria appears at my side as Sully and our groundskeeper pass by, heading down the stairs to where the box sits on the driveway. The truck driver helps them lift it off the tray, and the three men start the arduous task of getting it up the steps. I seek out Maria’s hand as they pass our position and entwine my fingers

with hers. She gives my hand a squeeze as the men reach the top step, and I glance up to find Carlos watching me over the top of the delivery. “Why?” If it were Mama in there, he wouldn’t have done it out of compassion for me. Oh no, this man only does something if he’s to benefit from it. Question is, what the hell could he benefit from by having Mama brought to the States for burial? “I take by that look you’re giving me you’ve figured it out, dear?” “It’s Mama’s remains, isn’t it?” He nods; the whites of his teeth show as a sly grin spreads. Sick. I’m going to be sick. “I haven’t worked out why, though.” I tilt my chin to this bully, this manipulator of emotion, and show my resolve not to let his games break me, despite the acidic unease that swirls in my gut. Maria rubs my arm with her free hand as Carlos approaches the two of us. “Come inside. We’ll have an ‘unboxing’, shall we?” Twisted fucker would probably film it for YouTube as well. “Lead the way.” The truck driver heads out of the house, narrowly avoiding a collision with Carlos’s shoulder as the two men cross paths in the doorway. The poor guy gives me a sorry once-over and nods tightly at Maria and I. His boots hammer a beat down the steps toward the waiting truck, only amplifying my own fear of what’s to come. The engine starts, and I take my first step over the threshold, still clutching Maria’s hand whilst I suck in a deep breath to steel myself for part two of Carlos's twisted game. I could cry and run to my room. I could scream at him until my face turned blue. But what good would any of that do? With or without me, Carlos will carry on with whatever fucked up thing he’s organized. The least I can do is be present for it and do my best to ensure Mama is treated with dignity. Sully steps back from the box as the groundskeeper—I still don’t know his name—produces a pocketknife and flicks the blade out. The plastic wrap makes a horrible screech as he walks around the circumference of the cargo, tearing the wrap from the box. He pops the two plastic straps with the knife, and then proceeds to lift the lid of the cardboard box. My eyes are glued to the blue stenciled letters on the side that spell out “extreme care”. Her coffin is simple. No embellishment, scrolling or fancy woodwork. It’s everything I would have expected out of Carlos: cheap, to the point, and functional. He stands in my peripheral and eyes me as the groundskeeper cuts the corners of the bottom half so that the box folds down to reveal the coffin fully. There’s no hiding my panic now; my chest rises and falls rapidly, and the sickness spins in my gut like an eddy of regrets. Why didn’t I swallow my pride and return to Cuba? Why did I try so hard to stay, thinking it was my only chance at a relaxed retirement for Mama? Why was I so naïve? Mama didn’t need some fancy house in a safe neighborhood. She didn’t need a bountiful feast every Sunday, cooked in a spacious kitchen. She needed love and appreciation. She needed to be told that she was amazing, that she meant so much more to me than words could ever convey. She needed her daughter by her side through the thick and thin, to hold her hand and tell her that no matter what, we had each other. That I appreciated every sacrifice she’d made for me to see me smile, to see me happy and healthy. We may have been poor in the eyes of strangers, but the truth was we were rich. We had the kind of wealth money couldn’t buy. I never took the time to see it that way until now—until it was too late. Maria’s arm snakes around my waist as the groundskeeper pockets his knife and leaves, pulling the front doors shut behind us. I’d love to think I’d be afforded a moment alone, a moment to grieve again and

talk to Mama. But what kind of paradise do I think I live in? It comes as no surprise then when Carlos dives on the twist locks at the top like a child told he has free range over the presents under the Christmas tree. Sully clears his throat and steps back, his hands clasped behind his back. A vein in his neck ticks as he watches Carlos strut around the coffin, my husband humming to himself as his fingers do their work. My rage also grows with each dull click until it burns inside my chest like a hellfire. I step out of Maria’s hold, worried she’ll wear the brunt of my anger if I don’t physically distance us. “Elena?” She takes a step toward me, one arm outstretched. “No.” I hold a hand up to halt her. Carlos clicks the last latch and moves his gaze between us, one eyebrow cocked. “Show time.” “No,” I repeat a little louder. Carlos’s fingers curl on the edge of the coffin lid, prepared to lift. I dash forward and slam my hands down over his as I yell, “No.” He shakes me off with venomous contempt. “This isn’t your show, whore. Back up.” “Leave it alone,” I warn. The promise in my growled words surprises me for the briefest of seconds before it brings me power. I can do this. He won’t win this time. “Maybe we should let—” “Stay out of it!” Carlos cuts Sully short. “See this house?” he says to me, as he circles his hand at the extravagantly decorated ceiling above us. I nod. “Mine. And this?” He slaps his hand on Mama’s coffin. “Mine too.” I beat his arm away from her and push him in the chest to make him stumble back. “The coffin might be yours,” I snarl, “but what’s inside isn’t.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, his jaw slack as he laughs heartily at me. “Really?” he manages to whoop out between breaths. “You think so?” “She’s my mama!” I screech, unleashing the frustration of months under his oppression via my flailing fists. Sully restrains my arms, gentle yet controlled. It’s as though he tries to hug and comfort me as much as pin me down. “It won’t help,” he murmurs close to my ear. “You won’t stop him.” His soft reminder does nothing to quell my resolve to stop this madness. “Leave her alone,” I plead with Carlos. “Don’t. Just don’t.” “Don’t what?” he taunts as he saunters to where he was beside Mama’s coffin. “Whatever you’re about to do.” It could be anything, but the one thing I’m certain of is that it’ll be bad. “Don’t’.” He shakes his head, snickering as he pries the edge of the lid from the base. “My house, Elena. My rules. My game.” Sully holds me as I collapse in his arms, sobbing as Carlos opens Mama’s coffin and slides the lid over the back. I want away from here. I want to be anywhere, in any time but now. I long for the innocence of childhood, of the lost memories of Mama and me, of safer, surer times. I want my mama back. I want her to hold me and tell me that this is only a nightmare. I want what I can’t have. A scream tears from my throat as Carlos produces a box cutter and reaches into the coffin. Sully’s strength is no match for my adrenalin-fueled force as I wrench from his hold. Carlos leans over the side of the wooden box, unperturbed by my hands that tug at his sleeves, and my nails that bite into his flesh. Tears blur my vision, but I can see enough to know without a shadow of a doubt it’s Mama’s stomach he

cuts into. “What are you doing?” My words are barely comprehensible as my vocal cords crack under the strain. “Stop it. Stop!” Maria cries. Sully shouts. And still my husband hacks into my mother without a singular care in the world. Or perhaps he does care? For himself, for what he’s doing to me. For the permanent scars that will invisibly brand me for life after this. One by one, he drops plastic-wrapped parcels to the floor with what I can only guess is cocaine inside. I vomit on the tiles at our feet, too taken by the moment to move away. Even so, I scream at him, begging and pleading for him to show mercy and stop. Package after package hits the tile with a dull slap. Blood stains the grout. The drugs pile up. Dizziness envelops me, but I do what I can to stave off the darkness. I refuse to black out and give up the fight. Flesh under my nails, fresh wounds to Carlos’s face . . . none of it matters. By the time the last wrapped parcel hits the floor, I’ve lost strength. My voice is hoarse as I repeat my whispered pleas over and over, crouched on the unrelenting tiles at Sully’s feet as he does his best to contain a situation he has no control over. Everything up until this point has been a walk in the park in comparison. No pain or torture Carlos could have inflicted before now—physical or emotional—would have prepared me for this. For the moment my mother became a drug mule, even in death.

SIX King There was a time when I would have followed that guy anywhere. As I watch Apex plant both boots on the garage floor and walk his bike backwards into the parking space, I rack my brain for when exactly it changed. When he made the phone call to Carlos? At the run with the dead kids? Or when Twig—rest his God damned soul—told me the fucker planned to turn the officers against me? Loyalty comes at a price, and it’s not that I never understood that until now, but I thought naively that the sacrifice would be worth the reward. A club is supposed to stand as a brotherhood. We’re supposed to be one force against the world. When did that change? When did infighting and backstabbing become an acceptable part of the grind? Who the fuck decided that it was totally and morally upright to use the backs of your brothers as stepping stools to the riches that hung out of reach in the hands of the corrupt? “Good to see you finally followed fuckin’ orders,” Apex snaps as he shakes a smoke out of his pack. He places it between his lips and inclines his head to light it as I answer. “Always fuckin’ done what you told me to. That’s the problem.” I step toward him with my arms folded over my chest. He pockets the cigarettes and holds out his left hand. “What?” With my thumbs hooked in the front pockets of my jeans, I widen my stance and lift my chin. “Hand it over then.” The fucker smirks. “You don’t want to do what I tell you to anymore, gimme your colors.” Harsh knuckles dig into my spine in a silent warning as Fingers comes to stand behind me. I relax the fist that now hangs at my side and release a hefty breath through my nose. Abbey backs into the shadows from where she’d been beside Fingers at the hoist. “What’s the plan then, Pres?” “Talk about it later.” He dismisses me with a grimace as he rubs a hand over his left shoulder. “First, something to fuckin’ eat.” Great. More time spent fucking around when I could be organizing how to get to Elena. “Ease off,” Fingers mutters as Apex crosses into the clubhouse with a slam of the internal door. “Kind of want to kill the asshole myself some days, but you need to suck it up. You want his help with your woman, you need to have him at least halfway on side.” I give him a curious glance. He chuckles, shaking his head. “You fuckers forget I’m in here half the time, walking through, talking your heads off like there ain’t nobody listenin’.” “He’ll never help me.” I jam my hands in my pockets, my shoulders hunched as we talk. “Never know. Stranger shit has happened.” “It’s about all that happens at the moment,” I grumble. “Strange fuckin’ shit.” Abbey slinks out of her hidey-hole and startles the fuck out of Fingers and I when she opens her mouth to speak the first words I think I’ve ever heard from the girl. “I got told about Twig.” Her voice is soft, yet husky—barely a whisper. “He was nice to me. I’ll miss him.” “Yeah,” I say. “He was one of the best.” I frown and push the images of him as he slumped over the side of his bike to the back of my mind. “Who told you?”

She turns away and melts back into the shadows beside the storage cabinets. He inclines his head, indicating we should walk out of earshot. “She opened up a little, while you were talkin’ with Beefy in there.” He nods toward the clubhouse as we round the front of the garage into the yard. “Said our guest got a little too handsy, takin’ things from her he thought was there to ’ave.” Abbey’s not a whore—never has been. The kid was given a roof over her head in exchange for somebody to do the “womanly duties,” as Apex put it. She cleans, she cooks at times, and she runs errands for the guys. She’s never been on the cards for sex. “Why the fuck was Corinne tryin’ to cover it up, then?” “Kid reckons the property wants to make her one of them. Rumor has it some of the girls are jealous of her ‘special privileges,’ so to speak.” He utters the last few words as though it’s some government conspiracy, his eyes darting in all directions. “What the fuck they mean by that? The kid’s just that—a kid. What the hell do they expect?” “She’s been on her rag for a few years now—makes her more than qualified in some of their eyes.” “Sick bitches,” I mumble, pacing back to the open roller door to check Abbey’s still out of earshot. She sits on the workbench and cleans the grease out of a bearing case with a rag. Her dark, ratty hair falls over her face, covering her bony collarbones, and falls about her small chest. She’s stunted from too many years without proper food and looks more like a small child than the budding teenager she is. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Fingers says. “She’s handy with those small hands; she can get the fiddly bits my fat digits struggle with. Plus, she still got all ten of hers.” He holds up his right hand with the ring and little finger missing. Hazard of a previous job. I chuckle and clap a hand to his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Fingers. Let me know if that Corinne bitch decides to harass Abbey again, yeah?” “Sure thing.” Abbey places new bearings into the cleaned out case when we re-enter the garage. She wipes the back of her hand under her nose and regards the two of us before she gets back at it. I leave Fingers to sort out the new grease for her and head indoors to find what sort of fucking mess the place is in now Apex’s back from his trip out. Pres stands at the bar with our guest—obvious from not only his nomad patch, but the fact he’s the only face I don’t recognize. The redhead’s as wide as he is tall, but he isn’t fat. Quite the opposite. Wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley . . . “Private conversation,” Apex hisses at me as I lean on the counter, ready for a stiff drink. I stare straight ahead at the short fridges filled with chilled bottles and answer, “Public bar.” “What don’t you get?” Apex snarls. “You’re not welcome. Fuck off.” I take the Jack and Coke handed over by the prospect doing the drinks and turn side-on to face the two men. “You got an office.” I tip my bottle toward the open door. “If the conversation’s private, why don’t you use it?” Being sober still has its advantages; I dodge the right hook Apex swings before the old bastard has time to think through what he’s doing. Rule number four on the charter: A brother may not fight another brother without the SAA bearing witness to ensure an even and fair fight. His face is red with rage as he advances on me, forcing me to retreat into a barstool. It clatters to the floor as our prospect behind the bar lets out an ear-piercing whistle. Beefy arrives from outside as Apex pulls his arm back for another swing. “What the fuck is goin’ on here?” “Little shit thinks he can fuckin’ talk back to his senior,” Apex spits, his fist still raised. “Needs to be

taught his place.” “And you need to act the fuckin’ role model you are,” Beefy growls as he wraps his fist over Apex’s. He turns his attention on our guest. “And you, Grime. What the fuck were you doin’? Standin’ around with your fuckin’ thumb up your ass?” “Not my business,” the guy grumbles as he turns back to the bar and takes a healthy swig of his beer. “Like fuck it ain’t.” Apex still fumes, the heat damn near visible as it pours off him. He begrudgingly allows Beefy to push him back and onto a bar stool. I do as instructed when our sergeant at arms points a thick finger to the discarded stool I tripped over, and pick it up to sit on it. The prospect hands Beefy a drink, and he takes the last available stool between us, leaving Grime to mumble his complaints as he wanders over to the pool table, out of earshot. “You two,” Beefy starts. “You can both sort this shit out with damn words. We’re grown men here. We’re fuckin’ civilized. Aren’t we?” Neither Apex nor I speak. We stare each other down with a mix of hatred and frustration. “Aren’t we?” Beefy booms. “Yeah,” the two of us mumble. “Pres, it’s your right as the senior member to go first. What’s the real issue?” Beefy crosses his arms over his massive chest, challenging Apex with his stare. “Fucker is tryin’ to rip the club apart. This little cunt wants my job, and it ain’t happenin’.” No disputes there. Although I’m not intent on pulling the Aces apart; if anything, I want to knit it closer together. “Rebuttal?” Beefy asks. “I’m not tryin’ to tear the club apart. I just think the leadership doesn’t have the members’ best interests at heart.” “That so?” Apex flares up. “See these gray hairs?” He jabs an angry finger to his temple. “Don’t get those from relaxing on my fuckin’ easy-boy and chuggin’ beers every day.” “No,” I bite back. “You get them from the stress double-crossin’ your brothers gives.” “Say what?” “You fuckin’ heard me.” Beefy slams a hand to each of our chests. “Quit it.” He hangs his head briefly and sighs. “We’ve already been through this, King.” “Yeah, and I don’t think it’s resolved.” Beefy eyes Apex. “You got anythin’ to share?” He narrows his gaze on our leader. “Now’s the time to confess if you do. We go to vote, and you’re found to have secrets that don’t benefit the club, you’re tying your own noose.” “Don’t you fuckin’ worry about me,” Apex growls as he pushes off his stool to point an accusatory finger my way. “Just you watch this fuckin’ snake. He’ll bloody strike when you least expect it, and then you bitches will be whinin’ at me that I was right.” If only he knew. Nobody’s going to be whining at him; they’ll all cheer him out the door. “A guilty conscience never goes away,” I mutter as I turn to grab my neglected drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Apex strains against the hand Beefy has pressed in the center of his chest. “It means”—I take a swig and swallow the bitter drink down—“that it doesn’t matter what you do to try and clear your name. If you’ve done this club wrong, nobody will ever let you forget it.” He rips Beefy’s hand away from his chest and stands close enough that I can feel the heat radiate off his

body. “That goes both ways, you disrespectful little fuck.” “It would, if I’d actually done the club wrong.” Apex’s fist connects with the bottle in my grasp. It smashes on the floor to my left. I heave a sigh and stand. This shit’s not getting anybody anywhere. I can argue with our president all I like under the pretenses of a “fair debate,” but truth is nothing I say will change his stance. He thinks all of this is some elaborate plot to overthrow him. Yeah, that’s happening too, but it’s not why I’m here. “I’ll be at home if anyone needs me.” I look directly at Beefy and shrug. “Pushin’ shit uphill here, brother.” He nods his assent and tips his head toward the garage, indicting I’m free to go. Apex eyes with me with utter disgust as I turn away from the mess—literally and figuratively—and take my leave. I came back here with the thought I could get a handle on what’s happening now Twig and Gunner are gone, and I guess I did, but the lead weight in my chest as I step down into the garage reminds me that things are far from over, let alone underway. We need to sort out our club before I can expect any help with Elena, which brings me back full circle to doing it alone. How the fuck do I even stand a chance? I can’t go out and organize anything without being accused of taking club business into my own hands and getting shafted. No, Elena’s not club business, but Carlos sure as fuck is . . . especially after what went down. Fuck. Twig’s family. I clean forgot to ask anybody how they’re holding up or when the funeral is. Fingers and Abbey are nowhere to be seen as I remove the precautions I’d placed around my bike and return them to their respective places. The green machine belonging to that Grime fucker still sits in my space. Suitable name. Can’t imagine what else you’d call a man who club-hops to suit his needs. It still sits unwell with me that the guy’s even here. I pull out of the garage, at war with my emotions as I take to the open road. Life sure as shit has thrown curveballs of late, and I’m left the only man to bat, hitting at the wayward fuckers with a split stick of wood. As I stop off mid-journey to pick up a few things for a woman who needs all the support she can get, it dawns on me how much like my parents I’ve become, carelessly sacrificing my own health and happiness in the name of ensuring those two things are a priority for the people around me. Let’s just hope it pays off and the reward comes full circle.

SEVEN Elena Grief is worse than morning sickness. It’s worse than the most extreme gastro bug I’ve ever had. To be honest, I’m not totally sure if it’s just grief, or some concoction of the former with a nasty helping of shock on the side. My stomach is on a never-ending cycle of cramp, followed by nausea, and then expelling its contents. I’m drained emotionally, physically, and every way between. Maria had cried as Carlos pointed to the stack of drugs my mother’s body brought in for him and instructed her to clean the blood and gore off the plastic wrap. Tears dripped from her chin as she looked across to me with apologetic eyes before Carlos slapped her for “wasting time,” as he’d put it. Wasting time how? What rush could he possibly be in when I’m certain he has one hundred times that amount stashed away around the state? Turned out his rush was to “clean the filth from my house.” The blood, the drugs, the packaging, and my mother. At least, what used to be Mama. Not again. I swallow back the bile at the memory and stare at my clenched hands as Sully stands silently by my side. I’m seated on the kitchen counter, my legs swinging over the side as the staff cook prepares dinner. Sully picked me up after Maria left with two buckets filled with the packages, and carried me through to the galley. He probably knew as well as I did that had I returned to my bedroom, Carlos would have gladly disturbed my peace to mock and berate me. But here . . . he’s never set foot inside the servants’ area, or so I’m told. “Do you think Maria’s okay?” I ask quietly. Sully shifts on his feet, his lower back pressed against the edge of the counter as he stands with his arms crossed. “Don’t know.” “You should go find her,” I urge. “I’ll be okay.” He shakes his head. “If I show up, any strength she has will vanish. She needs to suffer through it alone to get it done and keep that asshole happy, and then I can comfort her, let her break.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and ducks his head. “Fuck. If I held her now, I’d never let go.” “You love her?” “Of course,” he grumbles. I lift my head and smile weakly before resuming my Mexican standoff with the floor. “What did King say this morning?” Sully turns side-on to pay full attention as I pick at my nails. “That he wants me ‘home.’ He needs me, or us I guess, to help figure out how I can leave.” “Simple,” Sully says. “I drive you out the gates and drop you off.” “And then what?” I ask. “What happens to you when you return?” “Who said I’ll return?” I stare at the guy, incredulous. He’d leave to help me? “Where would you go? Carlos would find you.” “Would he?” Sully smiles. “My background is a little better suited to knowing how to drop off the grid than his is.” Hope blooms. Could it really be that simple? Just getting in the car and going? “It can’t be so easy.” “Of course not. He’s got trackers on his cars, phones, and access to personal information on all of his staff. Even after all that is destroyed or corrupted, he might not find me or you, but he’d sure make life

hell until he did.” I already knew all of that, so why did I let myself get so excited about taking such an easy way out? Because fighting only brings more pain. Carlos took retaliation to an all new level with Mama. If he could do that, then what else is he capable of? “Besides,” Sully muses, “there are the cameras. If he noticed you leave without pass, there’d go your head start.” He stares off into nothing as the cook bangs and crashes around in the search for the right pot. “We’ll sort it out.” Sully bumps his knuckles into my leg in a friendly gesture. Our attention is dragged to the door as a pale and panting Maria steps through. I slip off the bench and rush over to throw my arms around her. She sobs into my shoulder, her hands fisting in the back of my shirt. Her tears call to mine, and before long we’re a crying, wailing mess sinking to the floor in each other’s embrace. “Elena . . . I . . .” “Shhh.” I shake my head on her shoulder. “None of it is your fault. I’m angry he made you a part of it.” Sully squats beside the two of us and strokes Maria’s hair as she sobs anew. The cook goes on about her business as if our spectacle is nothing new. Perhaps it’s not? Time passes, minutes, maybe hours, before either Maria or I attempt to let go. Her crying is a mere sniffle, and I’m sure my eyes are as red and puffy as hers. Sully helps her to stand, and as I lean on one hand, I take some comfort in seeing the adoration he has for her. He wipes her cheeks with his thumbs and places a gentle kiss to her lips. “I won’t let that happen again,” he promises. “I’ll get us away from here.” The comparison, the similarity, and the creeping sense of déjà vu are too much. I stand abruptly and inadvertently pull both of their attentions toward me. “Elena?” Maria turns to console me, but I back away. “No. I need to be alone.” Her exasperated sigh is audible behind me as I bolt from the galley and run toward my room. I miss King. I need King. My world is a waking nightmare, and I need his love to ground me and balance the hate that swirls through my soul. I hate Carlos. I hate what he’s done. And I hate myself for not being stronger to stop it. But even more, I hate the fact that I see us, King and I, in the way Sully comforted Maria. I’m jealous that she’ll probably have a happy ending with the man who loves her when I don’t think that kind of future will ever be a real option for me. “Why the hurry?” I skid to a halt at the base of the stairs and fight back the gag that clogs my throat when I see the pinkish stain left behind on the tiles by the quick cleanup job. “Let me be, please.” “Where’s the fun in that?” Carlos muses. I spin around, using the banister to hold myself upright. The sight of him alone is enough to have me fighting the desire to crumple into a dry-retching heap. “Why?” “Jesus, Elena. You think I’d let that bitch get one over on me by dying without giving me anything of use?” “You have me,” I counter pathetically. “Is that not enough?” “I said anything of use.” He waves a dismissive hand my way and bends at the waist to inspect the stain. I could kick him in the face at this distance. “Do you have a heart?” I murmur. He chuckles and straightens out to pin me with those stormy gray-blue irises. “I think I used to, but then again, it’s been a while since I truly cared about anything to remember how it feels, so I may be mistaken.”

“Does it make you feel good? Hurting people for your sick amusement?” He shakes his head, jamming both hands in his pockets. “You misunderstand. I don’t do it because I like to hurt you. It’s not satisfying or fun, harming people in my life. It’s simply therapeutic.” I cock an eyebrow at him, wondering how in the hell that’s supposed to make me feel any better about his disposition. “It’s still not okay.” “No, it’s not.” He slams a closed fist to his chest. “But if my heart is this black and rotted, then why the fuck shouldn’t everyone else have to feel the same way?” “You’re deflecting,” I whisper. He nods. “Although it doesn’t seem to make the ache any lesser. It does, however, make it more bearable.” Carlos absently picks at a seam on his pant leg, frowning at whatever courses through his mind. He’s crazy. There’s no other way to explain it. He thinks by making everyone around him suffer it somehow averages out his world so that his own pain doesn’t appear so bad. What the fuck has he got to hurt about? “I still don’t understand one thing, though,” I say. “May as well ask me now,” he sneers, “since we’re having such a civil conversation for a change.” I adjust the skewed scarf over my neck and ensure I stay front-on to him so any swell isn’t obvious. “What pain do you have to endure? You live in luxury, you rule with fear, and you get what you want when you want because you can pay for it to be that way. None of this looks like suffering to me.” He surprises me by tugging up the legs of his suit pants and taking a seat on the second to last step. “The day I graduated as a police officer was the first real defining moment in my life.” He stares off at the closed front doors. “I wanted to be the good guy from as young as I can remember. I had this toy gun—you know the ones, made to look like a cowboy’s pistol with the wood handle and all.” He looks to me for understanding, so I nod. “I ran around the house and shot the imaginary bad guys with it, protected my parents and our two cats from harm. Thought I was the hero.” What do I say? This man whom I’d love to watch bleed out before me opens up such an intimate side of him, and yet I can’t find it in me to feel any compassion toward the guy. I am, however, curious. “What changed?” “The bad guys became real.” “You’re one of them.” He clears his throat and stands. “Yes, I am. As they say, if you can’t beat them, join them.” Silence hangs thick, as does the next question. Asking him could spin this new side of his coin back over to angry and place me in harm’s way. But I need to know. “May I ask a personal question?” He nods, apparently frustrated enough already to accept. I swallow back the hesitancy and plunder straight in. “You said you loved your first wife before you shot her.” His face pales. “So why shoot her?” Carlos runs a hand over the flattened hair at the back of his head as he answers, “I only wanted to scare her.” “It was an accident?” I never would have picked that. “I was high. I was angry and jealous. I thought she was going to leave me.” “So you shot her?” I ask incredulously. I can’t hide the disbelief in my tone, the confusion. Hell of a way to put the frights up someone. He sighs and paces to the far side of the entrance, his back to me for a while as he lets the silence hang between us. I pick up on every physical cue, every little nuance of his that he’s agitated. Good. For once, I have the man feeling uneasy, rather than the other way around. “I wanted to hurt her bad enough she’d need me to care for her, that she’d need me to be her hero and

save her from death. But she moved.” He hangs his head briefly. “She moved, I think to try and protect our son—so I wouldn’t know he was there.” My disgust at the man eases a little. The monster has a heart after all—he’s just forgotten where he put it. “Your son saw?” I murmur. He nods before spinning to face me with such speed that I lose my breath. “Enough chit-chat, precious.” His eyes are the color of the clouds before thunder. “Run on before I decide I need to remind myself why being the bad guy is so much better.”

EIGHT King Apprehension tickles my palms as I stare down at my full hands. My boots scuff on the concrete step. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I’ve been out of play for several days; I’ve got no idea how she’ll take me just turning up like this, what the consequence will be. The lock rattles on the far side of the door, and I stop shuffling my feet. Hinges creak as she opens up slowly to reveal a huge smile on her otherwise sad face. “King . . .” “Hey, Shanaya.” Twig’s old lady steps back from the door, one of their girls attached to her hip, and ushers me in. “When I heard you were hurt too—” “It doesn’t matter.” I set the bags of groceries down on the floor and nod toward them. “Just a few things to help out.” She clucks her tongue as she fights tears. “He always spoke so highly of you.” Her chest heaves as she drags in a breath. “And I always agreed with him. You’re a good man.” If only she knew. I ignore the lump that forms in my throat and focus on the golden-haired girl at my side as I step into the living room. “Hi, King,” she says, whisper-soft. Big eyes look up at me while I stroke her hair back. “Hey, baby girl.” “Have you seen my daddy today?” I whip my gaze to Shanaya and plead silently for help. She offers me a sad smile and beckons to her daughter. “How about I set you girls up on my bed with a movie? You can pick one each.” The children sprint down the hallway, squealing about which Disney movie they’re going to select and who gets to play theirs first. Nervous minutes pass where I wander aimlessly around the small room waiting on Shanaya to return. I pick up on all the subtle reminders of Twig: a belt buckle left beside a new leather strap on the lamp table, photos of happier times in a frame by the door, and the TV remote still perched on the arm of his chair. His spare boots are tucked beside the front door, and his riding jacket still hangs on the hook behind it. Kind of reminds me of the awkward stretch after Garrett died when Mom wouldn’t shift any of his things that still lay about. I can’t imagine the pain that comes with physically removing the last pieces of a part of your life like that. I don’t think anyone would think any less of Shanaya if she simply let them be for a while longer. She returns once the girls are settled and quietly comes to a stop beside me at the window. “They don’t understand. At least, I think they do, but they don’t want to allow themselves to believe it.” “They’re young, so it must be hard to comprehend.” She shakes her head. “They know death, King. We’ve lost pets and had to bury them. They know what ‘never coming back’ means. Hell, they learnt that when their biological father was 'taken care of'. They just innocently believed that their real dad—Twig—was invincible, that the rules didn’t apply to him.” I draw a deep breath and search for the right words. There are none. Sometimes a spoken sentiment will do nothing but lessen the importance of a moment, only trivializing the wealth of emotion that

surrounds something as tragic as the loss of a loved one. Nothing I can say will ever set this right. No reasoning will ever do the hurt justice. “Beefy came to see me—he was the one who broke the news.” I place an arm around her shoulders and pull her in. “I knew it was bad, King. I knew it couldn’t be good because Beefy’s never left the club in the time I’ve known him except to get more food.” She snorts a laugh and then falls quiet with a sigh. “I’m sorry it wasn’t me who told you, Shay. I should have come straight over.” She shakes her head against the side of my chest. “No, don’t be silly. You had issues of your own to sort out.” I glance down at her, wondering just how far the rumors about a mystery girl and me have spread. “How are the wounds?” Shanaya steps out of my hold and heads toward the kitchen while she continues to talk. “If you need any painkillers, just let me know. Coffee? Beer?” The distant sound of the fridge door opening and the muted tones that drift down the hall from the kids’ movie break the otherwise peaceful afternoon. The sun peeks through the clouds and illuminates a patch on the driveway out front . . . the same spot where Twig would always park his bike. I smile up at the clouds, certain he’s watching over his family, wherever he is. “Did you want a drink?” Shanaya’s question startles me out of my reminiscent state. I turn my head and take her in as she peers around the doorway, her hand braced on the frame and her cheek rested against the wood. Aside from the tiredness in her eyes, there’s no trace that this woman has just been put through hell. “I’m good, thanks. I’ll hit the road again soon. Just wanted to check in.” She nods and turns away, disappearing across the hall once more. The club will take care of her; she’s one of our own. Most likely she’s already had the other old ladies stop by in rotation to see if she needs anything. And knowing what I do about her, she’ll turn them all away with pride in her voice and say she can do it alone. I cross the hallway to let her know I’m heading out and hesitate when I hear the quiet sniffles drift out from the kitchen. Shanaya sits with her back to the door, the decorative slashes in her T-shirt exposing the large, colorful back piece Twig bought her for Christmas. Her shoulders are hunched, and she clutches a hand to her mouth as she quietly sobs. I should say something. I should also leave her in peace. If she wanted my comfort she wouldn’t have hidden herself away. But that’s just it, isn’t it? The people who are the most broken are usually the best at hiding it for fear they’ll upset the people around them. She’s trying to be strong all the time, but everybody needs to fall apart a little every now and then. It’s what makes us human—the ability to be brave enough to show our weaknesses. And yet human nature is also to fight it, to pretend we’re unaffected by tragedy and heartache. “Would you like me to stay a while longer and watch the girls?” Things at the club aren’t exactly rocketing along for me to get to Elena any time soon, and I haven’t heard back from Sully or her with information on how we can pull this off, either. I’ve got a little time. Shanaya’s head whips around, and she wipes madly at the moisture beneath her eyes as she lets out a lifeless laugh. “I’m sorry, I just needed a moment.” “No need to apologize.” She sighs and slips off the stool, walking across to fuss with the utensils beside the cooktop. “I was supposed to have what I wanted on his headstone to the funeral home by this afternoon, but I can’t sum him up in a few words.” “Then don’t.” I take her vacated seat and lean both elbows on the island. “Make the message one to

him, instead of to the world. Don’t tell whoever is reading the epitaph about him—tell us what you would say to him if you were given one last chance.” She stares at me a beat, and then nods as she blinks rapidly. “I can do that.” I watch as Shanaya whips around the room to gather up a pen and paper, and scribbles down a few frantic lines. She chews on the end of the ballpoint, scratches out words, and draws lines to reorder the sentences before she re-writes the final message and passes it over. My chest tightens at the honor of being shown the words poured from her heart, at the sentiment behind them. She watches with her bottom lip pinched between her teeth while I bow my head and begin to read. You told me after every dark night comes a dawn, But without your light I’ll forever stand in the shadows. Her honest words slice straight through me. None of this is fair. Before me stands a woman, a mother, who’s lost her soul mate for something as fucking trivial as a turf war. All the Eagles want is our territory, and in the process they’ve taken a man from his family, torn the lives of the innocent apart. Nothing can justify that loss. Fuck pride, fuck loyalty, and fuck bragging rights—this bullshit has to stop. I slip the paper back over before my rage gets the better of me and I crumple it in my fist. “It’s beautiful, Shay.” She nods, her eyes glassy as tears drop from her jaw to the faded cotton of her shirt. “Thank you.” With my arms outstretched, I usher her in for a hug. She wraps herself about me and buries her head under my chin. “You need anything, no matter what time of day it is, you just call. Got it?” She nods while her tears wet the front of my shirt. “I mean it. Even if it’s two in the morning and the kids wake up with a nightmare that you can’t handle, you call. You might be in the shadows, but the sun still shines.”

NINE Elena The water is warm as I glide on my back, my arms circling every so often to keep me afloat in the pool while I look for patterns in the clouds. The weightlessness is heaven on my increasingly sore feet; who would have thought an extra pound or two could cause so much discomfort. The pamphlets the doc left me have been my saving grace, teaching me all the nuances about pregnancy I didn’t know. I don’t dare use the Internet for fear Carlos will see my browsing history. That’s one conversation I’ll never be ready to have. “Elena.” I roll my head to the left. Water blocks my ear and makes my hearing cloudy as Sully comes to a stop beside the pool. “Thought you’d like to know I’m taking the tyrant out for a while.” “Thank you.” I drop my legs and tread water until I float across to the shallower end. “How long do you think?” “Destination is forty minutes away, so you’ll probably have an hour and a half at minimum.” Just the thought of being able to walk through the house without the need to keep on alert for Carlos is enough to have my muscles relaxing. Living in a state of constant fear does a number on my joints, that’s for sure. Sully holds out a towel as I take the curved steps in the corner of the pool. I wrap it around myself, and then reach for my sunhat and book. “Use the time to pack what you want to take with you,” he says. “I have a plan.” His eyes are sincere; the slight frown on his forehead gives away his concern at the idea. “When?” “Tonight.” “How?” I roam my gaze over the house, across the large windows. Regardless, we’re on camera so I can’t let this conversation last too long without it looking suspicious. “Follow me and talk.” I head for the house and leave wet prints on the bricks as I go. “I’ve mapped the blind spots for the cameras. You can get out of the house undetected if you go down to the north wing.” My skin chills despite the sun that’s emerged from behind the clouds. “That’s off-limits. It’s his exwife’s part of the house.” “I know. But it’s your only way out without being picked up.” “Why can’t we pretend we’re going shopping or something?” Sully holds the door shut that leads inside and leans an arm over my shoulder to press against the frame. “If I can get you out and claim ignorance, I can stick around a little longer and see what he does once he realizes you’re gone. If we all go at once, we’re vulnerable, we won’t know what he’s doing to track you down.” “What do you mean ‘all go?’ Are you taking Maria away from here too?” He nods, eyeing the house and then the camera over our heads that points out to the courtyard. I realize we’re standing in one of the blind spots, being so close to the door. “I’ve got an idea for us, but I’m more concerned with getting you and your precious cargo out first.”

“Why, Sully?” I love that he’s doing this for me, but why risk so much? I haven’t known him long. “Because the things he does to you, the things he does to mess with Maria, nobody should be able to get away with that.” Sully closes his eyes briefly. “We need to keep walking, otherwise the lag between cameras will be noticeable.” He opens the door, ushering me through first, and then breaks in the opposite direction to me. “Ten p.m. Be in your room. Maria will come get you.” I make my way up the lonely halls to my bedroom to change; the realization that this is it sends a thrill buzzing through my limbs. My toes tingle as I lift my feet and kick my bikini bottoms off in my bathroom, turning the shower on to wash the chlorine off my skin. Hours, mere hours to go and I’ll see King. The fear of what I hide being discovered will be redundant and I can get through the rest of the pregnancy focusing on what’s important: what’s inside my swollen belly. I stand under the jet of war water and let my hands roam the curves of my stomach. Who are you? A boy? A girl? What will he or she be like? Who will my child become? And when this is all over, will he or she ever know what I went through to protect my baby and give him or her a chance at a good life? The challenges are plenty, and I’m not stupid. Getting away is the easy part. Life will never truly be free as long as Carlos is alive; he’ll always chase us, be that looming shadow over everything we do. The only thing that’ll bring me peace is the day he dies, the day he ceases to be a threat. So why should I wait? Soap runs from my toes as I freeze in place, turning the thought over in my mind. Why wait for the day he meets his maker? Why does it have to be somebody else who delivers the final blow? Because I’m certain with the life he leads it’ll be death by another’s hand, not natural causes. Could I do it? Could I be a murderer to ensure the safety of this little one? My gaze drifts to my belly. The water runs off the tip of my nose in a stream as I let the nausea swirl at the realization. I’m contemplating killing Carlos. A week ago, I would have tried without hesitation. I would have dried off from the shower and headed straight downstairs to find myself a gun. But now? I hate that what he told me about his wife, his son, has even had an effect on me. But it did. He showed me that underneath all the hate, the viciousness, and the psychopathic tendencies, he’s human. However small, the coldest of hearts always has a chance at redemption. Dressed and ready for dinner, I settle in the seat beside my window and watch as a black town car makes its way slowly around the arc of the driveway. With my arms folded before me on the side of the seat, I rest my chin on my forearms and eye the driver as he gets out and rounds the car to the rear door. Small clouds appear and disappear on the glass as I even out my breathing, finding solace in the small things. If anything, these weeks with Carlos have taught me mindfulness, how to find peace in the worst of times. I close my eyes and center myself, focus on the beating of my heart, and the soft whoosh of the air that fills my lungs. I have clothes to wear. I have food in my belly, and I have hope at an escape from all of this. I’m thankful to be alive. The dull thud of the car door as it closes snaps me from my meditative state, and I open my eyes in time to see the ash-blonde hair of a woman disappear under the eaves of the house. A woman? Carlos said he expected guests, but a woman? I pull back from the window and try to work out who these guests are, what their reason for being here is, and if it’s going to screw up the plans Sully has. I stare vacantly at the bag containing the few things I’ll take with me tonight, wondering why after weeks and months of relative solitude Carlos has decided to open his doors to guests. What is he up to? Maria appears breathless at my door. “I need you to come downstairs please.” I’m out of the seat and walking toward her before I can think on it. The stress evident on her face has

my heart quickening, my efforts to ground myself mere seconds before wasted. “What’s going on?” “Señor’s guests weren’t supposed to arrive until later, but she’s early. Sully hasn’t brought him back yet; I need you to entertain her.” My breath comes quick and short. Can I do this? I don’t even know who she is. “What do I need to know? Quick, tell me on the way downstairs.” Maria’s flat shoes scuff quickly across the floor, matched by the soft swish of the full-length dress I have on as we head down the hall toward the stairs. “Her name is Emile,” Maria rushes out. “She speaks good English, but her accent is thick, so you may struggle from time to time.” I glance over at Maria as we pass the last room before the landing. “She’s French. Lives in Canada now.” “What does she do?” “She runs some sort of illegal operation—of course—but I don’t know what for. Drugs maybe? Gambling? Prostitution? I really don’t know. If Sully were here, he could tell you. I’m sorry.” I place a hand to her arm as we take the top steps. “It’s okay. I’ll work it out I guess.” I let loose a short bitter laugh. “What choice do I have?” We hurry the rest of the way down to the first floor and come to an abrupt halt before the doors that lead into the sitting room. I run a clammy hand over my hair, smoothing down any strays, and suck in a deep breath. Maria melts into the corners of the hallway as I sweep through the open doors, the fakest and widest smile plastered to my face. “Welcome.” I make my way across to where she sits on one of the lounges, her arm stretched across the back, and offer my hand. Emile looks at it as though I’ve just held out a stick of maggot-ridden jerky. Okay. Her thick, bleached hair cascades over one shoulder, resting over her tailored jacket. The outfit is completed with a tight, pencil skirt and the pointiest high heels I’ve ever seen. My gaze lingers on the steel-tipped toes as I contemplate whether she actually uses them as weapons or not. “I’m thirsty.” Two fucking words is all I’m afforded from this woman who’s a guest in my house. “I’ll ask Maria to bring you something. Do you have a preference?” Emile swivels her long neck my way and scours me from head to toe with dark, contemptuous eyes. “Who on earth are you then, if not the help?” The surface of the sun would sweat at the heat my face gives off. How dare she? “The lady of the house,” I snap. The title stretches the truth, but I’m hell-bent on putting this wench in her place. The bitch laughs. “He said he’d got himself a plaything, but wow, so young and . . . uncultured.” “I may be uncultured by your standards,” I snarl, “but I can assure you I’m already displaying a darn sight more manners and common courtesy than you.” Her heeled feet lift as she swivels and reclines along the length of the seat. “How’s that drink coming along?” I take quick steps toward her, calculating in my head where the best place to grab hold of her will be so I can haul her to her feet and send her off to get her own damn drink. My hands are flexed, my arms outstretched, when a booming voice from the doorway halts me in place, rage still fuming inside of me. “Emile! You’re early.” Carlos’s eyebrows lift, but the fact that this bitch doesn’t pick up on the same underlying frustration in his tone as I do shows me she doesn’t know him as well as she’d have me believe.

“Carlos, darling.” With the sweeping grace of a ballerina, she turns and places both feet on the floor, rises to her full height, and damn near glides across to where he stands with his hands jammed in pockets. He allows her to place her palms either side of his jaw and dot a pretentious kiss to each cheek, yet those dark grays stay trained on my reaction, assessing, analyzing. I hold my ground, aware that the storm of my own is most likely clear as day across my frustrated features. “I must say I was pleasantly surprised to get your invite. It’s been too long,” Emile gushes. “If you’ll excuse us,” he says, backing away from her. “I need a moment alone with my wife.” Her head snaps around and she narrows her eyes on me, her lips pursed. “Of course.” Her huff is over-exaggerated as she drops back into the lounge, tossing her hair over one shoulder again. “Elena?” Carlos tips his head to the side, effectively ordering me out of the room. I lead the way into the wide, sterile hallway and wait. “Why were you in there?” His tone is even yet strained. “I don’t want you associating with her yet.” With my arms folded over my chest, I frown at him as he fidgets with his shirt cuffs. “You told me you had guests coming. She arrived while you weren’t here. I was simply trying to be the good wife.” He flinches; his façade hardens with each word I throw his way. “I applaud you for finally growing up and doing what you’ve been expected to fucking do since the start, but Jesus, Elena. Emile is a woman of stature. You don’t fucking argue with her, you just do as she asks.” “Even when she’s insulting me in my own home?” Our expressions turn to shock in unison; what the fuck did I just say? I’ve never thought of this as my home, and he knows that. “What did you say?” “Nothing,” I snap. “It was a Freudian slip.” “That it was.” He closes the space between us and boxes me in with his left arm as my back finds the corner where the wall meets the arched doorway into the entrance. “Tell me, little fox: Does this mean you’re finally settling in?” His fingers toy with the straightened lengths of my hair. “That would be a shame.” I shudder when the back of his fingers brush against my nipple as he lays the strands over my chest. “Too little, too late.” I sidestep and duck under his arm to cross to the other side of the hall, brushing the unwanted chill from my arms. “No, it doesn’t mean that at all. I could never feel settled here.” He grumbles, quickly stalking me into anther corner. Fuck it. “What do you want?” I snap. “I have another guest arriving in the next hour. He was the one I wanted you to entertain. You may find his kind to your liking.” Carlos’s lip curls up in a sneer as he grumbles out the last sentence. His kind? “How long for?” What if I’m stuck with this guest when I need to be upstairs for Maria to collect? “Why?” His warm breath fans my face as he plays with the frills that cross over in a V at the neck of my dress. At least this close, he shouldn’t be able to see the swell of my stomach below. “I’m feeling under the weather, which is unsurprising given your antics this morning, and that last runin”—I jab my hand toward the sitting room—“has taken it out of me.” I will not cry. I will not cry. “It’ll take as long as it does—no more, no less. You’re here to do as I ask, wifey, so fucking well do as the Bible says and obey.” With my palms flat to his chest, I shunt him back. “Fuck you.”

His lips curl up at one corner. “There it is.” “There’s what?” “That fire. He’s going to love it. Should work in my favor just nicely.” Carlos laughs, turning away to head back to Emile. “Go rest, because the minute he steps foot through that door, I want you back down here with a fucking smile on your face and some color in those cheeks. Keep yourself useful, Elena,” he calls out as he crosses through the open doors, “because I don’t hoard unnecessary things around here.”

TEN King I’ve barely walked through the door and kicked off my boots when the phone starts to ring. Sully’s number flashes at me from the display, and I damn near pull every muscle in my body in an attempt to get to it before the fucking thing clicks over to voicemail. “About time.” “Can’t rush the important stuff,” Sully replies. “I’ve got a plan.” Finally. Don’t get me wrong, I’m over the fucking moon to hear Sully utter those magic words, but the piece of me holding on to hope it was Elena calling again? Yeah, that bit’s sulking in the corner while I ask the obvious question. “What’s the rundown?” “Specifics aren’t necessary, but I need you at the crossroads before the estate at ten thirty p.m. sharp. Can you do that?” “Does a brown bear shit in the woods?” It’s happening; I’m going to get her back. “What else do you need from me?” “Assurances you have somewhere safe to keep her until the fallout blows over.” Yeah, that. “I do.” Maybe not right now, but one phone call should fix it. “He has guests tonight, so he’ll be busy. I’m hoping you’ll get a good few hours’ head start on him before he notice’s she’s gone. With any luck he turns in and doesn’t realize until the morning.” “I’ll take what I can get.” Doesn’t that line feel familiar? “Any issues, you’ll hear from me. If we’re late, wait it out. Whatever you do, don’t come up to the house. If it fails and I have to cancel the plan, I’ll let you know.” “It won’t fail.” “Don’t be so sure.” The line goes dead. Silence echoes in my ear. I toss the phone on the kitchen counter and then run the tap, splashing water over my face. It’s real, it’s the day I get Elena back, but it feels too easy. Nothing is easy when tensions are this high. Something isn’t right. I snatch up my cell and punch in Mom’s number as I walk through to my room. She answers as I loosen my belt. “I tried calling you yesterday. Did you see my missed call?” “Yeah.” The mattress complains as I flop back onto it. “Been busy. Sorry, Mom.” “That’s okay. I’m probably just fussing over nothing. You know how I like to worry about imaginary things, like you lying half-dead somewhere.” She laughs awkwardly. I don’t even smile at her joke. “No need to worry, Mom. I’m fine.” Lies, lies, all lies. “I need a favor though.” “Like I’d say no.” This time I chuckle. “I know, but I still like to ask.” “What do you need?” “Can you set up the spare room?” I scrub a hand over my face while I wait for her to say something, anything. “I guess your spare room isn’t furnished, so that’d be why you’re asking. Right?”

“Kind of. I have a friend who needs somewhere to lay low.” With my eyes closed, I grimace through gritted teeth, waiting on her response. “Lloyd . . .” “Mom . . .” “Am I going to be doing anything illegal by letting them stay here?” “No.” At least to begin with, she won’t be. “She won’t be any trouble.” More lies. “Can I talk to Dad, please?” “I guess. When are we expecting her?” “Tonight.” Mom lets out a long, low breath, pausing before she speaks. “I suppose I’ll ask questions when you get here with her.” “Probably.” Unease washes through me in lazy waves. I hate involving Mom and Dad like this, but they’re the best and safest option for now. If Carlos gets hold of anyone at the club and pressures them for information, then this is the first address that’ll be given up. My brothers know my parents live close by, but that’s it. I don’t even think half the bastards at the clubhouse know my last name, let alone my birth name. “What’s happening, Son?” Dad greets. “Your mother says you want to talk to me, too.” “Have you still got that shotgun at the house?” Dad’s always had one racked in his truck and a rifle in the pump house at the dairy shed in case any of the cows got injured, but the firearm at the house hasn’t been on display for a while. “Yeah. It’s under the bed. Why?” “I might need you to make sure it’s clean and working.” Silence hangs heavy. “Why, Lloyd?” “I’m bringing her home.” His lack of response is heavier than the sternest dressing down the man I’ve admired and revered my whole could give. “I can’t leave her there.” “What about the clubhouse? Can’t you take her there?” “It’d be the first place he’d look.” Dad sighs. “How dangerous is this? Can I keep your mom in the dark so she’s not worrying about nothing? Or do I need to make sure she has weapons in reach at all times, too?” “All depends if he finds her, Dad. I won’t lie—the guy’s a nutcase.” “Fuck me.” I can make out the sound of Dad pacing on the back porch. The loose board by the back door creaks each time he passes over it. “I wish you could keep us out of this. We didn’t agree with you joining up with that crowd, but we stood back and let you make your own decisions. But now . . . you’re bringing the trouble you invited in onto our doorstep, kid.” “I know.” And I’ve never felt so low. “But you’ve always told me to do what’s right, to stand up for those who need help and protection, and to never compromise on what I believe in.” “And what do you believe right now?” “That I’m meant to do this. That bringing her home is only the start of setting things right with her and the club.” “Still a hostile takeover?” “I’ve narrowly avoided exile.” He grumbles at my answer. “She can stay, but I want daily updates from you on what you know. You bring our home into this mess, then the least you can do is keep me informed of what’s going down. Fuck your club rules, boy. You owe us that much.” “Deal.”

“Your mom wants a word again. We’ll talk when you get here.” “Sure thing.” Relief is infinitesimal, but at least it’s there. Static fills the line as Dad passes the phone back over to Mom. “You still there?” she asks. “Yeah, Mom. I’m here.” “I need to know one thing.” I scrub a hand down my beard, tugging on the lengths. “What’s that?” “Will she need dinner?”

ELEVEN Elena He wants me to rest. Is he kidding? My nails are chewed to the quick by the time our second guest arrives. I waited on the top step of the grand staircase and watched Maria come and go as she pandered to Emile’s every need. The poor woman flies past on a continual circuit with drinks, snacks, fresh napkins, a bucket of ice, and once what looked like a bottle of moisturizer. Seems our madam is making herself quite at home. Carlos doesn’t show his face at all, which I don’t mind. I really don’t want to know what they’re doing in there. I’m almost surprised Maria hasn’t scooted past with a couple of bathrobes and a box of cigars for the post-coitus rituals. My kitten heels sit beside my feet on the second step down as I inspect the mess I’ve made of my manicured nails. The nerves have all but subdued over the past hour, but any ease I’ve found at this evening’s upcoming festivities are shot to hell when I hear my apparent companion pull up . . . on a motorbike. What the actual . . .? Sully emerges from the servant’s side of the staircase and heads for the entrance. He swings the heavy doors open to reveal the dying dusk. Faint peach and orange hues smear the horizon behind the distant fence. My stomach grumbles as though only just realizing how late it is. I stand and slip my feet into my heels, one hand on the banister while I watch those doors like a hawk for the guest. Carlos emerges from the right as I descend the stairs toward the entrance. Boot buckles clink with each step our guest takes, the sight of leather enough to put my heart into a tailspin. Is he associated with the Fallen Aces? Does he know about King and me? I crane my neck sideways as I take the last steps to the floor, trying to see around Sully who’s partially blocking my view. “Hammer,” Carlos exclaims, offering his hand. “We were starting to worry you’d been held up.” “Nothing a bit of gentle persuasion couldn’t hurry along.” His voice is deep and husky, no doubt from years of smoking. I can’t see much more than a shock of graying hair that sits long at the collar, and his enormous Blood Eagles patch as he stands with his back to Sully and I. “I’d like you to meet my wife,” Carlos says, one arm outstretched for me. “Elena, this is Hammer.” I make my way quickly to Carlos’s side, my head down to avoid the newcomer’s stare. I live with the devil; I don’t need to look into the eyes of a demon to recognize evil when it’s present. “Pleasure,” I say, extending my hand with my eyes still downcast. “Show me that lovely face,” Hammer urges. “No need to hide from me.” Oh, but there is. Sully leaves, exiting toward the servant’s area at haste. Disappointment emanates off him in waves. He knows something more, and the thought has my palms breaking out in a sweat. I lift my chin and face this heathen in leather head-on. I’ve never heard of his club, but if he has an association with Carlos I can only imagine that he has to be an enemy of King’s. Sharp green eyes look back at me, so strikingly clear that it knocks the breath from my lungs. I’ve only seen eyes that green on one man in my life . . . “There she is.” A heavily ring-laden hand lifts to caress the apple of my cheek. “So beautiful. You’ve picked well, Carlos.”

“No room for flaws in my stable.” I ignore the breeding stock reference from my dearest husband and stay fixed on this stranger. How does Carlos know him? What is he here for? And why the hell are his eyes that color green? My earlier lies about feeling unwell come back to bite me in the ass as true nausea takes hold. I contemplate making a break for the bathroom when my arm is caught in Carlos’s hold, and I’m dragged toward the living room. “Emile and I have sorted out the details. We were working on the final draft just now.” Carlos talks to Hammer over my head as though I’m not even present. “Good. I’m curious to see what you have to offer me.” We turn through the doors to find the rounded ass of Madam Bitchface shoved our way as she bends over to select a grape from the offering on the table. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were back so soon.” She straightens with cat-like elongation, arcing her back to press those fake melons out and toward the men. “You must be Hammer.” She sweeps across the room, offering her hand for him to take. “Such an unusual name.” “It’s not my real name, darlin’. My birth name is Norwegian, as is my heritage, and it’s a little hard for people to wrap their tongue around it properly.” The woman’s eyes spark up at this little tidbit of information, and she positively drools as he presses a chaste kiss to the back of her hand before dropping it like a hot potato. “Take a seat. Maria will be in with refreshments shortly.” Carlos directs Hammer toward the oversized armchair at the head of the long coffee table. Madam takes the chaise lounge and stretches herself out as though she’s expecting somebody to break out the charcoal and sketchpad. I stay rooted to the spot and eye Carlos as he drops onto the center of the sofa, effectively leaving me no personal space should I wish to sit as well. I scowl at the asshole, doing my best to remain “lady-like” as I make my way around the table to sit beside him. He drops a hand to the cushion, blocking my descent. “I think our newest guest might enjoy your company, darling.” I flick my gaze between the Silver Fox who holds my freedom in the palm of his hand, and the Gray Wolf who looks as though he’s hell-bent on capturing me should I get away from him. I frown as I try to decide which beast’s bite would be worse. Rock and a hard place. There’s no real choice; both options will leave me as bruised. “Didn’t realize you were the type to share,” Emile croons, eyeballing Carlos with nothing short of blatant hunger. My anger isn’t fuelled by jealousy; I couldn’t care less who he fucks in his spare time. It’s fuelled by raw pride. If she thinks she can come in here and order me around, she better think again. She doesn’t know me. She has no right to think she’s any better then I am. Who the hell is she to believe that her life is so much more important than mine? Where’s the compassion for her fellow woman? For a person so obviously here against their free will? “There’s no sense in being selfish,” Carlos answers. “I get her to myself every day, so why shouldn’t my guest get the privilege of enjoying what he so clearly admires for an evening?” I scour Carlos’s face for any sign that this is all a ruse, that he’s about to flip and be the psychopath I’ve come to know and depend on in times like this. Nothing shows. He’s deadly serious. Enough. He fucking hacked my mother up in front of me this morning, and so far I’ve managed to hold it together, to find my sanity in this unbelievable pantomime out of sheer fear of screwing up my chance at escape. But enough. How much more does he want to ridicule me, to belittle me and use me? Picking up the nearest thing to me, I hurl the bowl of grapes at Carlos’s smug face. He ducks with

milliseconds to spare before I kindly rearrange his already marked mug. Hammer laughs at the spectacle, while Madam Bitchface squeals with put-on shock. Made for Hollywood, that one. The room falls into shocked silence as Carlos slowly rises; red rushes his face and forces the veins in his temples to show. “Get over here.” I trip over the arm of Hammer’s chair as I back away, defiant. “No. I’ve had enough of this, of being your God-damned puppet.” “You’re my wife,” he roars, “so you fucking well do as you’re told.” “Why am I even here, Carlos? What the fuck was even going through your head when you thought of bringing your arranged wife into the room as entertainment?” Emile gasps, her hand delicately hovering over her lips. Puh-lease. “And you,” I shoot her way as I continue to back away from Carlos while he stalks me around the furniture. “You can quit with this fucking show. You call me uncultured, and yet all you are is fake, from your bleached hair, to your tits, and right down to the put-on accent. You’re not French—you’re American.” Her face glows red. “Get your God-damn pet under control, Carlos. Show me she can be contained, otherwise the deal’s off the table.” Deal? “What deal?” I falter behind the sofa Carlos had been sitting on, forgetting about our chase and allowing him to catch up. He takes a hold of my hair roughly in his right hand and yanks my head back. “I told you, you’re of no use to me now that your fucking mother died and took the location of the money with her. She repaid me this morning, and now you’re going to pay back what I’ve wasted on you, too.” My eyeballs burn with the force I place on them to try and see what Hammer’s doing in all of this. Why is he here? What part does he play? “I don’t understand why the fucking money matters so much,” I wail. “You can’t tell me you don’t earn in a single month more than what my grandfather could have hidden away.” Carlos rushes a heavy breath over my face as he scowls. “You’ve got no idea what that man did, do you?” “Clearly not.” I try to pull free of his hold and he tightens his grip sending fire racing over my scalp. “I have two clients interested in a Latino woman,” Emile states coolly, her fake French accent still in play, “but they won’t take an untrained one.” “How much?” Carlos barks, forcing me out into the middle of the room by his hold in my hair. Madam Bitchface circles the two of us as she assesses me like stock at a market. “I could push for one million, but she has to be without scars. Is her flesh pure?” Carlos flinches. Ha, got you there, you asshole. “I can’t remember.” More like he’s never seen all of me to know. Sickness slams into me hard when I realize what that means—they’re going to strip me down and check me out right now, right here. Fuck. I crane against Carlos’s hold to plead with the only person in the room—Hammer. He watches our spectacle with raw interest, not an ounce of compassion to be found in his cold clinical eyes. Damn it! What the hell am I going to do now? “A million’s not enough,” Carlos states with deadly authority. “Her slut of a mother only gained me two. I’m still down eight.” Ten million? My grandfather’s stash was rumored to be ten million? “I could maybe push for one and a half, but like I said, she has to be pure. No tattoos, no scars, no birthmarks.” “Two.”

Emile glowers over my shoulder at Carlos. “One point seven. Final offer.” They’re discussing me like a damn property changing hands. My body sags in Carlos’s hold, jolted upright again by a quick yank to my hair. I cry out, wrapping my hands over his to beg him to ease off. He peels my fingers free and flicks my hands to my sides. “She has no tattoos. But as for scars, I could have easily missed one.” The tone of his voice brings bile to my throat. He’s insinuating we were too busy getting kinky for him to notice, too wrapped up in the act. I swallow twice and straighten my back to push me closer to his hand, and slacken the pull on my hair. “I’ll check her over then, shall I?” Emile asks, reaching for my dress. Instinct sets in and I kick out, connecting with her elbow. “Ouch!” She steps back, cradling the sore joint as she glowers at Hammer. “Restrain the woman, for crying out loud. You’re going to get worse than her when you start transporting them for me, so prove you’ve got what it takes and hold this one down.” Carlos places his free hand to my throat, applying just enough pressure to issue a warning as his lips caress my ear with his words. “One twist, Elena, and I could snap this pretty neck.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. I shoot an elbow backward and connect with his ribs as Hammer advances. It does enough to get the hand off my throat, but my scalp burns as Carlos yanks my head to his hip, tilting me offbalance so I fall to the floor with a solid thud. Carlos places a polished shoe to my throat as Hammer’s hands circle my ankles. “Don’t. Move.” Emile kneels beside me, making the task look a chore in her ridiculously tight skirt. Hammer offers her a hand down, and she fucking gushes all over him as I feverishly look around the room, trying to find a means of distraction. There has to be a way out of this. Her cold hands find the hem of my dress bunched around my knees, and she pushes it up toward my chest, intent on stripping me down. I fight her as best I can, scratching and clawing at her hands as Carlos’s foot gets heavier and heavier until each rasped breath is next to impossible. Clouds gather on the edges of my vision, and I still. I can’t black out; there’s no telling what they’d do then. “Good girl,” Carlos croons. “Not so bad once you stop fighting, is it?” The dress is at my panties. My life is over. My baby’s life is over. I’ll never know what it could have been. A lone tear forms in my left eye and I swallow away the pain and regret, urging myself not to cry. I close my eyes in the hope that if I center myself, I can push down the panic and be strong through this, find another way to save what’s mine . . . what’s King’s. An almighty crash echoes around the room, followed by Maria’s rapid babbling. “Señor, I am so sorry. I’ll clean this up straight away.” The distraction was there all along. Emile’s hands drop away from my dress as she turns to see what the commotion is. I look down myself to Hammer and find him standing to move away from the spreading pool of water that creeps out from the mess of broken glass Maria has created. “This is one time too many, Maria,” Carlos yells, lifting his foot off my neck so he can charge across and tower over the poor woman. “Yes, Señor.” Her face is down, but her eyes lift to find mine. “I’ll go get something to clean this up.” “Do that,” Carlos snaps. I take it—the opportunity. While all three backs are turned on me, I push to my feet and run from the room. Emile stumbles as I connect with her in my haste to get away. Carlos’s roar chases me down the hallways as I sprint for safety. I need to hide. I need to go where he won’t follow. The answer is obvious. Footfalls follow me as I sprint through the massive house towards the wing that’s always been out of bounds. Stale air assails my nostrils as I burst through the stiff doors and run toward Carlos’s first wife’s

bedroom. The handle doesn’t budge on my first attempt, and all color drains from my face when I realize it could be locked. An almighty growl resonates off every wall, and I spin around to find Carlos at the double doors that connect this wing to the main residence, his fists clenched at his sides. “Get out here!” “No!” I turn and try the door handle again. The metal rattles as erratically as my heartbeat while I pray to whatever god is listening that this works. “I’ll get her.” I look over my shoulder to see Hammer try to step past Carlos. He doesn’t make it an inch inside the previously shut-off wing. Carlos forces him back with a strength I’ve never seen out of him, screaming at the confused man to stay out, to not “taint” the area. The bedroom door gives, and I throw my shoulder into the dusty wood to push the stiff doors open. “I’m warning you, Elena . . .” Carlos’s idle threats fade behind me as I rush through the enormous room, looking for the best way out of this hellhole. I’m safe in here for now, but how much longer before Carlos finds the strength to cross over into an area he clearly hasn’t stepped foot in for years? “Sully!” His tortured scream for help cuts through the air as I stop at the windows to get my bearing on where I am and how far it is to the fence from here. Can I do it? I have no choice but to try. This is it. If I screw this up, I’m dead. I’ve pushed the beast too many times and the punishment for this infraction isn’t something I’ll come back from. I’ve never made him this angry. Being caught with King was nothing compared to what I’ve done by coming in here. With my hands on my belly, I utter a few final words before I make my break for it. “This better be worth it, little one. You at least owe me a university degree for this.” My best estimate is two hundred yards if I beeline to the gate. I squint at the steel panel, realizing the damn thing is impenetrable. With it shut there’s no way out, no gaps I can edge through. I run my eye over the line of the fence looking for the weakness, the best chance I have to get over, under, or through. As I reach the corner, my stomach plummets. I don’t have a chance in hell of doing this—there’s a damn guard tower in the top corner with one clearly armed man scouring the perimeter. Will he shoot me though? The boss’s wife? As though hearing my question, the guard reaches for the radio clipped to his chest and speaks into it. He turns and locks his gaze directly on the end of the mansion I’m in. Damn it. I slink around the edge of the window frame to rest my back against the wall, temporarily defeated. The commotion continues at the end of the hall; Carlos barks orders, Madam Bitchface squeals and gasps where appropriate, and the low, lulling tones of Sully’s voice mingle in the spaces between. I’m trapped. Death faces me no matter which way I go. “I’m sorry,” I mumble into the room, apologizing to the unborn life inside me, and to the man I love who was so close to getting what he deserved—a family of his own. “I messed up big this time.”

TWELVE King “So . . .” Callum says as he rocks on his heels. “We’re startin’ a war.” He rolls back and forth to stretch out the unused muscles in his legs. “That what they decided?” I take the cigarette offered by Hooch and stare out across the back yard at the clubhouse. I’ve got a few hours to waste before I meet up with Sully and Elena, and spending them at home became a non-option when I found myself cycling from room to room, growing increasingly frustrated with the fact I couldn’t take her back there. Instead, I’ve spent the last two hours since getting in smoking and drinking with these two monkeys. Hooch vetoed his return to Fort Worth; he told his old man there wasn’t anything he needed to get back for, and opted instead to be the eyes and ears the southern brothers need on what’s decided at the mother chapter. Consequently, my lungs are filled with more tar than oxygen, but whatever keeps me from losing it completely, I guess. “War is what I heard. No official word from the man in charge, though.” Callum’s gaze drifts through the open door to where Apex sits on a stool at the bar. The frown on my friend’s face leaves him looking almost . . . conflicted. Is he seeing our president for what he is now, too? As though the old bastard can hear us talk from such a distance, Apex casts his gaze sideways and glares at the three of us. Hooch tips his chin, holding up the smoke he’s lit in a friendly acknowledgment. “The whole thing’s fucked. We’re being used by Carlos, and that fucker in there is lettin’ it happen.” I roll my eyes toward the bar, my back turned to Apex so he can’t see. “Used how?” Callum asks. “Other than this bullshit work he has us doin’.” He grimaces as he drops to his ass on the deck to take the weight off his bad leg. “Think about it.” I tap my ash to the ground. “Carlos whispered in your old man’s ear”—I point to Hooch—“and dangled the bait for us to take—the work to clear our debt. Carlos said he did it for cheap labor. But that’s bullshit.” “Why?” Hooch crosses his arms over his chest, squinting at the smoke that curls off the smoke poised between his lips. “He set us up. By givin’ us that work, he knew exactly where we’d be and when. What better way to track and control our whereabouts? Who then do you think he passed that info on to?” “You sayin’ our rat was never within our walls?” Callum frowns, clearly trying to patch the pieces together. I nod. Riding out to see Shanaya gave me time to think, and fresh air to clear the fog in my head. The puzzle pieces were there all along—I just needed the time undistracted to step back and place them where they belonged, to look outside the box. “Far from it,” I reply. “He told the Blood Eagles where to find us, knowin’ that our clubs are at war. He wasn’t tryin’ to do us over, or get on the good side of the Eagles. He was turning us even more against one another.” “He was settin’ us up to take each other out,” Hooch says, his eyes wide with the realization. “Exactly. He was clearin’ a path.” Callum’s eyes narrow. “You think Sawyer’s in with Hooch’s crew as an informant?”

Hooch shakes his head, sucking the last life from his cigarette before he drops it to the ground and stubs it out. “No way. That kid hates his old man more than we do. Fuck, we don’t mention the asshole’s name around him half the time because it’s a surefire way to waste an hour tryin’ to talk him off the ledge. He’d rather kill the guy than work for him.” “Apex is gonna tell us to rain hell on the Blood Eagles.” Callum rubs his palm over the stubble on his jaw. “But if we do that we’ll play right into this fucker Carlos’s hands.” “Mm-hmm.” I flick the butt of my smoke into the tin at my feet. “Fine fuckin’ conundrum, huh?” “I need a fuckin’ drink.” Hooch leads the three of us inside. Callum hobbles across the room and gets reacquainted with his position on the sofa while one of the property girls carries a fresh brew over. I sit beside Hooch at the bar and eyeball Apex while he’s distracted talking to Beefy. The bastard wears a permanent scowl, accented by the crow’s feet that wrinkle into his weathered skin. Not so long ago I thought I had this guy figured out, that I was one of the few men he respected. I’d actually felt proud at that, thinking it was some sort of achievement. Now I feel like nothing but a fool, played for the novice that I was. He’d never respected me; he’d simply made sure he kept a future enemy close at hand. I make the most of Apex’s break in conversation with Beefy and interject. “Did new officers get voted in?” The remaining officers were in the meeting room when I’d arrived to deliberate the course of action the club would take against the Eagles. Apex looks me over; his eyes roam my face with a frown before he answers, “Not yet. Majority ruled we vote them in once the whole club gets a say on the current situation.” The answer surprises me. “You putting it to general vote?” From the way Callum had talked, war had been decided. “Why wouldn’t I? This fuck-up of yours affects everyone, King.” I shirk off his snide attempt to lay blame. “Isn’t retaliation a given?” I feed him the bullshit he’ll expect to hear. “They gunned two of our own. Eye for an eye.” “Not always.” He takes a swig of his coffee—black as his heart. “Didn’t do it back in ’97, did we?” “Exactly, and look where that got us.” “What you sayin’, King?” He twists in his seat to place a pointed elbow on the counter as he faces me. “Nothin’.” If he chooses not to retaliate, it paints us all as cowards. The Blood Eagles took two of our own. They stole lives from our brotherhood. Why the fuck should they be able to just walk away? “You sure it was nothin’? Sounded like you had a fuckin’ opinion for a second there.” I turn my head and glare at him. “So what if I did?” “Don’t pay you to have an opinion, boy. I pay you to do what I tell you to.” “And what exactly are you tellin’ us to do?” “Sit back and let me handle things.” With all due respect, fucker, you haven’t been doing that very well. “How?” “I’ve already set up a meet with the Blood Eagles president.” “Hammer?” “The one and only. I’m seeing him on neutral ground tomorrow.” Apex slides off his stool and heads for his office, calling out over his shoulder, “Which is why I’m on the road again in five. Some of us have things to do that’ll help the club, not fuck up what others have spent a lifetime building.” Is he kidding? He honestly thinks people believe the bullshit lies he spins? Anybody with a working brain can see that his secret rendezvous with our enemies are done for anything but the club’s benefit. What good are talks with Hammer going to do? Does he expect to settle the death of our own over a fucking cold brew? Hostile parties don’t get to gun down our brothers and then walk away from the

recompense of their actions with a simple “sorry”. Twig would roll in his grave if he knew just how unaffected the man he gave his life for was over what happened. And if our members aren’t as disgusted by his nonchalance as I am, then what sort of fucking self-sabotaging assholes are they? “Did I hear that right?” Hooch asks after Apex has shut his office door. “Probably,” Beefy mutters. “What happened to retaliation after death?” Point nine on our charter under general rules: Disrespect or assault is to be dealt with at the victim’s discretion, but if an opposing club member kills any one of ours, it’s supposed to be dealt with by penalty of death out of respect for the fallen member who can no longer speak for himself. “Apex did raise a valid point, though,” I say. “Such as?” Hooch slips off his stool and waits on my answer. “The retaliation rule didn’t apply in ’97 either.” “Might be time we find out why.”

THIRTEEN Elena Everything’s quiet. Some people find peace in solitude, but to me, the lack of anything—vocal or otherwise—is unnerving. The quieter the world around me, the louder my mind. I’m busting to use the toilet, but I daren’t move. To get to the attached bathroom from here, I have to cross over the open area in front of the window. I can’t risk being seen. Neither Hammer’s motorcycle or Madam Bitchface’s car have left; the driveway arcs within feet of the windows. I would have heard. The doors at the far end of the hall slammed before the talking stopped. I’m shut in, but I’m well aware I’m also not forgotten. What do I do? I need contact with somebody outside who can tell me what’s happening—Sully or Maria. But how? Keeping to my hands and knees, I crawl across the room to the doorway. I stop short of the opening and long seconds pass as I keen my ears for anything—a clue as to what happens beyond. Nothing but the deafening rush of my breaths greets me. Inch by inch I edge closer, and peer around the frame. My heart shudders to a stop, the air in my lungs frozen as I do everything I can not to make a single sound while I back away. Seated with his back to the doors and his head hung between arms wrapped around bent knees, is Carlos. Fuck. “I know you’re there, Elena.” Even quieted by the distance between us, his tone holds enough menace to send a ripple of goose bumps across my flesh. “What are you going to do?” I settle against the open door, my back to its long, heavy panels, and try to find a position that doesn’t aggravate my bladder. “I haven’t decided.” My eyes rove the room as I calculate what exactly anybody outside the window could see. Perhaps if I lie flat while I wriggle under the windows I can make the bathroom? “If I come out,” I say, “you’ll just pack me off with that bitch and sell me.” His chuckle resonates off the long, unadorned walls. “Is that the problem? You don’t like her?” “It’s neither here nor there when I’m sure I wouldn’t be in her possession long.” “You have a valid point,” Carlos answers. “It’s nothing personal, Elena.” “I have a hard time believing that.” If it were nothing personal, he wouldn’t have used Mama as a drug mule to hurt me and he wouldn’t have married me in the first place, hoping to get access to some fabled fortune that I’m reluctant to believe exists. “I’m a businessman, first and foremost, and you’re currently a large negative on my balance sheet. I’d be a fool to not try and recover costs.” “Perhaps you shouldn’t throw money away trying to make more the easy way? If that’s really your style, I’ve heard gambling is more of a thrill.” “I doubt it.”

Silence stretches between us, the scuff of my bare feet across the wooden floorboards as I try to alleviate the pressure in my abdomen barely audible. “Why haven’t you come down here to drag me out yet?” He has to have sat there for close to an hour, given it’s black as coal outside now. “I’m working up to it.” Being here, in her part of the house really affects him. The lion has a thorn in its paw, and it’s called unrequited love. “You must miss her.” He doesn’t respond. The bed sits an ominous shadow across from me, the only obstacle I have in my quest for relief. The moon is non-existent tonight, sheltered by clouds, and the light that spills in through the windows is minimal from the flood lamps dotted along the fence line. It’s worth a go. The door shifts behind me as I push to my feet and clamors against the wall. I freeze, expecting it to be some final motivation to get Carlos to move, but again, nothing. The relief when I reach the bathroom unharmed is immediate, and I race to the toilet, chuckling quietly to myself at the absurdity of doing something so mundane when this is quite possibly the moment that’ll define whether I have a life or not come sunrise. Carlos still hasn’t shifted, his legs visible as I cross the room to sit beside the door again. “Better?” he asks. “Much.” We resume our standoff: me looking for a clue as to how I’m going to get out of this, and Carlos searching for the guts to step into a mausoleum of his greatest mistake. Photos sit arranged in oddly shaped frames on the nightstand. I itch to look at them, to see what life before betrayal looked like. What the life of a monster was before he even knew himself what he was capable of. Did she know? Did she realize what her husband had become? What I’d do to have somebody to talk to who understands, who knows his crazed mind. Maybe then I’d be afforded the answer on how to get the hell out of here, how to convince him to let me walk out unharmed. It’ll never happen. And neither will seeing King again. My chin falls to my chest as the last of my false hope vanishes. All this fighting, all this suffering for the right to one day have a life I chose, and for what? So I can become another statistic in Carlos’s career? “She dated my friend in high school,” Carlos announces out of nowhere. “I chased her for months and tried to convince her I was better suited than him. She believed it. I never did.” “She must have loved you, though, to choose you?” Something about talking his history through with him is calming—a distraction within the problem itself. “She was wrong to.” “She probably didn’t feel that way.” He hesitates, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far by presuming to know what his first wife felt. “At the end, she did.” “Your son, does he remember?” All I know is that the boy was young, but not how much so. “Everything.” His tone is strained, the emotion almost palpable in his words. He hurts talking this through, but as much as I don’t want to read into it, I get the feeling it’s also therapeutic for him. “You’ve never spoken to anyone about this before, have you?” “What occasion would I have to?” Fair point. “Why do it all over again, then? Why repeat history by doing the same to me?” He laughs, cold and snide. “Oh, Elena. There’s nothing the same here. I don’t love you, and we have no children. I wouldn’t miss you at all.”

A mix of fear and embarrassment hit me. He’s as resolved to sell or kill me as he was when I first ran in here, and I was a stupid, naïve woman to think any sort of connection would change that. Yes, maybe it helps him to talk through the painful past, but he’s only doing it to help himself, as with anything he’s involved me in since the start. I’m nothing but a pawn in a game of chess I have no control over. “Let me out of here unscathed. I’ll be useful to you if you let me stay.” I’ve resorted to pleading—I’m pathetic. “How, Elena? Tell me how you’d be useful.” Damn it. He’s put me on the spot. I didn’t exactly think it through before the pathetic plea left my lips. I’ve got no intention of being useful. My only plan is to have him believe I want to try better, to be compliant, so I can get out of this room and away with Sully. “I’m good with numbers.” “So is my accountant.” Fuck. “Why is Hammer here? I could help you by distracting him into agreeing to whatever you want?” “He’s already agreeable. It was the semantics we discussed. Try again, little fox.” What else do I have that he can’t get elsewhere? The realization sinks like a stone through the base of my gut. I have to try. “Your son? He’s estranged, right?” “What’s that got to do with how you’d be helpful?” He sounds intrigued. Maybe I’m getting to him? “You’re building an empire, so surely you’d need an heir.” “Go on.” I swallow back the sick that swirls in my throat. “I could give you one.” Nothing. The chirp of a cricket outside is the only sound between us. “You’d have my children to ensure your own life?” he asks. “Yes,” I tremor. “Huh.” He sounds surprised, impressed even. My chest rises and falls rapidly. My heartbeat vibrates though my entire being. Did it work? Have I bought myself time with a lie? If he thinks I’m of use to him, hopefully he’ll drop the sale, leave me be long enough for me to get out before he realizes I never intended on going through with it. “One condition.” Damn. “What?” “You prove to me how serious you are about the offer by starting now.” “Excuse me?” I’ve dug the hole deeper, if it were even possible. “Either you come down here and ride me like you fucking mean it, or I head back out to my guests and fuck that bitch while she signs the contract agreeing to your sale.” And there he is, the sick and twisted asshole I married. Correction—who married me. It’s not as though I had any say in it. “What’s it going to be, Elena? I’m tired of being here already. Had hoped for our little soirée to be over the formalities by now.” “Go fuck that bitch then,” I grind out as I crawl around the doorframe to face him. “But what use is a contract for sale if you can’t deliver the goods?” His jacket has been removed, his shirt loosened at the collar, yet his eyes are anything but tired. “Where are you going to go, little fox? Where are you going to run when the only way out of your hole is blocked?” “How can you be so sure?” The walk-in robe backs on to the room next door, and if this wing is

anything like the rest of the house, they’re all inter-connected by a single door beside the outer wall. This little fox has been thinking. Maybe if I get to the room next door I can catch them off guard? They’re expecting me to escape from the master room, but what if I snuck out further along while they were focused here? Would it work? Not like I have any other options, is it? “If you’re thinking about jumping out a window, I wouldn’t, dearest.” Either our minds work the same, or the asshole has some crazy ESP thing going on. “Who says that’s what I was thinking?” “Logic,” he replies dryly. “Every window is locked, and besides, if you were to break the glass, you’d have a trained sniper to contend with.” A bitter laugh rumbles from deep in my throat. “That’s how you’re going to get around the hard part this time, huh? Get somebody else to do your dirty work. So fitting for your style.” Carlos lifts his bowed head, presenting narrowed eyes my way. “He won’t kill you, darling. That’s still my job.” “Does she pay for dead whores, your bleached plastic-titted bitch?” His white teeth peek between his parted lips as he grins. “Ever heard of necrophilia?” The smug smirk slides from my face as my gut roils. “That’s right, sweetheart—she’s got customers who’ll pay to fuck you even when you’re dead.”

FOURTEEN King “How long is this going to take? I’ve got somewhere to be tonight.” I glance down at my phone, counting the minutes until I need to haul ass to the location Sully texted me. “Somewhere more important than this?” Hooch asks. “Better believe it.” He eyes me curiously, and then starts toward the building with a huff. Asking anybody at the clubhouse about what we wanted to know would have been sure suicide, especially when Apex is itching for a reason to strip me down and send me packing. Next best way to find out why the hell the Fallen Aces didn’t go after blood back in ’97? Ask somebody outside the club who was there. “What’s this guy’s name again?” I ask. “Devon,” Hooch answers as he looks over the orange brick façade of the downtown bar. “Old man said he’s the only living brother who was there that night, who’s no longer patched.” No patch means the guy’s more likely to talk out of turn and unbiased. “And we’re sure he’ll give a bunch of fuckin’ preschoolers a history lesson?” I indicate to our rag-tag pairing, young and baby-faced compared to the likes of this man if he’s anything like Hooch explained on the way over. “Won’t give him an option.” Hooch smiles and shrugs. “In you go.” Hooch holds the door open and I cross the threshold into the dimly lit, smoky premises. The dull warble of a racing channel filters from the far corner of the establishment, and around a dozen aged and weary faces all stare somberly into their ales. A couple of silver-haired gentlemen watch as we pass by and head down to the booths at the back to a man wearing a Trilby and sharp-collared business shirt. If it weren’t for the tattoos that bleed out from his cuffs and collar, I would have thought we had the wrong guy. He lifts his head from the newspaper spread out on the table and tilts his black-rimmed glasses down his nose to get a better look at us. “Finally come to collect, huh, guys? Took a while.” I tip my head to the side while Hooch shakes his. “We’re not here to finish you off,” he reassures. “Got some questions you might be able to answer.” Devon leans back in his seat, his elbow braced on the low back of the vinyl-covered cushion, and truly looks us over for the first time. “Ah, so you’re some of them.” “Who?” I ask as I lower myself onto the edge of the booth seat opposite Devon. “Young blood wondering what it is your elders aren’t tellin’ you.” Jesus—were we that transparent? “Somethin’ like that,” I say. “Are you goin’ to help us, or should we save ourselves the effort and walk out now?” I lean back and cross my arms over my chest, well aware I’m not coming off as friendly in any way. Good. I don’t have time to fuck around today. Devon eyes me with a small smile. He’s pegged me as the one in charge of this crusade given the way he stares deep into my eyes, challenging my bravado. “How about you ask the questions, son, and we’ll see which ones I answer?” Hooch makes a move to sit, yet stills when Devon holds a hand up, tsk-ing at him. “I bet you’re both thirsty, am I right? I know I could use a refill.” I roll my eyes. Hooch grumbles on his way to the bar.

Devon calmly lifts the sides of his newspaper and folds it neatly along the creases and sets it to one side. My skin itches. My impatience grows by the second as he carefully, and purposefully lays out cardboard coasters for our drinks. His lips are curled on one side the whole time; the asshole takes great pleasure in fucking us around, that’s for sure. “Where you in a hurry to get to?” he asks, avoiding eye contact as he fusses to make sure the coasters are in a perfect square. “You’re as jittery as a June bug.” “People to see.” “Other than me?” he queries. “My, you are busy.” “Cut the crap,” I snap. “Why’d you leave the club?” His attitude doesn’t lend to me wanting to trust him. His answer to the most important question will be the only thing that sways me the other way. “When your VP shoots your dog because you refuse to come in for a bullshit meeting to promote him to president, and then holds the gun to your daughter’s head next as extra persuasion, a man can become . . . jaded,” he explains as Hooch returns with three beer necks jammed between his fingers. “You didn’t agree to his promotion?” I ask. “Nobody did.” “He’s talkin’ about Apex, right?” Hooch asks, catching up on what he’s missed. Devon nods. “I am.” “It’s fucked,” I huff out. “I never heard anything but good shit about him when I signed up. I looked up to the asshole once. How do I know you’re not twistin’ history to suit you?” Hooch shakes his head and places his bottle back on the table. “You only heard the highlights, King, because that’s what Apex wanted you to hear—only the good stuff. He’s been an asshole for years.” “What do you know about this?” Devon asks. Hooch turns to face the old guy properly, and Devon slowly nods his understanding. “I see it now. You’re Judas’s boy, right?” Hooch tips his chin in acknowledgement. “Fuck. You were a chubby little toddler in your mother’s arms when I saw you last.” “Time flies, huh?” Devon takes a swig of his beer and removes his Trilby. “How can I help you boys then?” “Denver, ’97,” I state. “Why didn’t our club retaliate?” A slow smile spreads over the old guy’s face. “Good question. I can’t tell you why they chose not to, exactly.” Hooch sighs and swipes his drink up in frustration. “Here I was thinkin’ this trip was goin’ to be worth my while.” Devon holds up a hand, shushing him. “I never said I didn’t know anythin’ about it, just that I don’t have the definite answer.” He settles his elbows on the table, the tattoos most of the lifers have clear on his right fingers: club, spade, diamond, and heart. “I can, however, give you the rundown on what happened before and after that night, which you may or may not have use for.” He grins. “You boys know much about Apex’s old lady?” “Only that we never see her,” I answer. Devon lifts his eyebrows as though to say “I know.” “There’s a reason why she’s always at home, never around.” He takes a sip of his drink for dramatic effect. “You boys know that Apex has a son as well?” Our jaws hit the table. “Say what?” How did I not know that? Does anybody at the club know? “Yeah. Should be about your age by now. Would have been next in line for that gavel your president loves to keep under his pillow at night, but a little ‘argument’ fucked that up for him.”

The pair of us stare at this relic of our club’s hey-day, waiting on the best part of the story. “He met his old lady when he was propsectin’ for the Blood Eagles.” All color drains from my body. I swear I can feel the temperature change as the blood sinks to my toes. “He what?” “Bet you didn’t know that, huh?” Devon tips his drink at us, and then downs a healthy gulp. “He kept that quiet,” Hooch muses. “I don’t even think my old man knows that.” “Not many people do,” Devon confirms. “Only me, Hammer, and a couple of the lifers in each club. Your pres pays a pretty penny to keep it that way, too.” Explains some of the Aces financial troubles, then. “Why keep it a secret until now, though? Members prospect for different clubs all the time.” “That they do. But they don’t start a blood war when they leave.” “What you on about?” Callum narrows his gaze on the old guy. “You sayin’ that this shit with the Eagles started before Denver because of Apex? That it never really ended?” Devon simply bobs both eyebrows, twice. So much makes sense now: the connections between him and the Eagles, his reluctance to let anyone in on what he’s doing. “Still doesn’t explain why there was no retaliation in ’97.” “Because in ’97,” Devon explains, “his old lady was still living with the enemy.” Hooch squints and cocks his head to the side as he shakes out a smoke. “Come again?” “Apex left. Got kicked out. His old lady? Her daddy was the then VP for the Eagles. Your beloved leader stuck his fuckin’ dick where it wasn’t welcome, and they both paid the price for it.” Devon wiggles his fingers, indicating he’d like a cigarette. “She was promised to the then president’s son. The officers were tryin’ to keep Eagles blood true, ensuring that the kids who grew up to take the place of their parents were pure-bred Scandinavians, just like their moms and dads.” “Sounds fucked up to me,” Callum mutters. “Nothing short of it,” Devon agrees, taking the light Hooch offers. I pull my pack out as well, the urge for something to calm my angered nerves strong. “The clubs split them up, then?” Devon nods, the end of his smoke burning bright. “Uh-huh. Sent him packing with the express condition that he never contact her or see her again. When the Eagles found out she was pregnant with his kid, he was exiled from the entire state. If the Aces rode to an inter-club rally that the Eagles were attending, he wasn’t welcome. The Aces knew that, and so he was never made an officer to ensure he had no reason to attend.” “But how did he become pres if he was never optioned?” Hooch asks. “We were told he was sponsored into a role, and that his loyalty to the club when Denver happened was why he was a shoo-in to make president when his predecessor died,” I fill in. “Know how the predecessor died?” “Accident. Nothing out of the ordinary.” “Wasn’t it?” Devon asks, his eyebrows raised as he takes a long pull of his smoke. This shit’s just getting more and more absurd. “So back to Denver,” I prompt, keen not to spin off onto another story that could make this conversation last all night. “Why no comeback?” Devon pulls in a deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. “His old lady, right? She’s still living with her daddy at the Eagles compound. That ambush went down, completely condoned by the officer of the club, and stirred things up. Apex catches wind of the Aces decision to hit the Eagles clubhouse at night, and understandably, flips.” He runs the side of his finger along his lips before he continues. “He talked to one of the officers, the road captain, his friend, and managed to spin enough of a fucking Romeo and

Juliet sob story that the officers on the trip convened and decided to go in a whole other direction—got his woman out, along with their kid.” Fuck. He was me. Apex was me. So why the fuck is he so hell-bent on not helping out? “Anyway,” Devon says with a sigh. “Whole thing went pear-shaped. The boys—me included—got busted after we cut through their fence. She was supposed to sneak out with the kid, but she ran at us like a fucking banshee, screamin’ that they had the boy and they wouldn’t give him up. Yeah, we got him out as well, somehow managed to get away without anyone dying, but the Eagles pres had delivered one final blow before they let that kid loose.” “A permanent reminder?” Hooch hazards a guess. Devon nods. “Kid was walking toward his momma when one of the brothers pulled a steel baseball bat out from behind his leg and swung one hell of a home-run into that boy’s back. Kid never walked again. Spat all hope Apex had of him riding a bike out the window.” “Doesn’t stop him being a member, though,” I muse. “So what if he can’t ride?” “The kid had surgery eight times over the next two years to fix the splintered bits of bone that were floatin’ around the kid’s spinal cord. One of them had complications. He got an infection in his blood, straight up the spinal cord to his brain.” “Fuck,” Hooch utters, pre-empting what we all know Devon’s going to say next. “Yeah. Kid’s a vegetable.” I push my beer away, my stomach too unsettled to even think of adding to it. “If the Blood Eagles fucked him over so bad, then why the fuck is he tryin’ not to go to war with them now?” “You at war again?” Devon asks. “Should be,” I answer. Devon huffs out a heavy breath, shaking his head as he turns his bottle between his hands. “If he’s anything like he was when I left that fucking bunch of sheep—no disrespect—he’ll be avoiding the chance that somebody else delivers his final blow. That president of yours has a grudge the size of Mexico on his fucking conscience. If somebody fucked up your life, your family that much, what would you want to do?” I stare at the guy as he waits on our answer, my thoughts on Carlos, Elena, the hate I have toward that fucking asshole for holding her captive. “I’d want to kill him slowly and with my bare hands.” “Exactly.” Devon nods once. “You’d want to be the sole deliverer of that fucker’s final minutes on this God-damned earth, wouldn’t you?” Too fucking right I do.

FIFTEEN Elena “Don’t forget about the sniper, Elena.” I release the catches on the window, giving up on my efforts to make them budge, and cock my head in Carlos’s general direction. “It’s still a better choice than going with you.” He hasn’t moved from the far end of the hallway. “I’m tired of this.” “And you also still don’t have the balls to step foot in here, so what are you going to do other than wait it out like a good little boy scout?” Last glimpse I got of him, he’d removed his shoes. Either he’s getting himself comfortable, or he’s silently freaking out being here. I’m tending toward thinking the latter. “Rage can make people do funny things, and you’re making me very angry.” I’m supposed to be scared by his words, but they don’t panic me. Thinking I’ll never get off this damn property alive is what scares me. I haven’t had a chance to live my life yet. I’ve sacrificed and served from when I was a child, helping Mama, looking after Papa, and now bending to Carlos’s will. When do I get a chance to decide how my days are spent, and with what my future will hold? I stare out the window at the guard tower and the man whose rifle permanently rests in my direction. There’s little to no cover between the window and the fence; the lawns are vast and wide. I’ve been testing the guard’s tendency to shoot at me for the better part of half an hour now. He doesn’t seem intent on doing much unless I actually get out; only when my hands ret atop the latches does his little red dot find my chest. “Don’t you have guests to entertain?” I snap at Carlos. There has to be another option for escape. “I’m sure they’re entertaining each other.” A shudder ripples through my body at the visual. My hormonal bladder’s fit to burst again, so I make my way through to the bathroom and set about rectifying the issue. Avoiding my less-than-stellar reflection in the mirror, I cast my eyes over the ornate tiles that are speckled in between the plainer, standard white ones. They appear like any other mosaic design, but then again, this is Carlos Redmond’s house, so I could place money on them being worth more than the average weekly wage, each. Finished, I stand and shake out my bunched dress. My hands fall limp when I spot something that’s escaped my notice until now. Stepping toward the frosted shower wall, I pull the wide door open, my jaw slack as I stare at the answer. A window. I didn’t see it last time because of the frosted shower stall, but there above the feature tiles on the longest wall is a wide, short window. I reach up and hook my thumbs under the latches to discover that they aren’t locked. My heart pounds a beat to rival a sprinter’s footfalls, but there’s only one problem. Well, two. The window is short and narrow, and I’m a full-grown woman with a baby bulge hindering my chances. Secondly, the latches pivot outward in an arc, and whilst they open, the window would never actually come unhinged. I’m going to need tools. “I won’t wait forever,” Carlos calls, his voice smaller through the obstruction of the bathroom door.

My frantic hands pull open the vanity drawers carefully so as not to make much noise, one by one, searching for anything that could be used as a screwdriver or even to apply leverage against the hinges. Predictably, they’re all empty. Think, Elena. Think. The picture frames. I edge the bathroom door open and come to a grinding halt when I realize that to get to the pictures, I have to cross past the open doors and therefore attract Carlos’s attention. “If you can’t be bothered waiting,” I reply to his earlier statement, “then why not send somebody else in to get me?” I use the pause before his answer to check out how he’s positioned. “Nobody is allowed in here except me.” He’s seated with his back to the wall that runs the length of the hall between his position and mine, his arms hooked over his knees. A sheen covers his pale skin. He’s not coping with this well at all. “And yet you can’t bring yourself to move past where you are. Why?” I dash across the doorway while his face is buried in his knees. “The memories were good up to that night. Why taint them with who I am now?” “You’re no different to who you were then, you realize?” I collect up as many frames as I can hold in my arms, not wanting to risk the need to come back for another. “Is it that hard to believe that I was once a loving, adoring husband and father?” He laughs bitterly. I set the frames in my right hand down on the bed quietly, and pull open the drawer of the nightstand to check just in case they have something more useful. “Yes, it is. But surely I could be forgiven for that considering our history.” There’s a pause before his reply, enough to have my lungs constrict with the idea he might finally be on the move. His husky response drifts to where I am, collecting the frames again after finding the drawer empty. “You’re a lot like her, you know.” I hesitate, mid-step, genuinely surprised. “I am?” “Mmm,” he hums. “Same independent streak, that stubbornness that defines your will to fight.” He pauses as I edge closer to the door again, peering at his position. “Makes it strange then that I don’t feel any of the same affection toward you as I did her.” He fusses with the toe of his sock as I leap across the opening with two long strides. Safe on the other side, I reply, “She was the mother of your child, though. That probably changed things.” “Perhaps.” Another pause. “What are you doing?” I freeze, two steps from the bathroom. “Talking to you?” “You’ve passed by the door twice now.” Damn it. “Just looking around.” “Well don’t,” he snaps. “None of this is yours to look at, to touch, or even breathe. I want you out.” “I need the toilet.” “Didn’t you just go?” “Call it a nervous bladder.” He grumbles, slamming something—presumably his elbow or fist—against the wall. “This isn’t your house!” he roars. “I make the fucking rules. Get. Out. Now.” I slam the bathroom door in response and lock it. His garbled yells are muffled by the solid wood as I dump the frames on the floor. A white-haired boy smiles up at me from the arms of a brunette woman whose eyes are the kind that hold genuine compassion. She’s the type of person who you immediately trust not to hurt you, whose expression holds no trace of the cold, calculated evil her husband breathes. Pushing my guilt at destroying the memories aside, I crack the frames open and split them into the back, front half, and the glass. Two have a solid wooden stand hinged on the back, and I rip each off with all

intent of using the point of the stand as a makeshift screwdriver. My hands can only just reach the window though. I hop up and down, trying to see what I’m working with as thunderous bangs echo through the walls. My time’s limited, my seconds too precious to waste. I rip the vanity drawers out of their slides, thankful they have proper dovetail joins and not flimsy balsawood bases. Stacking two up as a stepstool, I lever myself up with my fingertips biting into the window frame to keep my balance. The catches have a single screw securing their ends to the wood. I run my eye over the hinges, making sure there aren’t any arms restricting how wide I can push the window once I have the catches off. It all seems okay. My breath jams in my throat when a second voice joins Carlos’s. I can’t make out who it is, but the resonance is too low for it to be Sully. Damn it. Hopping off the drawers, I snatch up the stands from the picture frames and try them on the screws. One’s too fat, not giving me any leverage to get the damn thing moving. The other is too flimsy, bending when I try to turn the tight screw. I look across at the mess of pieces on the floor, praying for an answer as the repetitive pounding of footsteps moving closer tells me I have company. My heel catches the shower frame as I dash across to the bathroom door and check the quality of the lock. It’s a bolt slid inside the thick door and seems too much to be able to kick in. The thought gives me some hope for this crazed plan. A piece of frame glints under the overhead fluorescent, catching my eye. It’s steel and has an angular join at the corner. Latching onto the frame with both hands, I smash it down on the marble counter, hoping to break it apart. Several agonizing moments and a bleeding hand later, I have it in three bits. My palm throbs where the frame sliced in as it tore apart, and my ears drum with the beat of my heart, matching the tempo of the fists on the bathroom door. “Open up, Elena.” Hammer. Carlos has finally got his guest to do the dirty work. “No.” Heavy thuds rattle the door in its frame; he’s trying to kick it in. Pushing the pain in my hand aside, I mount my “steps” again and use the corner of the frame to work the screws. The blunt edge bites into my hands, pulling at the flesh as I finally get movement. I cry with relief and bite my lip to try and deal with the burn of my injured palms as I undo the two screws. The bloodied frame and steel screws hit the floor with a clang. The door cracks as it starts to splinter. I shunt my bloodied hands against the windowpane and gasp with pure elation as it swings up far enough that it won’t restrict my attempt to get out. With my hands on the bottom edge of the frame I hoist myself up, once, twice, three times before I get my head and shoulders through the opening. Garden greets me, a concealed corner of the internal courtyard where the pool is. I drop down to the shower floor and push up again, crying out as my injured hands peel a little more with the tension. It takes five further attempts before I get my chest to the frame and finally have enough push to get my torso to follow. The whole time Hammer yells at me to give in and “open the fucking door.” It’s pointless—he’ll be through it soon enough himself. I wriggle, push, pull, and worm my way through the high window until I’m pivoted on the ledge by my hips. There’s no sign of anybody out this side of the house, and the only obstacle I have to contend with is a stone-chip-covered garden with plants so small in it that I doubt they’d be able to cushion anything. I’ve got no choice.

The bathroom door opens with an almighty crash and boom as my shoulder takes the force of my fall. My head is forced into the unrelenting ground as the rest of my body crumples to the side. Hammer yells to Carlos, letting him know I’ve escaped. I can barely make out his words through the adrenalin-induced whoosh of blood through my veins, my ear throbbing from the impact with the garden. My temples pound under the pressure as I look around, checking my options. The only way out is by going deeper into the property, past the pool house. I set off toward it and grit my teeth against the ache in my hips and knees. Lord, please make sure I haven’t harmed my baby. Please make sure I haven’t hurt myself too bad to get away. I force the crippling thoughts aside, useless other than keeping me distracted from what’s around me, and focus on the task at hand. I need to get out. I need to find King.

SIXTEEN King “I don’t know if that helped, or made things worse.” Hooch stops outside the bar to light a smoke, cupping the lighter to the end of the cigarette. “Worse,” I muse. “I’m going with worse.” He opens his mouth to say something but is cut short when my phone rings, the tune slicing through the dull hustle of the street around us. I rip it out of my pocket as soon as I recognize the ringtone I set for Sully. “Problems?” He lets out a jaded chuckle. “Yeah, you could say that. How far away are you?” I check the time on my watch and frown. “There’s still four hours until I was supposed to meet you.” “We need to step that up to now.” Cool sweat breaks across the back of my neck. “What’s happened?” He doesn’t answer. Instead I get scratchy static and the muffled sound of angry voices. My chest vibrates with every frantic thump of my heart. Things have gone wrong. He must know. She’s in trouble. There’s no other valid reason why Sully would call and let me know I need to be there now. Hooch steps in front of me and ducks his head to catch my eye as he puffs on his cigarette. “Everythin’ good?” I shake my head, at a loss for what to say. No, it’s not good. But that’s all I know. Hooch watches me intently as my hand tremors on the phone. I’ve got the fucking thing pressed so hard to my head, focusing in on every little scratch and huff that comes down the line, that my ear aches. “You still there?” Sully’s question deafens me gievn the phone is zeroed in on my ear canal. “I’m here.” “I need to wrap this up. Be at the pick-up point as soon as you can. If I need to change it, I’ll text you.” He disconnects and leaves me hanging, my heart in my throat. “Change of plan,” I bark at Hooch. “I need to be somewhere like yesterday, so once we’ve hauled ass back to the club I can’t fuckin’ stick around.” We’d only had time on our way out of the bar to discuss in passing that we’d head back to the clubhouse and share our findings with Beefy. The two of us came out here in one vehicle, and I’d planned to head off from the compound after I’d given my account of what was said. Now I’m cursing the damn oversight; if I’d had my bike, I could have left Hooch to go back alone and set off immediately. It’s all wasted time I don’t have. Looks like my complete trust is in the man beside me. “What was that about?” Hooch holds my gaze as he stubs out the cigarette under his boot. “Your woman?” My woman. “Yeah.” She’s my woman, all right. “You’ve got the minute it takes us to walk to the truck to explain,” he states, marching off as he speaks. “Bullet points, King. What’s going on?” “I’m not sure. But none of it’ll be good.” “She in trouble?” Hooch asks. “Always is.” The words hurt to say. Almost as though if I didn’t admit it out loud, it somehow lessened

the impact my choices have made on where Elena is now—fighting, alone. “You got a location then?” I round the back of the vehicle to the driver’s side and open a metal storage box secured to the back to lift out a handgun and a box of bullets. The sharp click as I load the magazine punctuates the urgency of the moment. “Only to a rendezvous point.” He reaches around me and snatches the keys out of my front pocket with the deftness only a trained pickpocket possesses. “I’ll drive.” “No way,” I say with a disbelieving chuckle. “If we’re even a second too fuckin’ late, I don’t want anyone to blame for that other than myself.” “And by the way you’re freakin’ the fuck out, we’ll be late because we have to pull over for you to get your shit together.” His dark brows dip as he glares at me, hard. “I’ll drive.” With a grumble, I slam the storage box closed and hot-step around the hood and launch myself in the passenger seat. The truck starts with the throaty rumble of a V8—courtesy of Fingers’s tendencies to tinker—and we peel rubber as Hooch jettisons us out of the car park and into the traffic. “Where we going?” he asks, steering with one hand while the other makes a hell of a noise rummaging around in the center console. I scroll through to the message from Sully and recite the address. “Where the fuck is that?” He looks down at the empty clip in his hand and growls. “I’ve got some idea; I’ve got to look it up. Hold on.” Hooch glances at me with the same frustration I feel at not knowing where exactly that is or how fastest to get there before returning his gaze to the road. I’d planned to map out a route before I left . . . hours from now. Two taps later, and the robotic female voice from my phone tells us which turns to take. The ride is dangerously silent, save the odd shake and rattle after we hit a bump. “Can I count on you to keep it quiet if we drive straight to where I plan on keepin’ her?” I ask Hooch as I stare out the window at the houses and trees flashing by. He stays quiet for a moment, the rumble of the engine as we slow for a corner and then accelerate back to the limit the only sound between us. “Firstly,” he bites out, “I’m offended that you have to fuckin’ ask.” “No harm intended, man. But with every—” “Secondly,” he continues, cutting me short. “Where have you decided to stash her? You get that this Carlos fucker is as tuned into everybody’s lives as the fuckin’ Lord above. The asshole knows where you’ll be before you even do. Are you sure this pick-up point is legit?” “I’ve got no option but to hope.” The robotic voice on my phone interrupts to tell us to take a right soon. I tuck my left foot up on the seat, resting my arm against my leg, and wrap my hand over the knife that’s sheathed inside my boot. The feel of it gives me some comfort, some hope that we’ll be okay. I’ve met Sully enough times to count on one hand; I’m pinning my hopes on a guy who hasn’t had time to reveal his true intentions yet. What reason does he have for risking his job, his life, for us? Until now I’ve been so blinded by the gifts he’s delivered—stolen moments with Elena—that I’ve never questioned it. What reason would a man who’s in Carlos’s inner circle have to turn against him, all in the name of helping two near strangers? “You didn’t answer my question,” Hooch states, shifting the truck down through the gears as we come to a crossing amidst nothing but fields ready for harvest. “My parents’ place.”

He slams the truck into neutral and twists in his seat. “You’re draggin’ your family into this?” Could he make me feel any worse? Thinking of what crossing Carlos could mean for Mom and Dad if shit went south already keeps me awake at night. I’ve been looking for the better way, the way that only involves me in the damn consequences if I fuck this up, but as time passes it becomes abundantly clear: there is no other way. I need somebody’s help to get this done, and Lord knows that ain’t the club thanks to Apex, so my family it is then. “Well?” he asks quieter. “Yeah, I am. They’re the only people not involved with the club that I can trust.” “Now’s the time to change your mind on that, brother.” He shifts the gears and sends us back on our way. “Me? I have no choice because I was born into this club; my family has been a part of the southern chapter since its inception. But you, man? You’re one of the lucky ones. The rest of your life is outside of this. If you want to walk away from her, from the club, from fuckin’ everything and start again clean, you can. So I’ll ask again, are you sure you want to go through with this and make your family a part of it?” “It’s only temporary,” I protest weakly. “Yeah, but if it all turns to shit, death ain’t.” He’s right, but what else do I do? I’m not leaving Elena in hell for some selfish hope of a “normal” life. Could I take Elena and run? Where to? I don’t know who Carlos has connections with in other cities. What kind of life would we live, never settling? What kind of life would that be for our kid, as an outlaw gypsy? I couldn’t do that to him or her. I’ve got plans, an idea in my head of how raising my child will be, and running from town to town isn’t part of it. A home that holds memories and provides a safe place to return to is. “Just drive,” I grumble. According to the damn map in my hands we’re less than five minutes from the pin marking our target. All going well it should be a straight snatch and run, but when it’s Carlos I’m going against, when our club is riddled with ears in all the wrong places and people I can’t trust . . . well, I’m prepared for anything. I hope.

SEVENTEEN Elena My hands burn. As superficial as the damage I did with the picture frame and then climbing out is, it’s deep enough to have drawn blood. Given my current predicament, though, it’s the least of my worries. A voice I don’t recognize is to my left, dangerously close. A rich, deep baritone tells whoever is on the other end of the radio that he hasn’t located me. A crackly response clips out, too hazy to decipher. Carlos’s guards. He’s set his hypothetical hounds on me. The sharp edges of a succulent dig into my thigh as I shuffle in the hiding space I’ve found between an air-conditioning unit and the side of the pool house. Leafy shrubbery disguises where I crawled in under the low branches of a small tree. Freedom taunts me from the far side of a chain-link fence that runs between the back wall of the pool house and the main residence. The garden is so overgrown that even if there were a weak spot in the metal links, I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of reaching it. “I’ll sweep again,” the man says before his heavy footwear pounds across to the other side of the courtyard. Silence falls over me like an unwelcome blanket. With noise, I can locate people and assure myself they aren’t coming for me, and that I’m still hidden. The eerie stillness that’s come over the poolside has me fearing the worst: I’ve been spotted, and now they’ll close in. A dull throb in my kidneys grows the longer I stay crammed in the small space. Panic triples as my mind goes crazy coming up with all sorts of extreme reasons for the pain: trouble with the baby, internal bleeding, a back injury. Whatever comes of this, it’ll be worth it to be free. “Elena.” I duck my head into my knees and rub the heel of my hands over both ears. I’m hearing things. I’ve driven myself crazy. “Elena.” With my eyes wide open, I still my breaths. That’s no illusion. “Sully?” I whisper. “Where are you, girl?” “Here.” I wriggle forward, disturbing branches in the process. “Quick. Come here,” Sully instructs. “I don’t think we have much of a window before this goes fucking bad.” I let out a bitter laugh as I push under the tree to emerge into the night. “Has it not already?” “Are you dead yet?” he answers with a raised eyebrow. I shake my head, understanding his point. “Which way, then?” Sully frowns as his gaze rakes over my disheveled and bruised appearance. A softness that I’ve only seen him show Maria hides in the slight tip of his head to the side. “You’re crazy, but a damn fighter, aren’t you?” “Too much to miss out on if I give up.” I duck my head to peer around him. “The guard who was just here?” “Taken care of, but his absence will be noticed soon when he doesn’t reply to his radio.” Sully straightens out and looks over my head at the house as the stone-cold determination he always wore when

I first arrived at Carlos’s returns. “This way.” I cling to the man like a cape, so close I can feel the heat radiate off his back as he walks quickly yet quietly toward the pool house. “Shortcut,” he whispers as we duck through the glass doors and into the square building. I frown when he brings us to a stop outside the pump room. “Unless you think I can fit through a water pipe . . .” “Just wait and you’ll see.” He opens the door, checking all around as we both slip inside. Sully shuts us in, and darkness envelops us both. I can’t make out my hand before my face. Who knows how he’s going to see what he’s doing? “Agh, shit,” he hisses as a dull clang indicates he’s hit metal. I guess he can’t “It’s here somewhere. Just a little to the right . . . there.” The screech of metal on metal is deafening in the confined space. We’ll be discovered for sure. I turn to check the door and loose my bearing in the pitch black. “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-yell. “Stop making so much noise.” His grumbles of protest are drowned out by the incessant whomp of my heartbeat as it fills my ears, the rush of blood aching with every thud. The metallic scraping noise stops, and I realize that without it I’m totally clueless in the pitch black as to where Sully is. I also have no idea if the door is behind me or to my side, which way I need to be prepared to fight against. “Where are you?” A groping hand connects with my calf. “Kneel down, and for fuck’s sake, watch your head.” Sully’s strong palm runs up over my shoulder and find my crown. He keeps his hand in place to guide me under what I assume is a pipe. The thinnest sliver of moonlight shines beyond. “It’s an access hatch,” he explains, his breath hot on my temple. “On the other side are the gardens behind the house. You’ve been through them, right?” “A few times,” I whisper, edging for the hole. He holds me back. “You know where the Koi pond is?” I nod, the hand still on my head letting him know I have. “Turn right and follow the tree line to the wall. You’ll see what I’ve done when you get there. And Elena?” “Yes?” “Be quick. Don’t hesitate, don’t let your fear take over. Just go. Get the fuck out of here and don’t look back.” “You and Maria . . .?” “Will see you soon enough.” “But how—” I’m cut short as Sully pushes the heel of his hand into the base of my head, urging me forward. “Go.” I crawl and wriggle, ending up flat on my stomach to get out the narrow hole. Even if Sully had wanted to join me, I have serious doubts that the man-mountain would have fit. Standing on the edge of the gardens, I pause and listen. A part of me wants to know he’s okay, wants some sign that he’s managed to bullshit to whomever asks that he saw me. But his words echo in my head. Don’t hesitate . . . just go. I run. Bare feet slip on the grass wet with the night’s dew. I sprint toward the Koi pond and ignore the spikes of pain in my joints as I push my body to the limit. The water comes into sight, shimmering like a sheet of steel under the clouded moon. The stone of the path bites into the soles of my feet as I lean right, turning myself at the corner without the need to slow down. My breath appears in gray clouds before

being broken against my face, the night air cold compared to the dry heat of today. I follow the tree line as Sully instructed, my eyes keen for any sign of what he talked about along the wall. The stone barrier comes into view, emerging through the shadowy landscape like the formidable force that it is. How the hell do I get over it? I see it—what Sully prepared. Laid on its side in the longer grass at the base of the wall is a ladder, only given away by the reflection of the patchy moonlight on its dull metal surface. Hesitant to trust how easy this all looks, I dig my feet into the path as I slow to a careful walk. The end of the row of trees is mere feet from me, the expanse of the wall opening up beyond. While still under cover, I duck down and shimmy sideways to the last tree, crouching at its base while I scope out the stone wall both ways. Nothing. Nobody. Surely not? Using a stone amongst the grass at my feet, I throw it at the wall as hard as I can. The clink echoes around the still gardens. And yet, nothing. I’m not sure what I expected: gunfire, shouting, or a guard to appear before me? I didn’t expect this: solitude, freedom for the taking, and the end of this nightmare within my reach. My arms shake as I pull the ladder from the grass and struggle to position it against the wall. Happy the feet are secure enough, I put one foot on the bottom rung and give a final glance over my shoulder to be sure this is it before climbing. My hands feel moss as I reach the top, embedded in the gaps between the stones. With one leg either side of the wall, I sit astride and look back at the hell I’ve escaped. From this height, I can make out a handful of people around the distant house, scurrying like tiny ants to find their queen. Little do they know, she’s long gone. The queen has run away to be with her King of Hearts.

EIGHTEEN King “This is the place, right?” Hooch asks, one arm slung out the window. I stand beside him, outside of the truck, as I scan the horizon in all directions. “According to the address I was sent, yeah.” “How long do we wait?” “I guess until somebody shows.” I blow out an exasperated breath and check the road behind me again. “I wouldn’t know which way to even fuckin’ go to get to his place.” There’s nothing around our position but moonlit trees, fields, and the odd barn or lean-to. Sure as fuck nothing that looks like a drug lord’s residence. “Might not matter,” Hooch says, straightening in his seat. “We’ve got somethin’.” I spin around and the stones on the tarmac crunch under my heel. The night seems impossibly dark as I shift my gaze rapidly left and right, looking for what he’s spotted. My gut hits the ground as I see her. She runs toward us favoring one leg. She’s hurt. “Fuck, Elena.” Hooch’s voice rises behind me as I set off at a sprint to meet her. He’s trying to warn me, but I’ve waited weeks for this moment—I’m not fucking around now. Where the hell is Sully? The truck’s engine roars to life behind me as I close the space between Elena and I. Her hair flows behind her clear of her face to reveal the pain displayed in the hard set of her jaw. Her eyebrows are pinched, her feet bare. My baby’s hurting. “King.” Her labored word drifts toward me, barely audible over the sound of the truck as Hooch pulls up beside us. I open my arms wide and take her weight as she collapses into me. Feels so good. Every time we’re brought back together, every time I feel her warm skin against mine I wonder how did I ever let go? What the hell possesses me to let this get out of my hold, to let the woman who stirs something carnal and sweet all at once inside of me go? “I’ve got you,” I whisper, my hand buried in her messy hair. “I’ve got you, baby, and I ain’t ever givin’ you up again.” Elena’s arms slip around my waist and burrow under the leather of my cut, warming my skin with her embrace. “We need to keep going,” she murmurs. “I think I’m being followed.” She tugs her head back to check over her shoulder, fear clear in her wide eyes. “I know.” I slip my hand along her jaw, gently turning her face back to me. “But first . . .” Where we are, what we’re doing here—none of it matters when her lips meet mine. Words can only convey so much; there’s a warm intimacy, a level of promise that can’t be spoken only found in a kiss. And it’s that promise she gives as her lips caress mine, as she tilts her head to deepen the connection that drives me forward. She wants me, and that simple admission is enough. This incredible woman, this fighter, this survivor has chosen me as the one to be by her side. I’ll never stop being amazed by that. Elena pulls back as the creak of Hooch’s door whips us back into the now. Her gaze flicks between my eyes as her frown deepens. “I’m still so damn mad at you.” As though she doesn’t think the statement is enough, her hand lashes out and she punctuates her point with a slap across my face.

“Shit, woman!” “Trust me, you deserve worse for dumping me back in that snake pit.” “We haven’t got time to argue, lovebirds,” Hooch interrupts. I follow where he points and spot a distant ray of light that cuts across the road. By the way it steadily grows brighter, I’d say before long we’re going to have company. Meeting Elena’s concerned gaze, I shake my head. “Baby, you’ve got a lot of things to be pissed off at me about, but right now we’ve got more important things to worry about.” She nods, still sullen. “Just get in the truck.” I hold the door open for her as Hooch dashes back to the driver’s seat. She allows me to help her after she shies trying to pull her weight up into the cab. Something’s hurting, something’s injured, but I can’t see what. “We all good to go?” Hooch asks as I reach out to close the door after I join them. “Lets get out of here, brother.” I should look at the road; I should look around and see where that approaching car is at, but how can I when the one thing worth doing this for sits right beside me? Hooch whips the truck around with a snap of the tail end, and I cradle Elena to my side as we’re thrown against the door. She pushes against my leg to sit herself upright and immediately brings her hand to her chest. “Ow.” “What’s hurt?” I swivel my hips so I can face her better. “Nothing that we need to worry about now.” Her eyes dart between the road in our headlights and the side mirror out my window. “Oo-wee!” Hooch hollers. “We got ourselves a par-tay!” I crane my neck and look behind us to spot the same thing: blurred headlights that slowly grow larger. Elena twists in her seat to look out the back window also. Her angry scowl deepens, mixed with a tinge of apprehension as the lights begin to separate. “You okay?” I ask. For all that’s happened, for how hard it must have been to get away, she’s ridiculously quiet. “What sort of question is that?” “Baby . . .” “No! Don’t ‘baby’ me.” Her angered words have Hooch looking around briefly as he accelerates to the truck’s limit. “I’m sorry,” I start, as I check the side mirror to see our tail’s gained on us. “I didn’t mean—” Tiny fists connect with my arm and chest. “If anything’s happened . . . if our baby is . . .” She chokes back her words, her hands stilled for the briefest of seconds before finding strength once more and laying into me again. “This is on you! You should have taken me with you,” she wails as I finally get hold of one of her wayward fists. “You sent me back there. You made this happen.” Her words are lost amongst the choked sobs that push from her chest. I trap both wrists in one hand and hold them between us, wrapping my other arm around her shoulders to pull her into me as we slide around another corner. She’s frightened, the adrenaline is probably still thick in her veins, and she needs an outlet. I get it. “This guy behind us ain’t going anywhere fast,” Hooch says. “On it,” I mumble. I let go of Elena’s wrists as her sobs subside into sniffled tears and take her chin in hand, tipping her face up to mine. Her brow is creased, her eyes displaying every ounce of the hurt and betrayal she’s harbored since I threw her to the dogs. She’s justified in feeling every bit of anger at what I did. “I was a fool.” My lips ghost over hers.

She sucks in a sharp breath, drawing cool air across my mouth. “I hate you for it.” “I know.” A confused frown pinches her brow as I push her off me and move the handgun that’s at my feet to down inside my shirt. No way I’m losing that in the process. “What are you doing?” Hooch glances across, unsure also. “Yeah, man. What are you doin’?” “Can you keep the fuckin’ truck straight?” I ask. “Sure.” I crank the window full down, and then latch both hands onto the roof of the vehicle. Elena eyes what I’m doing, one hand braced against the dashboard, the other against the seat. I tip my head back and out the window, looking ahead of us to make sure I’m not about to lose it. The car swerves to Hooch’s side as our tail tries to pass. “Wait where you are a minute,” Hooch yells. I tuck my head back in the cab the exact moment he takes us off-road, clipping a corner and sending the three of us flying skyward in out seats. It gains us a little distance. Back on the straight, I pop my head out again and give a push with my feet to get my shoulders through as well. Hair whipped by the wind, I pause when I feel Elena’s hands on my ankles, doing her bit to steady me. Can’t get distracted now. As amazing as the small gesture feels, I’ve got a job to do. I sit on the window frame for a second before pushing to stand on the seat, contorting my body over the roof of the cab as I reach for the headboard of the tub and pull my left leg out. The truck hits a pothole, and I scramble to keep my boot on the edge of the tub. With my heart in my throat, I swing my body around and hoist myself onto the back of the moving vehicle. With my feet wedged wide, I sit with my back to the headboard and retrieve the gun from inside my shirt. What I can only assume is a bullet pings as it ricochets off the steel to the right of my head. I daren’t check behind me in case I meet Elena’s gaze through the rear window; one concerned look from her alone could undo the blind ignorance I’m going to need to carry on with this. Using a knee as an aide to steady my arm, I line up the swerving vehicle and track it until I’m confident my bullet won’t go wasted. Another loud twang sounds to my left as the bullet probably pierces the bodywork, and my hand tightens on the weapon. It’s all I can do not to loose it with how crazy my heart races. One round. Two. I’m pretty sure the first misses completely, but the other vehicle veers right after the second shot before it recovers. Only after I track the car for my third attempt, and it moves enough to the side, do I see the damage I’ve done. No longer blinded by their headlights, I catch the snaked lines that mar their windscreen as we jerk over another bump. Hooch thumps the roof of the truck, and I look over the top to see a corner up ahead. I wrap my redundant arm around the upright of the truck’s headboard, and fire off another two rounds at the car as it tracks our rear left wheel. They swerve and weave, but I’ve got no hope of stopping them without better firepower. As soon as Hooch has the vehicle righted around the bend, I rip the storage beside me open and pull out the sawn-off. Trapping it on the deck under my leg, I shove my hands back in the steel box and fish around for the cartridges I know are in there. We sweep around another long bend, and my butt slowly slides farther away from the box. Just as I lose reach, I close my fingers around what I’m looking for and pull the box of ammo out to quickly load the gun. The glass beside my head shatters. Elena’s squeal of surprise sends the blood pumping faster through

my veins. No fucker gets that close without payin’ for it. Locked and loaded, I fire both barrels at our friends. The other car skids, the back end comes around, and they slow to an almost complete stop before the car whips straight and continues pursuit. Fuck it. That was my last hope; there’s no more ammo in the box. I retrace my Evel Knievel steps and clamber back inside the cab as we launch over a rut in the road. “I’m all out, but I think I’ve done damage.” Hooch checks the rearview and nods. “They’re slowing down, all right. We’re gettin’ distance.” Thank fuck for that. Elena’s gaze searches mine, for what I can’t tell. Her pupils dilate in the near dark until her eyes are almost entirely black. My gaze is drawn to her bruised cheek, to the scratches on her temple. Her eyes close briefly as I trace the marks with my rough fingers, pushing her hair behind her ear to check for more as the lengths are whipped about by the draught created by the missing back window. “I don’t know if I can ever make this up to you,” I murmur, “but I’ll damn well never stop tryin’.” “Why couldn’t I let you go?” she asks, taking me aback. “Why did I start this? If it wasn’t for me—” “We started this,” I remind her as Hooch sighs beside us. “Took two to tango.” “Hate to interrupt,” Hooch grumbles, “but you fuckers need to hold on.” I glance out the windscreen and pull Elena tighter when I notice we’ve run out of sealed road; rough dirt stretches for miles before us. “Got a plan, brother?” The cargo in my arms is first priority, and if she is injured, I don’t want to risk doing her more harm by bumping around off-road too much. “I got a plan,” Hooch reassures, “but it involves us findin’ out how accurate that map is.” The truck jolts as we swerve right and hit the edge of the grass. My eyes flick down to where my phone still sits in the center console, open on the app. The blue arrow points toward a mass of green beside the road we were just on. If he’s thinking what I am, we cut straight through this and we shortcut out to the highway. My arms tighten around Elena as she lifts both legs to jam her feet into the dashboard and stop from jerking around so much. I press down on her shins and force her legs free. “We hit something hard with your legs like that, and you’ll break both ankles.” She tucks her legs against the seat and nods her understanding. I reach up and wrap my fist around the handle above the door, looping my left arm around Elena’s side and under her arm. She crosses her forearms on mine, and holds on with shaking hands. “What if we don’t lose them?” I glance in the side mirror and smile at the headlights that jerk up and down. “I think we have a fair chance.” Turning to Hooch, I ask, “You think that was a sedan too?” He flicks his gaze to the rearview. “Yuh-huh. I’d say they’re cursing out its shitty suspension about now.” I watch the path Hooch cuts through the field with keen interest, noting how he avoids the simple lines and takes instead the harder route. We dip into an old creek bed, and weave through felled trees left to rot. He’s doing his best to get them stuck. The headlights are farther behind, what looks to be twice the distance by the time the bright lights of the highway come into view. “Watch this.” Hooch shunts the shifter down a gear and grips the steering wheel with white-knuckled tenacity as we hit the embankment that leads up to the highway. The suspension dips out as all four of us fly forward with the impact. Grass sprays off the grill, and mud flings out in a rooster tail off the front tires. Lights whip past our raised hood, zipping by at lightning speed compared to how slow we climb the steep, slightly muddy, slope. By some miracle of God, the

dirt-coated tires keep traction and bite into the hill as we climb to join the open-road traffic. I come fucking close to shutting my eyes as we near the speeding cars and trucks and crest the top of the rise. Elena buries her face in my side and hums in nervous protest. Hooch manages to pull the truck around in the breakdown lane and get us up to speed to merge with the traffic in next to no time, and with fuck-all effort. Our new friends’ headlights fade into the distance as they sit stuck, not even halfway up the embankment. Shadowy figures step out of the front doors, clearly arguing with each other, judging by the arms that fly and jerky movements as they become mere dots on the horizon. Hooch leans back in his seat, his grin a mile wide and his elbow slung casually out the window. “You can thank me later.” “For what? Damn near killing me?” Elena yells as she swings her arm awkwardly in the confinement of the cabin to clip him around the ear. “I’ve pushed my luck far enough for one night, thank you.” “Hey,” he cries out, fending her off with a crooked elbow while he ducks toward the door. “You want me to fuckin’ drop you back there to find your own way out, just say the word, precious. I’ll turn this fuckin’ truck right around.” I manage to wrangle one of Elena’s flying wrists in my hand and pull her back toward me as the fight gives out and she starts to shake. The corners of her mouth turn down and she stares aimlessly out the window at the back of the vehicles in front of us, yet she doesn’t cry. Not a single tear. Not even a glimmer of moisture to be seen in her eyes. She’s hurting, but instead of letting go of her fear and breaking down, instead of showing weakness, she’s expelling the pent up emotions through anger. It seems to be a fallback of hers—one I’m determined to change. “Not too far to go,” I reassure her and wrap my arms tighter around her bare shoulders. Her skin is surprisingly warm; all I can put it down to is her recent outburst at Hooch that’s heated her up. I glance over top of her head as she shivers like a leaf in the fall wind and lock eyes with Hooch. He offers a wan smile and shrugs before focusing back on the road ahead. “Take the exit after this one,” I tell him, staring out at the broken taillight on the sedan in front of us. “It’s a shortcut that keeps us off the main roads.” Hooch nods and reaches across to turn the radio up a little. The heavy drum beat and slow melodies of southern rock fill the cab. The singer wails about a life on the road without the comforts of home. Fitting. I close my eyes to the tune and listen to the man’s husky voice as Elena’s shakes level out beside me. Her arm snakes around my middle, and her small hand clutches painfully tightly into my waist. I tip my chin down, taking in her tired, washed out expression as she stares up at me and swallows hard. The vinyl seat creaks beneath her as she pushes up and presses her soft lips against the side of my face, dotting a gentle kiss beside my ear. “Thank you,” she whispers before sliding back down to nestle into my side. I bring my left hand up and stroke the hair from her face in a slow rhythm. She doesn’t need to thank me. If it weren’t for my skewed priorities, she wouldn’t have needed to be rescued. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I’m sorry I did this to you.” Her face turns up to mine and she sighs as a frown pulls her eyebrows together. “Can we talk about this later? I’m . . . tired.” “Sure.” I nod once and stare out the side window at the cars that shrink as we pull away from them and take the off-ramp. For all I know, this could be the last moment of peace and serenity we get for a while. Carlos isn’t going to give up just because his henchmen got themselves stuck in the mud. He’s not going to lie down

and let her get away, even if he didn’t give a fuck for Elena’s wellbeing while he had her in his care. That’s not the point. I’ve taken something that’s his, and he’s not the kind of guy to suffer that sort of disrespect lightly.

NINETEEN Elena The truck has stopped, the space around me quiet save for the low murmur of men’s voices. I stretch out my protesting limbs as I open my eyes and look around. My head is on the seat where King had been, last I remember. Somewhere along the line I’ve fallen asleep, and rather than wake me, it seems King’s decided to let me snooze while they do whatever they are now. This is it; life with King starts right here, in this moment. All that struggle, the hell I went through, it’ll all be forgiven when I dip my paint roller in the color we choose for the baby’s room. We’ll get a house somewhere, find a place where nobody knows our names, and start again the right way. My hands throb with a dull burn as I unclench my fists and wince at the taut skin stretching out. He never saw the worst of my injuries, the skin torn and inflamed from when I tore my palms on the window frame. Using my elbows to give my hands respite, I push up and peer out the window at King and the others. Hooch, who I remember seeing in the bookshop that day, stands to the left, King beside him with his arms folded high on his chest and his feet wide. An older man sits on the porch steps, his face level with King’s as he talks morosely about something. None of them have noticed I’m awake, and I take the rare moment to observe King as he is when I’m not around. The conversation frustrates him—I can pick it from the telltale way he runs a hand over his chin and tugs at the end of his beard, something I’ve seen him do many a time. He rocks back on his heels every so often when Hooch talks. The set of King’s shoulders is tight, the muscles in his arms flexed from the clinch he has them in. I swing my legs around, facing the group, and edge the door open. Conversation dies, and three heads turn my way. The attention washes heat across my skin, and I duck my chin to try and deflect some of the pressure my shame brings. The driveway is dirt flecked with stone, and I stare down at the ground, making patterns between the pebbles to avoid having to look up again. Everywhere I go I bring trouble with me, and right now I feel like the bearer of bad news. King’s boots come into view beneath my feet on the running board. “Baby, you okay?” “What are you all talking about?” I ask. It’s me; I know it’s me. I just want to hear how he says it. King bends his knees and the denim pulls tight over his thighs as he squats in front of me, his hands clasped before him. I let my gaze drift over his body, taking in the swell of his shoulders and size of his biceps that peek out from beneath a T-shirt pulled taut in all the right places. Time apart has been good to him; he looks healthy, as though he’s kept busy with me gone. “What’s goin’ through that head of yours?” His rough fingers cup my chin, gently coaxing my face up enough so I’m forced to look into those green eyes I love so much. “I was thinking about what the future will be like now,” I admit. “How we might work as a family.” I rub my stomach absently, only realizing when he reaches out to still my hand. “Look good?” I smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “I think so.” “Why do you look unhappy then?” Damn it. “What if I’m not worth it?” I ask. “What if we go through all of this and it puts an irreparable

divide between us?” “Why the hell would it do that?” King cocks his head to the side, his frown strangely endearing when my heart feels as though it’s being pulled in opposite directions by the beasts of my conscience. “Where are we?” I look over his head at where Hooch now smokes a cigarette while the man on the step watches our interaction. “My parents’ house.” I snap my gaze back to King’s. “Why bring me here? Why would you put them in danger?” He closes his eyes and drops his chin to his chest as he sighs. “Nobody knows about them at the club. They’re off the radar, and as far as I could get you without worryin’ if the person could be trusted to keep you safe.” “You can keep me safe,” I say, confused. Why would he need somebody else to look after me? “Are you leaving?” After all this, after what we’ve done to be together, he wants to go? Not strong enough to see his response, I focus on my hands in my lap, turning them over to look at my palms. Why would he go through all this effort just to push me away again? Maybe he doesn’t love me any more? Maybe he never did? Could it be that he’s simply done this because of our baby? Is he only keeping me safe to keep his child out of harm? Used again. “Show me those.” His large hands engulf mine, his grip strong on the tips of my fingers. I try to curl them in, to cover what I’ve done for fear that if we change the subject now we’ll never discuss this again. I need to know what he’s thinking, why he wants to cut and run when I need him more than ever, but he persists and pulls back on my fingers to expose the red and angry flesh. “Fuck, Elena.” Still with my hands in his, he turns and shouts over his shoulder, “Dad, can you ask Mom to grab the first-aid kit?” I relent and let him fuss, taking in every detail I can of this man before me. Warm memories flood in as I run my eyes over his sharp jawline, the crook of his nose from where it’s been broken, and the way his wayward hair falls over his forehead to tickle around his eyes so that he’s forced to huff a breath out of the side of his mouth to move it. He’s a beautiful, conflicted mess—one that I created. Who would he be if it weren’t for me? Happy? Sated with a family to a woman who didn’t carry this much wrath everywhere like a ball and chain? “Come on, baby. Let’s get these hands sorted and then we can talk, huh?” He turns back to face me, and I push the pain that blooms behind my ribcage back into my heart. “I’m sorry I put us through all this,” I whisper. King leans his forehead to mine and moves his hands to cup my face. The warm gusts of his breath tickle my lips with notes of bourbon and cigarette smoke. It’s been a long day for the both of us, and we’ve only just begun. “Nothing worth having is ever easy to get, Elena.” He presses my cheeks lightly with his hands, as though to emphasize his point. “The more I have to fight to keep you, the more I realize how precious what I have is.” My tears hit his skin and run in a stream between his forefinger and thumb. What can I say to that? That if death by Carlos’s hand is what my life has in store for me, then why should I taint his future with the same tarred brush? I let him help me down from the truck and up the steps into the large house. Flower boxes are dotted along the porch, a faded swing seat at the far end. Wind chimes sing gently as the light evening air tickles them. This house is a home. It’s a place filled with memories, with love, and quite clearly, understanding. The man I now know as his father gives me a friendly smile and curt nod as we pass by, and Hooch

simply watches with eyes that hold a million unanswered questions. I can’t blame him. I’d be wondering if this woman I’d just risked life and limb for was worth the effort, too. “Where you want us, Mom?” King hollers through the belly of the house. “Kitchen table,” drifts a voice from the far left. “Just trying to find my swabbing alcohol.” Framed cross-stitches hang either side of the large arch that connects the sitting room with the dining room. I twist my head to look at one—a family tree—and suck a sharp breath in when I read the name of another child, Garret, and the date of birth and death, so near to each other. King’s never spoken of him, and if at all possible, I feel even more as though I’m intruding on the closeness of this family. I’m bringing fear and death to the doorstep of people who’ve obviously experienced enough for one lifetime. How selfish can I be? An attractive blonde woman with her hair pulled into a messy chignon rushes around the corner as King lowers me into a seat. I brace myself on the table and watch with interest as she embraces him tightly and whispers something in his ear, a small brown bottle clutched in her hand. Several other first aid items are already laid out on the table, and I fidget with a pair of tweezers, spinning them under my finger. King holds what I assume to be his mother back at arm’s length, his hands on her shoulders, and smiles before he mouths thank you. I’m the weed among the beautiful blooms. The love between mother and son is so heavy I feel as though if I were to step closer it would physically impede me. I don’t belong. The thought echoes in my head relentlessly, morphing into an anxiety-ridden mantra. “Where’s the damage?” King’s mom asks. She pulls out a chair across the corner of the table from me and settles in, putting on a pair of reading glasses. I place both hands on the table, palms up. “I did it when I pulled myself up on a window frame.” His mom sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth and tips her head to one side with sympathy in her gaze. “Oh, honey.” I sit in silence and watch as she picks up a damp washcloth and gently sweeps the remainder of the dried blood off my palms. King leaves the room, seemingly satisfied with the job his mom does, and returns out front. His mother shares the same green eyes as him, her expression soft and with a natural calm that I recognize in King also. They’re a lot alike. “How far along are you?” she asks. I start. My hand jerks in her grasp. “Uh, I think this is week seventeen.” I’m not entirely sure how I feel about the fact she so obviously knows, or what it says about how much King shares with her. What else does she know about me? What does she think of the circumstances that have brought me to be here, now, in her home? “You’ll feel kicks soon,” she replies, her eyes alive. “Special time indeed.” I can’t hide my smile. “I know. I’m looking forward to it.” She sets the washcloth aside and picks up a cotton swab, unscrews the cap of the brown bottle, and with the swab over the top, tips it to apply some of what’s inside. “Looking at your hands and at the faded bruises on your arms that I know wouldn’t have come from my boy, I’m going to guess you had it rough. Am I right?” I nod, unable to say a thing for fear of losing my slim hold on civility. “Should we get you examined then?” Her gaze falls to my stomach. “Check everything is as it should be?” “I haven’t bled,” I assure her. “Don’t always do until it’s too late.”

Even so, if the damage is done, it’s done. I should take the offer, find a doctor to check me out, but a part of me wants to remain ignorant and believe that I’ve come out of this relatively unscathed. “I know a lady,” she continues. “Play bingo with her on Sundays. She was the local midwife for a while.” She glances up when I don’t respond. “What’s the matter, honey?” “I’m scared.” “That something might be wrong?” I nod and bite my lip as the alcohol on her swab stings the raw flesh. “I’m not the lucky type.” “Only one way to know for sure.” She pats my hands dry with a clean towel and then sits back. “I’ll leave them uncovered, let the skin dry out. You’ll probably find they heal faster that way. As bad as it looks, you’ve just torn the top layers back; it’s not deep.” I look at the clean, pink skin and sigh. “Thank you.” “Any time, love.” There’s a strange serenity in watching her pack the items away, an odd ease being in a house that’s doesn’t harbor a new threat around every corner. If this is what a “normal” family life is, I want in. I want that: the calm, the love, and the peace. I want it with King. His mom crosses path with King as he walks inside again, making a beeline across the room to where I’m still seated. I rub the good skin around my wounds, and sigh. “When do you leave?” He stills, clearly affronted that I’d ask. “You understand, don’t you?” “I know why you would, but I’m not sure I understand.” I lift my gaze to find his piercing eyes asking, pleading. “How long?” “I don’t know.” How long is a piece of string? It could take weeks before they find the opportune moment to strike against Carlos . . . assuming that’s what he’s doing. “You’ll make sure he’s unable to bother me again, right?” The flinch is slight, but it’s there. “I’ll try.” “You’re not telling me something. What’s really going on?” A laden breath escapes his lips as he jerks a chair out from under the table and swings it around to straddle it, leaning his thick forearms on the back. “There’s a lot going on at our club at the moment, not all of it to do with Carlos. I can’t tell you what, and because of that I can’t explain why it’s important.” He hesitates and drops his forehead to his arms. It pains me to see the battle inside of him, but what can I do? He made it damn clear to me that the rules are the rules. If he can’t say, then he can’t. But where does that leave me? I want to understand, I want to believe that there’s something greater than us at the moment, but I can’t. Not knowing makes the justification hollow. There’s no conviction to what he says when I haven’t got a clue what he values as more important than us. “Tell me one thing,” I ask, inching closer to the edge of my seat. “Tonight, when you leave, where will you go?” His head lifts. “Elena . . .” “Will it be to deal with Carlos?” I shake my head, frustration ripe at the fact I have to spell this out to him. “I went through hell to get out of there, King, and if you go . . . if you leave here to do something other than finish what we’ve started . . .” “Baby.” He lifts both hands to grip the sides of his head. “I will. I promise that it’s not over. I’ll fuckin’ kill the bastard for what he’s done to you.” “But?”

“But I need to do it right. I need to go back to the club and settle the problems in-house before I can spend time away without it being noticed, without it being a problem.” The chair scrapes across the floor as I launch to my feet and march toward the kitchen, then hesitate and storm back to stand before him. “Will I ever come first for you?” “What do you mean? Of course you fuckin’ come first.” He reaches out to take my arm in his hand. I jerk away. “I need you, King. I try to understand, I try to be patient, but fuck it all, I need you tonight. Give me that, please.” He swallows, and his hand tugs at his beard. He’s agitated, unsettled. Good. Show me you care, King. Make the right decision. “I’ll stay.” The relief is immediate; I could float away with the weight that’s been lifted. “Thank you.” “I’ll leave tomorrow.” He smiles and then chuckles. “I’m sure I’d be fuck all use to those assholes anyway with you on my mind.” He turns on the seat to sit side on and pats his knee. “Come here.” With a sigh, I round his seat and lower myself to his legs sideways. He places his large hands on one of my hips and a thigh and shunts me closer so our bodies are pressed tightly together. One arm snakes around my middle, the other firmly wrapped up my side to my shoulder. When he pulls me close like this, when I’m trapped in his embrace, how am I supposed to think straight? “I missed you so fuckin’ much.” His words are muffled in my shoulder, his face buried against my arm. “I’m sorry if I’ve been distant.” I relent and wrap a hand around his thick neck, toying with the ends of his hair. “I didn’t expect fireworks, King. You picked me up in a hell of a situation; we didn’t exactly have time to stop for a romantic dinner for two.” He laughs, shaking his head against my side. “True that.” “But I am confused,” I admit. “You are distracted by something else, and I guess . . .” How do I say it? How do I convey how I feel without him taking the worst of it and calling me crazy or possessive? King pulls back, his eyes searching my own. “Tell me. I can’t make it right if I don’t know what’s wrong.” “I wonder if I’ll ever be your first priority.” I close my eyes, certain he’ll simply sigh and push me off to walk away. His arms clinch tighter. “I wish I could explain it all, tell you everything. Fuck, it would make life so much easier, but you’re goin’ to have to trust me, baby. Trust me when I tell you that what I’m doin’, this stuff I’m heading off to deal with, it comes back to us in a roundabout kind of way. I sort this out, it makes our life easier too.” I nod. His lips twitch in a sad smile as I lift a hand and stroke the side of his face. He’s so torn, so upset that he can’t lay it all out for me. In a way it deepens my love for him, my appreciation for what he has done. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t give my concerns any stock, but he does. He worries about what I worry about, and for that, I love him. “I think we’ve talked about enough depressing topics for one night, don’t you?” I say. He smiles, and pushes his chin up to ask for a kiss. As if I’d ever say no. I lean down and meet him half way, pressing my lips to his lightly. “I love everything about you, even the frustrating bits.” “Those are my favorite,” he says with a smile. “Because if I never made you mad, I wouldn’t have a reason to win you over again.” “Really?” I chuckle. “And how exactly would you win me over?” His fingers trace my cheekbone and then across the arch of my brow. “By proving everything I do is for you.”

I look away, warmed by his words but also saddened by his sacrifice. He could have been happier without me, without my troubles. He could have lived a different life. “I hope that one day I can show you that it was all worth it.” He coaxes my chin up. The pad of his thumb skims across my bottom lip. “Each day I get with you, each hour, every minute we’re together—they’re what makes it worth it.” Maybe so, but there has to be more. I understand what he says, I do, but I wish I could do more—I wish I could give him more than a complex shell of a woman. He wants to protect me from the evil in my life, but in truth, I wish I could be the one to save him from all of this. I wish that grand gesture could be mine to give him, because damn it all if he isn’t worth every second of pain, every moment of doubt, and every inch of regret that I had.

TWENTY King Arms crossed behind my head, I lie back and watch Elena as she fusses in the bathroom across the hall. Only her reflection in the mirror is visible as she brushes her teeth and runs a wet cloth over her face. My breath hitches when she stops and stares at herself, something akin to distress in her eyes. She lifts a hand to press her fingers lightly to her cheek, tilting her chin to move one side of her face closer to the mirror. A frustrated sigh drifts across the open space, and she drops her face, bracing both hands on the counter so her shoulders are hunched. Her lips move as though she talks to herself, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. The light goes out, and she crosses over to where I rest, a fake-as-fuck smile plastered on her face. “Don’t lie to me,” I say. She hesitates beside the bed, hand hesitant over the bedside lamp, and frowns. “What do you mean?” “I could see you from here. You’re not happy.” She turns and drops her ass to the mattress. “I’m tired, King.” “Understandably.” “Not tired after a long day.” She shakes her head. “I’m mentally tired; I’m done. I can’t do this day in and day out.” Elena twists to face me, placing a hand beside her to lean her weight on that arm. “How long until this is truly behind us, huh?” I shrug. Wish I knew. World would be a lot simpler if I had that kind of foresight. Maybe then I wouldn’t have left her at that motel in the vain hope I could get the club’s backing. She doesn’t say any more until she’s stripped her dress and underwear to climb in beside me naked. I lift both eyebrows as she tugs the sheet up over herself. “What? I don’t have any nightwear.” It’s going to be a long night. “So I see.” I turn to face her and reach out to place a hand over her stomach. She traps it under her own and skims the curves and hollows of her mid-section with our combined touch. “Have you ever thought what you’d name your kids? What this wee one might be called?” I laugh and press a kiss to her shoulder. “That’s a girly thing to do, Elena.” She chuckles. “I guess it is.” “Have you?” “Not yet. Been pre-occupied.” I catch the whisper of a smile. The gravity of our situation comes down on me like a ton of bricks. “Are you sure he never knew?” “Ninety percent.” Her hand stills, keeping mine captive over her bellybutton. “What are you going to do to him?” she whispers. I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling. “I know what I want to do: go in there and torture the asshole so he feels every bit of pain he inflicted on you. Never done that to a man, tortured him, but I’m sure it can’t be that hard for a jaded and angry first-timer.” Visions of Carlos strung up, bleeding, and begging for reprieve flick through my mind. “But?” Elena breaks me out of my fantasy. “But things are complex. I mess with him, I mess with our club, and another club out of state.” “You won’t just let him walk though, will you?”

Letting the guy get away scot free with what he’s done is not even an option. “I’ll think of something.” I roll toward her and wrap a hand around her side to turn her to face me, also. “Anyway. I thought you’d had enough of talkin’ about this depressin’ shit?” She smiles, tracing the lines of my beard with her fingertips. “I had.” “So what are wastin’ time for then?” I take her mouth with mine, relishing the small whimpers she makes as I push my tongue inside. Breaking away, I hold her gaze with mine. “I love you, baby. All I want is for you to go to sleep every night knowing that it’s you I wake up for.” “I don’t think I need to tell you that I love you too.” She smiles. “Why else would I walk through hell unless it was to reach heaven?” We roll together so I’m over the top of her, my arm braced beside her head as I take in the beauty before me. The woman’s been through the wringer, fought for her life in the last twelve hours, and faced more troubles than the average person would in a lifetime. And yet when she smiles there’s this raw honesty to it, this truth that I can’t seem to get enough of. “What are you staring at?” she asks with the hint of a laugh. “You.” I kiss her again, slower, more meaningful. I want this woman to know that she’s my be all and end all, the reason I choose to fight against what’s wrong in the club. People like her, people who deserve more than the shitty hand life deals them are the reason I want to work harder to make the world around me a better place. Her hands roam my back, skimming lines around my shoulder blades, along my spine, and across the top of my butt. She leaves a trail of goose bumps in their wake. I kiss her neck, along her collarbone, and back to her throat, relishing the freshly showered smell of a woman—my woman. “I didn’t close the door,” she murmurs as I trail a path between her breasts with my lips. “I forgot,” I say against her chest. “Got distracted.” Three seconds it takes me to lunge across and close the door, then return to the bed. I strip the sheets back, drinking in the sight of her naked, laid out before me, and mine for the taking. Mine to have. I don’t have to spend another night wondering what another man is doing to her, if he hurts her, or if he touches her in ways that only I should. The thought makes me want to weep with joy. “What are you thinking?” She beckons for me to rejoin her. I crawl over Elena, my legs between hers and my arms taking my weight. “That I’m fuckin’ happy you’re mine at last, that you’re where you belong.” Her palms blaze a path up and down my arms. “Let’s try to keep it that way, huh?” She winks, and fuck me if it’s not my undoing. I shimmy down the bed, crouched over the top of her, and stop when my shoulders line up with her hips. She arches her back as I press a kiss to the top of her pelvis, and then sighs as I drag my hot breath lower, skimming over her pussy to run my nose along the length of her. “Damn, King.” “You like?” I repeat the action, being sure to fan my breath over her sensitive flesh. “You’re a tease, aren’t you?” Her fingers knit in my hair. “Would you rather I did this?” I rock back and skim my tongue around the very edge of her opening, chuckling when her thighs clamp either side of my head. “God, yes.” Her hands urge me back again, and I oblige. Elena writhes, unable to keep still as I work her to the brink. I’ve missed her in so many ways: our talks, her laugh as she teases me, the way she can convey so much through a look alone, but of all the things I’ve missed this is what I’ve ached for the most—the connection. I slip a finger inside her heat and stoke the fire that burns in her eyes. It doesn’t take long before her

hands are clenched in the sheets and I wish it was my cock inside of her, not my finger. Her hands tug at my shoulders, urging me upward after she’s come down from the high of her orgasm. I move as commanded, and stop only to lick and suck each nipple in turn, blowing my breath over the peaks to cause them to stiffen more. Such a beautiful sight. Her kiss is desperate, as though she’s hungered for the taste too long. I press my length against her, rubbing through the slick flesh and enjoying the small moans it elicits from her as I do. Time isn’t wasted between us; each touch and each caress is given with care and adoration. Her deep brown eyes watch me as I nudge the tip of my erection against her, wanting in equal parts this moment to last forever, and the high that I know comes next. Her hips tilt ever so slightly to seek me out, and with my lips to hers, I thrust inside. She murmurs my name over and over as I find my rhythm, desperately holding back from ending things too soon. I’ve never looked at anyone other than her; I’ve stayed true to the woman I love. The time apart has left me desperate for release. Turns out neither of us can last. Elena tightens around me, her muscles clenched on my length as she tips her head back and moans. I press my lips to her neck and taste the salty sweat on her flesh as I come apart soon after. My legs are weak, my toes abuzz with the high that fills me. It’s only when I lie beside her as she smiles that I realize the best part of making love to her is the afterglow. That sated look, the ease in her smile, all the tiny things that tell me she’s happy, loved, and feeling like a queen. The intimacy of knowing her high comes from my touch, that she hungers for me as badly as I do her—it’s immeasurable. Nothing can compare to this little slice of heaven right now. Elena rolls to her side, her head propped up on one hand as the fingers of her other trace lines over my chest and stomach. “I’m glad you stayed.” “I don’t know how I thought I couldn’t.” I lean over and press a chaste kiss to her forehead. “Some things are best said without words, don’t you think?” “Absolutely.” She sighs and moves closer, resting her head on my outstretched arm. “I think you won me over, handsome.” “Better have.” I chuckle. She snuggles in closer and wriggles her head around until she finds the perfect spot. “I’m scared, King.” “Of Carlos?” “Of finding out if our baby’s been harmed with everything I’ve put my body through.” A sigh wracks her body. “If anything’s happened because of what I did to get away . . . I don’t think could live with that guilt.” I run a hand over her shoulder and gently stroke her arm. “Mom said while you were in the shower that she’d told you about her friend.” Elena nods. “She’s really kind to offer.” “Well, she’s phoned her up and she can come check you out tomorrow.” Her head pops up. “Did she?” “Mm-hmm.” I guide her back to how she was. “Be here before lunch.” “You’ll stay, won’t you? You’ll be here for me when she checks me out?” It guts me that she’d doubt I would, but it fills me with a dread that’s ten times worse when I realize she’s right: I didn’t intend to stay. The club still sits at the forefront of my mind, nagging away like a dull headache behind my eyes. I don’t say a thing in response; instead, I squeeze her tighter to me, hoping it’ll appease her enough that she won’t press the issue. I may have got my princess back from the dragon, but the real fight to keep her is yet to begin.

*** Elena sleeps deeply in the bed upstairs, alone. I slide my feet into my boots and head for the moonlit steps when a sharp clearing of the throat drags my attention to the swing-seat. “Stick around for a while, would you?” Mom scolds. Her face is highlighted with shadows cast by the pale light that spills out the front window. “Get the poor woman settled in properly before you go galloping off on your white horse.” There’s an undertone of bitterness to her words. “Mom . . .” “Lloyd.” She drops her feet to the porch and stills the seat. “Don’t you start with me, boy. You may have your damn father wrapped around your little finger, but I’m not so easily convinced that what you’re doing is right. Besides, your friend left hours ago.” “I know.” Hooch took the truck back to the clubhouse, but what she obviously doesn’t realize is that I had Callum two-up with one of the prospects after he dropped my bike here earlier in the evening. “Ask Elena what he did to her, Mom. Ask her what this asshole did to his fuckin’ wife, and then maybe you’ll understand why I have to sort this out.” Mom pushes to her feet and squares off with me despite the fact she barely reaches my chin. “You don’t have to sort anything out tonight. I’m aware that this man must be the devil incarnate, but Lloyd, he’ll still be breathing tomorrow. Two angry bulls running at each other will do nothing but harm the both of them. Take the night off to think through what you’re going to do.” She ducks her head and pinches the bridge of her nose as though to stave off tears. “Lord knows I don’t want you to do a thing that’ll put you at risk, but I get it. I’m sure Elena gets it. But don’t act in the heat of the moment.” I grit my teeth and grind my jaw as I look straight into my mother’s eyes. “Elena’s husband isn’t the only reason I need to head back tonight.” Mom places her hands on her hips and frowns. The look alone is enough to have me want to spill everything I know. “Two of our members were killed a few days ago,” I confess. The swing seat groans as Mom sits back hard, sending it rocking again. “My name’s been put forward to replace one of the officers.” I rub a hand across the nape of my neck. “I need to be there to make sure I’m not vetoed.” She laces her hands in her lap as she gently swings. “Why would you be vetoed, son?” Her words are low and quiet, a veritable threat not to say the wrong thing if ever I heard one. “You know I can’t say.” Her silence slowly sucks the oxygen from around us until my chest is heavy with the need to tell her everything: about the betrayal of our president, about what I’ve started by taking Elena away from Carlos, about how many people are at risk over something that they don’t even know is going on under their noses. “Go,” she snaps, breaking the awkward standoff. “If you need to go, then go. Don’t let me hold you up.” I ignore the shame and disappointment her words instill in me and drop my head to ask, “Can you please tell Elena—” “No! Don’t you dare give her some bullshit reason why you have to leave her alone after all she’s been through.” I glare at her, angry she cut me off as if I’m some ill-behaving child. “Mom.” “No.” She points a tanned finger toward the drive. “Go. Let me take care of your mess, like I have for the past twenty-four years. What’s once more for prosperity, huh?”

I swallow hard, rooted to the spot. I want to say something that’ll justify what I’m doing, but the anger emanating from the slight woman is a formidable force—a mother’s ire. Nothing to be messed with, that’s for sure. She speaks with the same sentiment as Elena did. “You walk out that door, Lloyd, and you’re telling this woman that she’s not the top priority in your life.” “You don’t understand,” I growl. Fuck, does anyone? “I’m doing this for her.” “Are you sure about that?” she levels. “If your best intentions were this woman right now, you’d shake that God damn vest off your back and give it to your friends. You’d walk away from that group of criminals and make a proper life for her like you’ve told me you want to.” “They’re good people, Mom. But narrow minds like yours wouldn’t want to see that. No, you’d rather brandish them all with a fuckin’ name they don’t deserve, all because of the actions of a few.” I shake my head, ashamed to have spoken to her in such a manner, but frustrated enough to. “Have you even spoken to Dad about what I’m tryin’ to do?” “No,” she responds, taken aback. “Why would I?” “Talk to him, Mom. Talk to Dad and you’ll understand why I can’t walk away, why I can’t let this go.” I step toward her, and she flinches as I reach out to wrap a hand around the back of her head. I tug her into my chest and place a doting kiss on the top of her head. “Love you, Mom.” “Just be careful. For me, but most of all for that woman who’s scared out of her mind, even though she won’t admit it.” “I will.” Always for her.

TWENTY-ONE Elena “There’s more where that came from if you’re still hungry.” King’s mom stoops to lift the empty plate from the end of the bed. “That was perfect, thank you.” Her nurse friend had arrived early the same morning King left, still wearing her uniform from the shift she’d finished at midnight. I don’t think I drew breath until she’d placed the portable ultrasound machine aside and given me the smile that would ensure my world kept turning. Baby was okay. Heartbeat was strong, and movement was detected during the scan. I’d called King immediately from this parents’ house phone, angry that he’d walked out on me, but still selfless enough to want to let the father of my child know that everything was fine. He didn’t answer. Who knew what could have happened in the hours that had passed since he walked out his parents’ door? Three days have passed, and still no response. It burns. He’s done it again: walked away from me when I need him the most. As caring as his mother has been, I can’t shake the feeling of being out of place, of being a square peg trying to settle in a round hole. This isn’t my family, and until a few days ago, I’d never met them. “Well, if you’d like something to drink I can bring you some ice water, tea maybe? What’s your poison?” King’s mom stands in the doorway, one hip leaned into the wooden frame. “Water would be lovely, thank you. I think I might sleep for a bit, if that’s okay?” Why can’t he call me back? How hard would it be for him to let me know that he’s okay? She straightens up to leave, but I stall her with a burning question, “Have you heard from him?” She shakes her head and stares down at the floor. “Only a brief call night before last to make sure you were okay.” I push the betrayal at him choosing to contact his mother, and not asking to speak with me, aside. “What did you say?” She snickers. “The truth. That he better get his God-fearing ass back here and focus on you.” “You worry about him too, though?” I shift aside as she walks across and takes a seat on the bed beside me. “It’s my job as his momma to worry.” She studies her hands that still hold the plate firmly in their grasp. The pads of her fingers are white with the force she applies to the ceramic dish. “No sense in two of us losing hair over it all though, is there?” “I guess not.” “You’re perfectly entitled to be angry at him, Elena. You don’t have to hide it because I’m his mother. I won’t be upset with you.” In true maternal fashion, she’s managed to sense my greatest hesitation and set my mind at ease. “I don’t want to hate him, though. I love him. But I’m so damn let down. I feel . . . like I don’t matter.” “I know it’s not the same, but his father used to be a complete workaholic.” She laughs bitterly. “Aw, hell, he still is, but it’s not as bad as it was when we were first married. I almost divorced him because I felt like the dang tractor got more attention than me.” I smile at the visual.

“Anyway,” she continues. “I get how you feel. Although he says it’s to help you both, and he’s never been one to lie.” “I know. He’s said it a lot, but I guess all the time I had without him, stuck with a man who’d sooner have me dead than taking up wasted space in his house, gave me too much time to come up with a fantasy of how it would be when we were finally able to be together.” I smile and look away. “It feels so strange talking with you about this.” “Nonsense.” She pats my legs through the covers. “Life comes with many complications. And if anything, a relationship is built on both understanding and obligation. You owe something to one another, but at the same time that other person can’t take you for granted—they need to return the favor.” “Do you think he takes me for granted?” I frown, sure that all the risks he’s taken for me qualify as returning the favor. Perhaps it’s me who needs to do more? “I think he focuses too much on problems that can be sorted another time, but then again, I don’t know what they do at that club of theirs other than it’s the kind of stuff that could land a man in jail at times.” She sighs, staring down at the plate. “You need to do what feels right for you, love. You have to look after yourself before you can be of any use to him.” Her lips purse as she pauses. “And you have to do what’s right for the wee one.” I rest my hands on my belly as King’s mom stands. The epiphany hits me hard: I need to take a page from King’s book. If that’s what it takes, then I’ll sacrifice my own happiness to ensure that not a hair on this child’s head is harmed. Staying here, being involved with the life King will never leave, will ensure that I’m forever checking twice that I’ve locked the doors at night. “Have you got a feeling on what you’re having?” King’s mom nods at my stomach. I shrug. “Had a feeling it was a boy, but then there are days when I feel relaxed and at peace and I wonder if they’ll be a girl.” “I couldn’t pick what I was having, either time.” She smiles. “Both as different as could be. Garret kicked like a mule, whereas Lloyd would flutter every now and then to remind me he was in there. I had the worst morning sickness with Garret though . . .” She breaks out of her reminiscing and trains a worried gaze on me. “Are you ill in the mornings? I can mix up something to help ease your stomach if you like, help you sleep a bit longer?” I shake my head, choked up at how kind she is to me, a woman who’s come unexpectedly into her life and thrown it off-course down a steep and rocky path. I can see where King gets his compassionate nature. “I’m sorry, but after all this time I still don’t know your name,” I say. “King’s always called you Mom, and I guess with how I arrived we forgot to introduce ourselves properly.” “I suppose we did.” She chuckles. “My name’s Adeline. But everyone calls me Addie.” “Thank you, Addie, for taking me in. I really appreciate your help, and I promise I won’t be a burden for too long.” She closes her eyes and sighs as though she’s had to explain what she says next a thousand times already. “Honey, you’re no burden. What kind of grandmamma would I be if I sent the mother of my grandchild off to fend for herself when we had room in our house for her and all the time in the world to spare?” The constriction in my throat won’t lessen, no matter how many times I swallow. “I can’t keep doing this, though.” “Doing what?” She tips her head to the side, studying me as though I’m some sort of curiosity. “Coming second to his life with the club. Wondering why it is he chooses them over me when I need him most.”

She answers me with silence. “I don’t know what to do.” My gut churns, the thought of simply having to make a decision too much to bear. “I love him, and I want to be with him, but I can’t stand it when he leaves me like this.” “Granted he isn’t handling it well,” she grumbles. “He could at least call you.” “I asked him to stay for the check-up.” She frowns. “And he didn’t.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t unfair of me to ask, was it?” “Honey, you could ask him to take a holiday to the Bahamas for a week and you’d be totally justified. From what he’s said, you two have been through hell to be together so it’s only natural you’d expect him to put you on a damn pedestal for a while.” I smile weakly. “I don’t expect him to put everything aside for me, I just . . .” I sigh, frustrated at not being able to find the right choice of words. “I guess I wanted to sit down and talk through where to from here, to make a plan for us, for this child, and know how we’re going to manage things from here on out, you know?” “I know.” She reaches across to take my hand in hers. “I understand.” “When he doesn’t call, when he puts them before me, it kind of makes me wonder if he thinks I’m worth it. Maybe deep down he wants something else but he’s too afraid to admit it to himself?” “Of course you’re worth it.” Her serious “mom” voice is in full effect. “You tell me why you’re not, Elena.” I stare at her for a moment, my heartbeat quickening. Why? “Because I brought this on myself,” I explain. “I knew my husband was bad news the minute I saw him, and yet I let him fool me. I dragged the wool over my own eyes, all for the chance at marrying an endless supply of money to send back to my mama.” A bitter laugh erupts from my throat as I shake my head at the bare simplicity of it. “Bet he didn’t tell you that. I was nothing but a gold digger, Addie, and now karma has come back to bite me in the ass.” “That’s not karma,” she admonishes quietly. “Karma is getting back from the universe what you put out into it.” She lowers herself to the edge of the mattress once more. “This hate, this penance your husband inflicted on you . . . did you do the same to anyone else? Did you put that out there?” I know she thinks she has me, that I’ll say no and she can prove my theory wrong. Which is why her confused reaction comes as no surprise when I answer a whispered, “No, but I treated people wrongly. I put my own goals and aspirations before what was right. I was selfish.” “How? From what Lloyd’s told me you were stuck in a bad situation. He said—” “He’s told you about the good times, I bet. He’s probably given you all my redeeming points to make me sound worthy of your help.” She shakes her head, disagreeing, but I continue, the revelation sending adrenaline coursing through me as I finally slot it all together for myself. “I shouldn’t be mad at him,” I say, explaining it to her as much as sounding it out loud for myself. “I’m angry because he walked away to do right by his club, to follow the rules and ask for help the right way before he unleashed this chaos. But you know what?” She shrugs, lost in my ramblings. “I did the same to him. He held out a hand and offered me safe haven, and I pushed him away because I wanted to do right by mama. I told him to wait, that we’d have our happy ending, just like he told me.” Addie opens her mouth to speak but I carry on, not wanting to lose a single train of thought. “Everything he did to me, I did to him first. And yet I blamed him for where we are now. He blames himself for where we are now, and it’s not his fault.” “It’s nobody’s fault. I don’t fully understand what happened, but I’m sure neither of you are to blame for what this madman did to you.” “No,” I argue, scooting to the side of the bed. “We both had the opportunity to end this before it began, and both of us chose to stick it out in the name of doing the right thing for people we loved. Why is he

cleaning up my mess, Addie? Why is he solely facing the consequences of what we both did?” “Honey . . .” She sets the plate aside, and reaches for my arms to coax be back into bed. “You need rest. The baby’s fine, but your body has been through a lot. You need your strength.” “I need to stop him doing this. It’s not his problem to solve.” A crazy smile graces my lips as I finally figure out the root of all my frustrations. “I’m mad at him for going because he doesn’t have to. Because if he let me deal with my own mess he wouldn’t have to leave me to ask his club for help.” Addie stands, body-blocking me from getting out of bed. “You’re in no position to be fighting battles. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, honey, but you’re pregnant. What are you going to do? Rush around like a damn trained assassin to seek revenge on a man who’s more capable of killing than you are? A man who sounds as though he’d gladly squash you like a damn beetle under his shoe?” She shakes her head with finality. “You will do two things, young lady: get in this bed and sleep, and leave the dangerous work to my son. How do you think he’d feel if you were hurt bad enough to lose that child you share? What do you think that would do to Lloyd? You don’t want to know what I’d do if you harmed that child.” She huffs out a heavy breath and regards me with her hands on her hips. “Just leave the gunfights and body-hiding to the experts, huh? Your job is to make sure that child gets the best start in life as possible.” My jaw drops at her candor, and she laughs. “Yes, I know the kinds of things those boys get up to when situations go bad like this. I’m not as sweet and naïve as Lloyd would like to think.” She pauses as the humor drains from her face. “I just choose not to think about it, is all. Sometimes it’s easier to bury my head in the sand for the sake of keeping my sanity.” “He knows how to look after himself,” I say in a vain attempt to console her. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.” Or am I consoling myself? She gives me a weak smile as she picks up the plate. “He will be because he knows I won’t stand for both my children going to the grave before I do.” Her eyes well with tears before she turns her back to hide them from me. “I’ll bring you that water now. You go ahead and get yourself comfortable.”

TWENTY-TWO King I’ve heard people say that fate is a looming force, that you feel it in your bones. That shift in the universe, the sense that something isn’t right, that something won’t last . . . I try to push the unease aside as I stare out at Abbey doing her job, cleaning up after the pigs who leave food scraps and empty bottles lying around as if they’re living at a fucking frat house, not having a roof provided over their heads for nothing more than a little of the one thing they lack—respect. My thumb hovers over the screen of my phone. I’ve almost called Elena a hundred times in the last five days, but what would I say? I relented and spoke to Mom instead. I’m not sure if that was a good thing or bad, considering the dressing down I got. Yeah, she informed me that the baby’s okay and let me know that although Elena is tired, she’s well. But I also hung up from my conversation with Mom in no doubt as to how much of a class-A asshole I am. The guilt and shame that turn my stomach over stop me from ringing again, stop me from finding the right words to tell Elena how sorry I am yet at the same time explaining why this has to be done. Apex is off the rails. He didn’t show up to the club until my fourth day here. The structure of the Fallen Aces is crumbling around us. Beefy has done what he can to keep some semblance of order around the place, but people are taking liberty with the fact we have no clear leadership in-house. Club resources are being used without any consideration for what it takes to have them replaced. Members have stolen food from the pantry to flesh out their own groceries, and the prospects appear to be having a hard time remembering the rules. Somebody has to stand up and take control of the place, and soon. Somebody they’ll all listen to. Fuck knows Beefy can’t be everywhere at once. “There’s fuck all to eat around here.” Callum comes to a stop beside my position leaned up against the wall beside the pool table. “That’s because nobody’s thought to order more food in.” He grunts. “I thought Beefy had eaten it all.” I roll my eyes. “What do you think Apex has been up to these past days?” I eye his closed office door. “Fuck knows, but that nomad fucker hasn’t been anywhere to be seen for a couple, either.” True. Grime left not long after the altercation between Apex and myself. If pres really does want to vote him onto the board, the guy better show up soon. “That might be a good thing, though.” “I’d say so.” Callum runs a hand around the back of his neck. “Hooch said he’ll ride home tomorrow, see what his old man has to say about what’s going on here. Try and get back up next week.” I nod, listening but not really paying attention. Time is ticking, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with Sully after we collected Elena the other night. I’ve got no idea what Carlos is up to, what he’s planning, or where he’ll show up. The guy has to be fuming now that he knows Elena’s gone. Yet another reason keeping me from heading back to my parents’—I’ll lead him straight to her if he’s had eyes on me. Callum still talks about his latest conquest—some doe-eyed sheep the properties have conned into hanging around—when I spot Fingers come in from the garage. He catches my eye and lifts a stubby digit to scratch the left of his nose. I follow the lead and drift my gaze across to his left to see Corinne leading the way down the stairs, followed closely by a set of tree trunks for legs. Her most recent customer drops

off the last step with the swagger of a man who’s just had his cocked sucked seven ways from Sunday. Grime. Fucker is here, after all. Damn. A sharp elbow in my side snaps my attention back to Callum, but he doesn’t look where I am. He nods toward our second problem. Apex is out of his office and he’s heading for Abbey. He comes to a stop behind her, caging the poor girl in against the table she clears off. Abbey’s shoulders curl inward, and her chin damn near punches a hole through her chest. Apex laughs, and the fucking broken girl looks as though she wishes it were possible to vanish into thin air. I shunt a boot against the wall and push off, weaving my way around the pool table, and past Corinne as she heads to the ladies room. A yelp sounds from Abbey as Apex slams a meaty hand around her upper arm and drags her toward his office. I increase my speed, hell bent on getting there to intervene before the twisted fucker can drag her away from prying eyes, but come up short when the brick house that is Grime moves in my way. “Where you headed?” the interloper grumbles. “Didn’t think it was any of your business, nomad.” I sidestep. As does he. “Been told your club has a fuckin’ vermin problem.” “Yeah,” I sneer. “I’m starin’ right at it.” Apex’s door closes with a slam. Fuck. “Did you hear the news?” the big lug taunts. “Votin’ is in two days.” He leans down, his thick fucking skull right in my face “I know what my first order of business will be when I take a chair at that table.” “Nomads can’t be voted in as officers.” He scoffs and straightens out to look me over, head to toe. “Yeah, I know.” Fucker turns and walks away, showing me his brand new Lincoln patch. Well fuck me. Shit’s worse than I thought. I spin on my heel and stare straight at Callum who simply shrugs. He hobbles over and points to Apex’s door. “What the fuck was that?” Fingers joins our impromptu meeting mid-room and shakes his head. “He’ll be givin’ her the ultimatum.” “Be a fuckin’ whore, or ship out,” I mutter. Asshole. Fingers nods. “Girl’s been out of her mind. You know how much she hates to be touched.” “Yeah.” What the fuck is this club coming to? It’s a safe haven for nobody; a home for nothing but the seed of doubt and mistrust. Things have to change. “You seen Beefy?” I ask Fingers. He nods and gestures to the back deck. “Having a late-night bite before he turns in.” “Thanks.” I give the boys a pat on the shoulder each and head out. Beefy is reclined in one of the plastic chairs. A red Solo cup hangs from a limp hand as he stares up at the stars. “My pop told me that by the time we see a star, it’s been dead for years. That what we look at is history, right there.” He lifts a thick finger to point at Orion’s Belt. “If it’s dead, why do we still appreciate it? Isn’t dead stuff supposed to be ugly and filled with sadness? Why do stars make us happy?” “How much you had to drink?” I ask, dropping down to my ass beside his seat. He rolls his neck to look at me. A slow smile spreads across his lips, splitting them to reveal yellowed teeth. “Enough.” Do I even bother? Is there any worth in talking to him while he’s like this? Thoughts of Elena force me to move ahead anyway—the sooner this shit is done, the sooner I can get back to her and make forever ours.

“You know Apex prospected for the Blood Eagles?” Beefy damn near falls off his chair in his haste to sit up straight. “Say what?” “He wanted to be an Eagle before he came to the Aces.” “Who told you this?” Beefy pops a fat elbow as he rests one hand on his knee. “Devon.” He snorts a laugh and relaxes into his chair again. “So the fallen have risen, huh?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “He told you why he was kicked out?” “Said he didn’t want to do what Apex told him to.” I decide to spare the details in case that wasn’t for public consumption. “Uh-huh. He went with his tail between his legs. Didn’t hear a peep out of the fucker for years, and now, when the club turns to shit, he slithers out of the woodwork.” Tail between his legs out of sadness most probably, not shame. “He’s not interested in comin’ back.” “Why he talkin’ then?” Beefy narrows his dark eyes on me. “Why he tellin’ you all this?” I shrug. “Perhaps he doesn’t see the need to keep secrets secret anymore. What payback is he gettin’ by stayin’ loyal to a club that disowned him?” Beefy tilts his head briefly. “You have a valid point.” “So is there truth in what he said? That Apex’s woman is Eagles bloodline?” Beefy sighs, a darn sight more sober than when we started mere minutes ago. “That I know. It’s one hundred percent factual.” “And his son?” He twists in his seat, glaring down at me. “His what?” “They have a kid together.” Beefy slowly shakes his head; his mouth opens and then closes. “I . . . is he sure?” “Apparently the reason why we never went to war in ’97. His old lady and kid were still at the Eagles compound, and our brothers—Devon included—busted her out.” The plastic legs of his chair clatter as he jumps the seat around to face me. “You’re tellin’ me that he was in exactly your position at one point in his life, and now he refuses to do the same favor for you?” “Exactly what I’m sayin’,” I whisper, leaning a shoulder forward for effect. “You can’t tell me that there is an ounce of him still working for the good of the club if this is how far the lies go.” “Why the fuck aren’t we hittin’ them hard now then?” Beefy’s eyes go wide as he figures the links out for himself. “Asshole’s got his own beef with them, so he’ll plan on goin’ in there solo, won’t he?” “Would be the only thing that makes sense right about now.” I scoot back, giving the enormous man room as he lunges from his seat with an effortless ease I’ve never witnessed in the years I’ve known Beefy. “Where the fuck is he?” “In his office with Abbey.” Beefy tips his head to the side, expression twisted and pained. “Abbey?” “Can’t say I’m too happy about that either.” “What the fuck now?” He wanders over to the doors to peer inside in the general direction of Apex’s office door. “Property girls have been puttin’ pressure on Abbey to become one of the whores, spread her legs for our visitors and that.” “Abbey’s not a fuckin’ whore. She’s just a kid.” I lift both eyebrows and tip my head at him. “Exactly.” “Jesus, enough is enough.” The timber floor vibrates with his purposed strides towards our president’s

door. “Mighty, I might need you here, boy.” One of our newer prospects—a guy with the neck circumference of the average male’s thigh—crosses the room at his senior’s barked order. I hang back and sit on the arm of one of the sofas as Beefy slams a heavy fist against Apex’s door. “Fuck off,” comes a voice muted by the thin wood. “I’m givin’ you till ten, boy, and then I’m kickin’ it in.” Beefy cocks his head, waiting on the response. The door edges open, a red and enraged Apex the only thing visible through the gap. “Who the fuck do you think you—” Pres stumbles backward as Beefy’s foot hits the door. The splintered ply swings open and rebounds off the cabinet behind, showing a clearly upset and hysterical Abbey cowering in the corner, her top half ripped off. “What the ever-lovin’ fuck, Apex?” Beefy jabs an arm in Abbey’s direction as he addresses Mighty. “Get her the fuck out of here and find Fingers. Get him to figure out what the fuck happened.” Mighty moves in to help Abbey up, but jumps back when she lets fly with her nails, and bared teeth. “Bitch is crazy.” “We know that already,” Beefy sighs. “Just get her out.” Apex paces the whole time like an anxious dog, blocked in the room by his desk and Beefy’s position. “What you gonna do, Beef? What you think you’re gonna do?” I cross the room to help Mighty with Abbey, hoping that she might at least calm down to follow directions if she sees me. Apex’s cool glare settles on me as I walk through the doorway. He lunges, held back by Beefy’s thick arm across his chest. “You slimy fuckin’ asshole. It’s you,” he hollers. “You’re the one who’s behind this.” “I think you did enough damage on your own, Apex.” I give the fucker my back and kneel down before Abbey. “You in there, girl?” Her wild eyes dart around the room. Tears stream down her face, although she doesn’t cry . . . she yells. Her voice cracks under the pressure; her deafening roar echoes about the room. It’s pure, frustrated energy. “Easy, now.” I hold up both hands to her. “You know I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.” She stares at me a beat and for a moment I think I’ve got her . . . until she growls. Never have I heard such an animalistic sound from a fucking human. It breaks my heart to think what insanity has made her this way. “Mighty and I are goin’ to step back and let you out, okay?” Because what do you do to a cornered animal? You give it room. “Do us all a favor and put a bullet in its skull,” Apex grumbles from behind Beefy. “She’s a waste of fuckin’ oxygen.” I stand and spin to face the asshole, my shoulders squared and my fists at my sides. “Perverted fuckin’ assholes like you are the reason why she’s like this. Would you say the same about your child? Just put a bullet in it because he’s a waste of oxygen?” His pupils enlarge, and his teeth grind under the pressure. I’ve struck a nerve already raw from injury. Suck on that, fucker. “What the fuck’s goin’ on in here?” Fingers asks from the door. “I could hear her from the garage.” Abbey’s growls turn to whimpers as she crawls across the floor to Fingers’s feet. He reaches out and does the oddest thing. He holds his hand over her head an inch from her hair. The guy never touches her, but the gesture is enough to calm her frayed nerves judging by the way her eyes soften and her breathing becomes deeper. “Come on, girl. I got a swing-arm that I need your help with.” She nods up at the older man, and pushes to her feet.

Fingers turns and walks across the common room, Abbey close behind. “What the fuck did I just witness?” Mighty asks. “Compassion,” I say. “Nothing but selfless understanding for his fellow man. Something a few people around here could learn a thing or two about.”

TWENTY-THREE Elena I’ve woken no less than ten times since King’s mom left me to rest, and each time the sky’s still been as black as the pits of hell. Selfish desires fight against my need to protect our unborn child. King and I have fought for a future together, but then our baby also deserves a chance at a safe start to life. I’ve flip-flopped over what to do all night, or should I say morning. Each time I think I have it worked out my conscience plays tricks on me and I find the flaw in my plan, reverting back to Plan B. I need to leave. The one thought that’s constant throughout all of this. I slip from the bed, and into the clean clothes Addie left out for me. A pair of worn jeans and an aged John Deere T-shirt cover the bruises and scrapes left over as reminders from my escape. Even if I can get my mind focused on moving forward, the physical reminders will drag me back to that hellhole for weeks to come. The house is silent save for the solid tock of the grandfather clock in the entrance. The door to King’s parents’ bedroom is pushed to, the gap not enough to see anything through. I can only assume they’re still in bed. Carpet on the stairs muffles the sound of my feet; my aching hips and back mean controlling my weight is a struggle. If the stairs were bare wood, I’d wake the dead with how hard my heels hit it. No lights are on downstairs as I drop off the last riser to the floor with a dull thud. First stop is the kitchen; if they have a rack to hang all the keys to the vehicles on, this’ll be where it is. I inch around the corner and start with the pantry. My hand pats the bare wood inside of the double doors and finds nothing. Beside the fridge, in the cupboards, on the wall by the door—why can’t I find the damn keys? “Would you like a coffee before you go?” I yelp at the sound of King’s dad’s voice. “What are you doing up?” “I could ask you the same thing.” His smile is barely visible across the dark room. “I’ve got cows to get to a dairy shed. You?” What the hell do I say? “Places to be.” “Yeah, sure, and my son belongs to a recreational club where they all ride their Harleys for fun.” I swallow hard, unsure if I should just back out and make my way back to bed, or find the door and go. “Looking for these?” He holds a set of keys up that chime against one another. “Give you one if you can give me a bloody good reason why you’re walking out on my boy.” I fight the pressure in my chest and answer. “I’m not walking out on him. I’m trying to protect him.” “How? If he thought he needed your help, he would have said.” He sighs, placing the keys down on the table with a loud clunk. “Look, Elena. He left you here for a reason, and that’s because it’s safe for you. This crazy husband of yours doesn’t know about us—I think—so he wouldn’t know to come looking here.” “I need space to work this out for myself. I’ve dragged enough people into my mess and I’ve had enough of it. I need to put distance between the trouble that seems to constantly surround me, and King.” “And then what?” I catch the slight lift of his eyebrow in the dark. “What do you mean?” Is he asking me how long I think I’ll be gone? Where I see the relationship

between King and I heading? “I mean, it’s all good and well that you think removing yourself from the equation solves the problem, but don’t you think it’s a better idea that Lloyd removes a man as violent and abusive as your husband from the equation instead?” He has a valid point. “I guess so.” I lean a hip into the counter and cross my arms. “I also want him safe, though. Going after Carlos is a recipe for trouble, big trouble. What’s the point in us going through everything we have if he’s hurt, or worse, killed?” “What’s the point of going through it all if you just walk away and let the asshole win anyway?” “It’s not King’s fight.” “It’s not your burden. He’s a grown man, Elena. He can decide these things for himself.” He shakes his head as though frustrated. “You can’t tell me you really think that by bailing on him, it’ll convince Lloyd to drop this?” I draw circles on the countertop with my finger. “Everything that’s bad in his life is because of me. If I’m not here, then perhaps he’ll eventually find another way to be happy.” “You can’t rip his heart out and expect him to still know how to love.” “Is it love, though, when all I do is bring him pain? Is that something a person does to the one they love?” King’s dad drums his fingers on the table briefly, and leans back in his seat. “How do you think he’s going to feel when that child of yours is born? Will that not be the greatest gift? Will that one miracle not make all of this worth it?” “Of course, but that’s a father’s love. It’s unconditional. It can’t be broken like his and mine can.” “I don’t think it’s broken, Elena. He clearly thinks the world of you.” “Not right now, it isn’t,” I whisper, “but is love alone enough to endure all this? Or will he simply grow to resent me?” I tip my head back and blink away the tears as I stare at the ceiling. “Call me selfish, or even whimsical, but I’d rather we remembered our love as this good thing it is now than have it become something bitter we both resent.” “Even so, I don’t think it’s a decision you should make alone when it affects him on such a level.” King’s father holds up a finger as he fishes his vibrating phone out of a pocket. He answers, and within a few words I know exactly who he’s talking to. King. I wait patiently and move across the room to sit on the opposite side of the table. Yet his father wraps up the call without so much as an indication he even thought to ask if King wanted to talk to me. “What did he say?” “I can’t tell you.” Jesus. Anonymity extends past the barriers of the club. “Great. Everyone seems to fucking know how he is but me.” I blanche when I realize I’ve just sworn at his father. “Sorry.” “Heard worse,” he responds dryly. “It wasn’t King, anyway; it was his friend Callum. I don’t think you’ve met him.” I shake my head. “Given what he said, I think if you cared at all for my son you wouldn’t add your disappearance to the things he has to worry about.” “What’s happening?” King’s dad sighs and cups the coffee mug in his hands. “They’ve got a shuffle going on in the place since a couple of officers were killed.” My eyes widen. “I never knew.” “You aren’t supposed to,” he warns with a stern finger. It’s a subtle instruction to keep my mouth shut.

“Anyway, he’s trying to get a position for himself, but he thinks that damn president of his is looking for ways to oust him before it could happen.” It sounds like chaos, sure, but the one thing it doesn’t sound like is anything to do with Carlos. He truly did leave me just to deal with his club’s petty business. The rejection stings anew. No, I didn’t want him to get involved with Carlos, and yes, I was about to walk out the door to try and avoid that, but hearing he never had any intention of doing a thing for me? That burns. “I need to go.” King’s father watches me silently. “It’s wrong, denying him the birth of his first child.” “How did you know I’d be gone that long?” “The tone of your voice changed; your mannerisms closed off. You got annoyed when I told you what he was doing, and you shut off.” Point taken. “He’ll forever put the needs of his men before me, and I can’t live with that.” I look down to my belly and shake my head. “More so, if it hurts me this bad every time he leaves me behind to run back to them, how do you think our child will feel, knowing daddy picks a bunch of bikers over his own blood?” “You don’t know he’d do that,” King’s father snaps. “Oh, but I do.” I smile sadly. “He’ll do it every time they call.” “And what about your safety?” he asks. “Do you think that by leaving, this Carlos man you were involved with will just drop whatever vendetta he has against you two? He may not be able to locate you, but he’ll still hold a grudge against the man who stole his wife.” “Don’t you think I know that?” I shout. “Don’t you think I’ve been lying awake all morning trying to decide what the best thing to do is?” The blood in my veins is on fire. “I’m not skipping off into the sunset, sir. I’m leaving with a heavy heart.” “What the hell is going on?” The room is washed in bright fluorescent light as Addie switches the overheads on. “Elena’s leaving. You may want to pack her something to eat,” King’s dad snaps. He stands from the table and downs the last of his drink. “I’ve got work to do.” He strides from the room, shooting me a final glower as he dumps the cup in the sink. “Elena?” Addie asks as the back door slams in its enclosure behind him. “I’m sorry.” I swipe the fucking tears from my face—what good will they do? “I can’t stay and play second fiddle to a club that’ll forever have our family in danger. I just can’t.” “Where will you go?” she asks quietly, pulling the makings of a sandwich from the pantry. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.” I slouch onto an empty stool at the large island. “There are women’s shelters around if you ask the right people, but my thinking is that you won’t want to involve the law.” I say nothing and watch her deft hands make light work of packing me a lunch and a few healthy snacks. She tucks the cling film over the homemade muffin and slips it all into a large clip-seal container. “I don’t know how long you’ll be off the radar, so I hope this is enough.” I can’t bring myself to take the food offered in her outstretched hands although I know I should. Leaving King is hard enough—accepting help from his mother in doing it seems like an even greater betrayal. “Take it,” she whispers. “You’ll need the fuel with that wee one growing inside of you.” I wrap my fingers around the cool, hard edges of the container and pull it toward me, clutching the offering to my chest. “Thank you.” “Do you need money?” Again, I choose silence over admitting I need her to basically lay the red carpet out for me to leave.

“How much do you think will be enough?” She sweeps across the room to where her purse sits on the counter and digs out a few bills. “This is all I have, but if you need more we can arrange a trip to the bank if you’re happy to wait until they open.” Addie lays three hundred dollars on the counter beside my hands and steps back. “Why are you doing this?” I whisper. “Because you have the right to choose, and if you think your life is better spent somewhere else where nobody knows who you are, rather than with my son, who am I to stop you?” I lay my arms over the counter and my forehead hits the cash as I give in and let the anxiety wreak havoc with my body. Air is thick, hard to push into my lungs. The room seems to double in temperature. A million thoughts fire through my mind in a dozen different voices: angry Elena, sad Elena, nervous Elena, and worst of all, heartbroken Elena. “Hey.” A warm hand rests between my shoulders briefly before pulling away again. “It’s not too late to change your mind. If we thought this was too big of a problem for farmers like us to handle, we would have told Lloyd so. But we didn’t. You’re welcome to stay and figure out how to solve this.” She pauses and draws a deep breath above my cradled head. “Although if your answer is asking him to walk away from his life with the club, I think you’d better admit defeat.”

TWENTY-FOUR King “I’m exorcising my right to instruct you to stand down until such time as the officers can meet to decide the future of your position.” Beefy laces his hands over his belly, as close as the big guy can get to crossing his arm over his chest. “Meeting’s in two days, Apex. You shouldn’t have any issue followin’ orders.” “And who the fuck is goin’ to run the show, Beef?” He strides back and forth behind his desk, stopping every so often to shove at something on the top. “We’ve got no God-damned VP.” “We haven’t got a fuckin’ president, either,” Beefy roars back. “You’ve been actin’ selfishly for the past few months now, brother. What else did you think we’d do when it got this far?” “What have you got against me, huh?” He smirks at the two of us, Mighty having left to get himself a drink shortly after Fingers took Abbey. “What you bringin’ to the table? Any hard evidence, or is it all li’l bitch’s hearsay?” He glares across the room at me, sending my pulse thrumming in my neck. “I don’t have to do a thing,” I spit at the asshole. “You’re diggin’ a mighty fine hole on your own, prospect.” His eyes narrow as he looks me over, clearly trying to work out how I know the connection. “Who you been talkin’ to?” “An old friend,” Beefy fills in. “Step out, Apex. I don’t want to see you in here until it’s been cleared by the board.” “You aren’t takin’ jack fuckin’ squat away from me.” Apex’s eyes dart around the room, as though he searches for a clue to help him out. “This is mutiny. You realize that? You could be done for this too, Beefy. How does treason sound? Turnin’ against your brothers?” “Sounds to me like you’re readin’ your own rap sheet,” I muse, running a finger over the dusty cabinet and tsk-ing. “You should take better care of your things. Never know what we might find once we dust the filth off .” Apex growls at the double innuendo in my words. The man needs a walk-in robe to house all the skeletons he has in his closet. “It’s a dangerous thing to do, backin’ a man into a corner like this,” he threatens, his finger pointing at me then Beefy. “Hope you fuckers are ready to take whatever comes your way when I’m done explainin’ this to the officers.” Beefy opens his mouth to speak when an almighty crash out in the common room halts our heated discussion square in its tracks. The three of us push through the door to see what the source of the commotion is as yelling echoes about the open space. “Pres!” One of the younger prospects jogs across the open floor, his hand clutched to his ear, which bleeds in rivers down his arm and over his T-shirt. “We’ve got unwelcome company.” Apex shoulders between Beefy and myself, but stops dead as Beefy’s hand slaps down on his collar. “Not your job anymore,” our sergeant at arms warns. “Whose then?” Apex growls, his eyes dicing holes in the hand that rests on his shirt. “Mine.” Beefy steps forward and nods out front as he approaches the prospect. “Who we got?” “He wants him.” The prospect points a red-streaked finger towards Apex. “We tried keepin’ them out, but the fuckers shot Abel. I thought I was a goner for sure, too.”

“Who’s after me,” Apex asks. “What’s his name, son?” “Carlos.” Fuck. The front door slams against the entrance, two of his minions visible with a steel battering ram. Fucker came prepared. “Honey, I’m home!” Carlos roars down the hallway. I glance across at our suspended president and blanch at the fear in his eyes. He’s certain this won’t end well too. “Time to face fate,” I mutter, speaking as much about his situation as mine. I swallow hard as the wolf makes his advance. He steps lightly as he edges down the hallway, foot soldiers in front and behind. Running a mental inventory, I focus in on the familiar feel of my gun at the small of my back and the knife sheathed in my boot. Judging by the semi-automatic weapons in Carlos’s guard’s hands, I’m grossly under-prepared. But fate is what I make of it. The ability of the determined against that of the opportune is nothing to be underestimated. I slink backward toward the garage and out of plain sight as Carlos crosses the threshold into the common room. “There you are, you fucking rat.” Carlos’s sharp eyes zero in on Apex, who settles his hand over the butt of his gun. “Do you have any idea how much of an inconvenience it is to have to fucking come down here to your filthy back yard to get fucking answers for myself?” His growled words end on a roar. His rage builds with every step he takes towards our ex-president. Apex ages ten years in the minute it takes Carlos to reach him. “Care to tell me what the problem is?” The moron plays it dumb. He clearly hasn’t studied Carlos that well in all the interactions they’ve had if he thinks insulting the man’s intelligence will gain him any brownie points. “Are you fucking serious?” Carlos shouts with a laugh. “You think you can pretend like you have noooo fucking idea what the hell you’ve been up to?” Carlos crowds Apex, his tall and lean frame towering over the shorter stocky man’s. “Do you think I’m that stupid?” “How about we sit down and discuss what’s going on here civilly?” Beefy asks, his palms held out before him. “How about you shut the fuck up and stay out of this?” Carlos sneers. Beefy holds his ground, yet drops his hands to his sides. “If you took the time to discuss the issue, you might find that we’re not all on the same side here.” He waves a fat hand between Apex and himself. “We could possibly come to a mutual decision.” Carlos chuckles and fists Apex’s shirt at the neck as he addresses Beefy. “Like what? Offering your boss up for the slaughter, are you?” I edge around the room, my hand behind my back to pull the pistol from my waistband. Perhaps if I can get in position behind the sofa, or use the pool table as a partial shield . . . “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you.” His back is turned to me, but Carlos holds his gold-ringed pointer finger squarely in my direction. Fuck. I run a quick calculation of who’s in the room and what collateral damage there’d be if I opened fire, right here, right now. I wanted the sick fucker to suffer, to break under my hand, but sometimes a man has to take the opportunity afforded to him and do the best he can. Beefy hangs off to the left of Carlos and Apex, watching the interaction with thin restraint. Behind him stands the bleeding prospect. A flash of black and pink catches my eye as two of the property girls disappear up the staircase to more than likely barricade themselves in a bedroom. The bar is empty, save for one of the old boys whose head is on the sticky counter as he sleeps through the whole thing in an

alcohol-induced coma. By all accounts, we’re fucking lucky Carlos showed up now, and not earlier when the regular partiers were still here. Whatever he’s got planned, I’m sure it’s not something I could stomach innocent families being involved in. “Come join us,” Carlos coos in my direction. “Don’t be shy.” Beefy catches my eye and shakes his head minutely, warning me off doing anything stupid. The room is silent save for the clink of my boot buckles as I cross over to where the action is. Carlos drinks the sight of me in with the blood-thirst of a killer on the scent of wounded prey. “Don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to have her here too?” I lift my lips on one side in answer. “Didn’t think you were that idiotic,” Carlos says, almost praising me. He regards Apex and leans across to talk to me, his eyes still on the guy. “What do you think we should do with this two-timer?” “Hear him out.” I narrow my gaze on Apex, keen to use the time it takes to come up with a plan to my advantage. “I want to hear him say it.” “Oooh.” Carlos rubs his hands together. “This looks interesting.” “Don’t know what the fuck you think I’m going to say, kid,” Apex sneers. “Tell us why there was no comeback in ’97.” I try to gauge what kind of response time Carlos would have if I lifted a knee and pulled out my knife. Too hard to tell. Apex’s under-eye twitches. “Officers voted against it. Didn’t want to put our members at risk like that.” “Bullshit,” I sneer, the weight of Carlos’s curious gaze bearing down on me. “How’s the wife?” I could have heard a mouse sneeze. All eyes are trained on the two of us as we enter into a verbal sparring match. “How’s his?” Apex asks me, jerking his head towards Carlos. “Fucking dead after we sort this little issue out,” Carlos mutters dismissively. My finger longs for the feel of a trigger, but what chance would I have against the guards behind me with their weapons trained on my every move? “Not if I have the last word, asshole.” I keep my sight squarely on Apex as I answer Carlos. “I highly doubt that,” the bastard mutters. “Anyway,” he asks Apex, “what does your wife have to do with all of this?” Carlos circles him, dusting invisible dirt from the man’s shoulders. “See, we sat down and shared a drink to discuss how I could help you get the information you sought that would confirm the Blood Eagles’ guilt in regards to that little spat in ’97. Here I thought you were trying to get what you needed to take the prosecution through legal channels. Why else would you need hard evidence on what they did and who called the hit? Gentlemen that criminals like us are, if you wanted to settle this the respectable way, you would have gone after the man who sent his lackeys out to shoot up your boys, would you not? Paid him a visit in the dead of night perhaps?” He stops in front of Apex and takes hold of both sides of his cut, pretending to straighten it out. Apex has slowly turned the color of a beet over the course of Carlos’s inquisition. “But,” he continues, “why would you need a name from me when you already knew who it was that called the shots?” He turns to Beefy and smiles. “Pardon the pun.” “If you know the answers,” Apex grits out, “then why waste your time grandstanding here and now? Why didn’t you just shoot me when you walked through the door, you fuckin’ coward? Bet you’re afraid it’ll dirty your over-priced suit, huh?” Carlos clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Au contraire. I thought about doing that the whole way here, but then I realized, what’s more detrimental to the wolf when he turns against his pack?” The pack deals the punishment. The asshole’s going to get us to do his dirty work. “Nice,” I chuff. “You’re going to get us to deal to our own so your record stays clean—no involvement, no evidence if

investigated.” Carlos spins around, a grin a mile wide across his face as he reaches out and ruffles my hair. “See, you’re a clever wee thing, aren’t you?” I punch his bicep, forcing the fucker to pull his arm back in haste as no doubt the whole limb goes numb. “Careful,” he grumbles. “That kind of disrespect gets a man’s kneecaps shot.” I glance behind me at his hired help and note two of the guns raised and trained on me, the other pair on Apex and Beefy. The bloodied prospect stands between us and them, penned in with nowhere to go unless he fancies adding to his injury checklist. Our old boy at the bar rumbles incoherent words in his sleep, drawing one of the weapons from me to him. Carlos’s man shakes his head when he realizes the old bastard is no threat and re-trains his sight on me. “As I was saying,” Carlos addresses Apex, yet rolls his eyes at me, “I figured you played me all along, saying you were interested in what I have—which, by the way, I don’t.” He inspects his fingers, waggling them before himself. “I lied about that.” His smug attitude grates on me. “I indulged, once I realized you were up to something else, and paid your friends a little visit. Boy, did they have a story for me.” Carlos leans in toward Apex, his nose barely an inch from our ex-president’s. “How’s your son?” Apex’s eyes dart between Beefy and myself. “We already know about what happened,” I say. “You don’t need to keep up the lie.” His nose twitches as he looks over the prospect behind me and sighs. “What would you have done?” Apex appears not to address any one of us in particular; he throws the question out there for public consumption. Our circumstance may have all varied, but we’d be hard pressed to find any one of us who would have reacted any differently when they realized a loved one was at risk. “You denied me the right to ask my brothers for help,” I mutter at Apex. “For a situation almost identical to yours.” He stays silent, as though he really listens to me for the first time. “You know how it felt.” “Oh, fucking cry me a river,” Carlos scathes. I lose the marginal hold I had on my deep disgust for the sorry excuse for a human beside me and swing out at Carlos, connecting with his jaw. His head whips to the side as the sharp crack from my right precedes a burning sensation that spreads from my left calf to my ankle and thigh. “You try a stunt like that again,” Carlos spits, “and it won’t be a warning shot, you fucking asshole.” He swipes at his jaw with the palm of his hand, as though still in disbelief that I would do such a thing with two guns trained on me. Can’t say I’d expected to be so careless either. The man makes me do crazy things. “First you fuck her behind my back,” he grinds out through his teeth, “and then you have the audacity to steal her.” The heel of his right hand sends me sprawling backward, unsteady on my leg that feels as though the lakes of hell run through it. “Does she fuck you good? Huh? Suck like a God-damned Hoover?” He shunts me again, and this time I strike back, yet miss him as my knee gives out from the pain. “She has to be good at something, because fuck knows the bitch ain’t faithful.” He laughs snidely and shoves me in the leg with the toe of his shoe. “Ever worry that she’ll do the same thing to you, asshole? Once a cheater, always a cheater.” “Nope,” I say. “Not worried, because I’m not a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch like you. Unlike you, fucker, I know how to treat a woman, how to show her I love her.” Carlos steps back, his fists at his sides. “But hey, you wouldn’t be able to do that even if you tried, since there’s no room in that soulless chamber

you call a heart for love. You’re a lonely little man who uses his paid friends to boost your ego.” I jab my hand towards his guards who watch the exchange with keen interest. “Because that’s all you have, isn’t it? Paid friends. No fucker actually wants to be around an asshole like you. Nobody. Likes. You. And just like the nerdy little kid in the corner of the schoolyard, it fuckin’ kills you.” His nostrils flare, his eyes darker than two lumps of coal as he stares down at me, his fingers twitching. I push up with my elbow and get to my feet as his right hand whips under his suit jacket. We draw at the same time, muzzle to muzzle, both out of fucks to give for what happens next. He goes down as my finger hits quarter-way on the trigger. Carlos’s men point their weapons toward the source of the shot. The ends of their rifles wave wildly about as they fail to find the sniper. A slow grin spreads on my lips as I catch the glimpse of a grease-stained mechanic’s boot heel I know all too well disappearing into the garage. Carlos screams blue murder from his position on his knees, one hand clutched to his blown elbow. Beefy draws and drops one of the guards. The remaining three spin to cover themselves as I drop another and Beefy takes his final count to two. Apex steps back, his head whipping this way and that as he looks for a way out. Decisions, decisions. Do I take out the last guard, keep my eye on Carlos, or stop our double-crossing president in his tracks? Seems our injured drug lord has made his mind up, which in turn solves my dilemma for me. The fourth and final guard drops to the floor with half his head blown over the back of a sofa. “Fucking useless,” Carlos yells. “Pay peanuts, I get monkeys.” His revolver waves wildly between Beefy and myself. “Who’s next, assholes?” “Set it down, son.” Our odd arrangement stills as we all turn our heads to take in the old boy from the bar, standing behind Carlos with a stubby pistol pointed directly at the back of the drug lord’s head. “She might be a little ’un, but she packs enough of a punch.” A chuckle erupts from Carlos, which grows into a full-on belly laugh. “Touché, my fine sir.” “What’s it going to be then?” I ask, limping to stand directly in front of the outnumbered bastard. “Feel like dying today?” “You wouldn’t have it in you,” he sneers. “Wouldn’t I?” Carlos scoffs, moving to stand. “Bet you’ve never even taken a man’s life, you gutless fuck.” “Hasn’t he?” Apex asks from where he’d been making a line for the garage. “Try him and see what happens.” I glance across at the guy, surprised that now he decides to step up and defend me. Then again, if I shoot Carlos it sorts out yet another loose end for the fucker. “Popped your cherry, huh?” I swing my gaze back to Carlos, not keen to give him one up on me by being distracted for too long. “It’s a bit like a tattoo,” I tell him. “You’re apprehensive about that first one, but once you get started”—I make a show of scratching myself with the butt of my gun—“you get that itch for more.” “Fucking do it then,” he growls. So I do. I take the invitation offered and pop a hole straight through his left shin. He screams out, reaching for his weapon when it gets kicked out of the way by the old boy “Finish it then,” Carlos taunts through gritted teeth. “You know if you keep me alive your life won’t be worth it.” I do. And as much as the thought of leaving him to breath his last on our clubhouse floor gives me a

hard-on, I have to think for the future. I kill Carlos now, where does it stop? Are the Blood Eagles next? And what then when the next person moves in to have a go at taking the position of top dog? “Why did you want us fighting the Eagles?” I ask, head cocked to the side. “What’s in it for you?” Carlos chuckles, blood seeping between his fingers as he clutches his leg. “I’m not telling you fucking anything.” I shoot his right leg—give him a matching pair. His eyes turn black as night as he stares up at me, fighting back the howl of agony that he keeps caged behind clenched teeth. “Position, okay? That’s all I’m telling you.” “What could they have that you need?” I’m genuinely stumped. He’s a cartel boss. They’re a bunch of bike-riding felons. No comparison, I would have thought. “International reach.” Of course. The Blood Eagles hail from Europe. They have links to chapters in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. Apex steps up beside me and stares down at Carlos, a frown pulling his forehead into deep lines. “If we went to war, we would have killed those fuckers. You need them alive if you want their help getting into Europe.” Carlos stares at Apex blankly for a beat, as though only realizing the gross error for himself. “I suppose you’re right.” “Leave us out of it,” I say. “I’ll make you a deal. You agree to my terms, you walk away—or crawl as the case may be—with your lonely fuckin’ life intact.” “What are the terms?” Carlos seethes. “This club and anybody who belongs to it, patched member or family of one, are left alone— untouchable. If that means you have to provide fuckin’ protection when you know of danger, then so be it.” “That can’t be all,” he says. “Surely?” “Nope. Elena. You walk away and admit you fucked up, not her.” His ice-cold eyes hold my gaze as he grinds his jaw left to right. “My life in exchange for forgetting your club and that whore of ours?” I close my eyes and brush away his deliberate insult. “Yes.” My chest aches at the betrayal toward Elena. I told her I’d kill this fucker. But the one thing I’ve wanted most is a change for our club; I want to steer us away from this violence. How am I going to start the change if I carry on the habits? I need to be the one who sets an example, who shows there are ways to resolve conflict without our members having to become murderers. Carlos’s gaze drifts around the room at the array of weapons pointed at his head and chest. “Doesn’t matter what I think, does it? You’ve got me by the balls.” “That we do.” I smirk at the asshole, contemplating whether I should just give him one to remember me by anyway or not. “Deal.” His shoulders slump as he holds out a hand. I lean over and take it with caution, aware that he’s the kind of sneaky fuck to pull one over on me when I don’t expect it. He takes my hand and pumps it vigorously, twice. “Seems we have ourselves a truce.” “Seems we do.” “One final condition before we separate our hands and make this official,” he says with a smirk of his own. “Spit it out.” “Any of your men, or family of your men if we’re making this fair, come onto my property or involve

themselves in my business, this agreement is null and void.” “Deal.” I narrow my eyes on the asshole, looking into those shark’s eyes for some glimmer of a real man behind this cold façade. Empty. His soul is as empty and black as a used oil drum. Probably just as toxic, too. “Trust you can see your own way out?” I drop his palm and wipe my hand on the leg of my jeans. Beefy steps up beside me, waiting for Carlos to take the hint and go. He eyes each of us left in the room in turn, tipping an imaginary hat to the old boy who trumped this whole show. I fight to steady my breathing as he runs both palms over his tailored suit, albeit a bloodstained one, and pulls himself up with the aid of the old boy’s hand. He nods at us all and takes the first limped steps toward the exit. Carlos stops just short of the splintered door and hesitates. My breath catches in my throat; my fingers twitch around the handle of my gun. He shifts one foot forward as though to carry on, and then spins abruptly to limp at a quick step all the way back to where I stand, my index finger slipping inside the trigger guard. “One last thing,” he says, shaking a finger as though he’s trying to remember the exact details. “I met an interesting man a couple of weeks back while I was doing some digging on you.” He clicks his fingers, a frown pulling a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “What was his name? Terry? Jerry?” My gut roils as he slowly smiles. “That’s right. Perry.” I swallow down the remnants of the gas station hotdog I scoffed for lunch. “He wanted me to pass on his regards. Says he hopes you have no hard feelings.” Carlos turns and strides for the door, chuckling as he goes. Beefy grabs my arm, but I wrench it free and send a bullet sailing straight through the fucker’s shoulder. Fuck it. I was aiming for the heart. My hand shakes with rage induced adrenalin. He folds over, falls to his knees, and curses a string of profanities that run into one incoherent word. “Enough,” Apex snaps, pushing my gun down with a palm to the top of the warmed barrel. “You’ve made your point.” Carlos’s back heaves where he kneels just shy of the doorway. Anxious seconds pass as he stays prone, yet to react. Slowly and gracefully, he stands, dusts his jacket off, and walks for the door. He’s more than likely figured out that if he fights back, he’s as good as dead. If he’s half as clever as he makes out to be, he would have also realized he fucking deserved it. “What the fuck was that about?” Beefy asks, spinning me around by the shoulders as a distant car engine starts. “Perry is the man who murdered my brother.”

TWENTY-FIVE King Early-morning school traffic clogs the roads by the time Gloria’s worked on her bullet-recovery skills and stitched me up for the second time in as many months. I arrive at Mom and Dad’s a little before lunch, hungry as hell and keen to explain to Elena about the truce. The front door is open as I approach and an errant stillness envelops the house, despite the gentle breeze rocking the swing seat. I draw my weapon and step lightly inside, cursing the stupid buckles on my boots and my ingrained habit of leaving them undone and, consequently, noisy. I checked over my shoulder the whole way here, but what if they weren’t behind me? What if they were in front? Everything sits as it should—no upturned furniture, discarded ornaments, or signs of a struggle. I scan the walls for bullet holes, the floor for blood, and the tops of the cabinets and shelves for anything that looks even an inch out of place. Everything rests exactly as it has for the past twenty-some years. Paranoid much, King? “Mom?” I come full-circle on the ground floor and look out the back door at the small cottage garden my parents keep. Her sunhat is visible over the top of the lawn chair, sitting out amongst her flowers blooming in deep shades of pink and purple. “Mom?” I call again, stepping off the back porch. She sits up and twists to watch me approach, her hands on the arms of the chair. “Lloyd.” “Where’s Elena?” “How did you go? Is it all sorted out?” I narrow my gaze on her as I come to a stop beside the chair and squat to her level. “Why are you asking?” I know this has been the biggest thing I’ve ever asked of them, but she never wants to know anything about the club and the less than desirable things I do for them. “I’m curious, is all.” She reaches out and pats my arm. “I’ve been worried.” I sigh and take a moment to let my mood soften. She means well; I’m on edge is all. It’s been a long night with no sleep, and too many life-or-death moments for my liking. “Her husband won’t be an issue anymore.” “Are you sure?” she asks, scooting forward so she can sit straight. “I mean, is he . . .?” “Dead?” She nods. “No. We came to an . . . understanding.” She stares at me wide-eyed, predictably shocked. “From what Elena said he wasn’t the kind of man you could discuss matters with.” “He’s not. We had to give him some motivation to want to.” “Oh.” Her head turns and she squints out over the fields beyond the clichéd picket fence. “Your father should be in for lunch soon. I saw him herding the stragglers back to the paddock a wee while ago.” “Not helping today?” “No.” She shakes her head with a smile. “Having a rare day off. I don’t really know what to do with myself.” Her laughter dies off to an awkward silence. I glance back at the house and down to the paddocks. “Where is she then, Mom?”

“Lloyd . . . I’m sorry.” All kinds of scenarios spring to mind: what if the whole deal with Carlos at the clubhouse was a decoy for the real damage here? What if my parents weren’t equipped to handle what Carlos sent to do the job? My fear irrationalizes every detail my common sense throws at it; if Carlos sent his men over, Mom wouldn’t look so well. If a fight went down, then the house wouldn’t be immaculate. I push to my feet, unspent energy building as the seconds tick over without Mom offering any more information. “What happened?” I ask, pacing to a dark pink flower and plucking the petals. “She left.” The flower head snaps between my fingers. I toss the bloom to the ground and turn to face her. “She what?” “She left, Lloyd.” Mom stands and closes the space between us, her arms outstretched. I swat them away, backing up until my back hits a low trellis. “Why didn’t you stop her? Why did you let her get away?” Mom hugs her arms across her chest and steps back. “We tried to talk her out of it. She’d made up her mind, Son.” “No.” She can’t have left. Where would she go? “Did she say where she went?” Perhaps she went for a walk and this is all a huge misunderstanding. “No.” Mom runs a palm over the side of her face, the light in her eyes dimmed. “I asked, but she wasn’t sure where she’d go.” I shoot Mom one last look laced with all the disappointment I can muster and then jog toward the house, only to stop at the porch steps. “Which way?” I call over my shoulder. She’s only really got one direction if she wants civilization within the next thirty miles, but Elena doesn’t know that. “I didn’t see.” Mom rushes to my side and grabs my forearm with both hands. “Don’t go running after her,” she implores me. “Elena left hours ago. She could be anywhere by now.” “I have to try. What if the stress harms our baby, Mom? It’s a long fuckin’ way to walk to reach anything.” I stare up at the damn sun, squinting as its glare blinds me. “It’s hot out today. She might be out of water, or—” “She’s gone,” Mom reinforces, squeezing my arm. “She took food and water with her.” I shrug Mom’s hands off, knowing what that implies if Elena was prepared. She helped. My own mother helped crush my heart. “Let her go, Lloyd. She left for a reason.” “Like what?” I holler, throwing my hands in the air. “What God-damned reason could she have for leaving when I’ve only just got her back?” “She didn’t want to have all of this in her life,” Mom shouts, starting to cry. “She wanted to protect your child. She wants a life that isn’t ruled by your loyalty to something other than your family.” “What cocked up fuckin’ excuse is that?” I scream, ignoring the pang of regret at seeing Mom flinch. “Why the fuck didn’t you stop her?” I ask again. “Why?” I don’t stick around to hear her out. Her pathetic excuses won’t change the fact that I’ve spent all this time without her in purgatory for nothing. Mom calls after me as I crash through the small gate and into the dirt yard. Her footsteps chase mine as I head for the barn and throw open the doors. “Lloyd! What are you doing?” “Fuck off, Mom. You’ve done enough.” The sane part of me knows that blaming her for this is futile. She did what she could; none of this is her decision or doing. But the anger pouring out of me needs an outlet, and she’s the closest thing with ears. I’ll have plenty of time to regret it later. “Lloyd,” she yells as I rip the sheet off my old farm bike. “King!”

I hesitate at her desperate use of my road name to get my attention, and then march across to the tool rack to pluck a sledgehammer from the hooks. “What are you going to do?” She eyes the implement in my hands, a frown twitching on her brow. “What’s that for?” Her constant questions fade as I kick the bike over with a splutter and a roar, and tear off down the track, the sledgehammer resting across my thighs. My teenage years helping out on the farm come back to me as naturally as riding the two-stroke dirt bike. I duck under each temporary gate across the lane without dismounting, using the handle of the sledgehammer to lift the reflective tape over me as I pass through, hardly slowing for the corners in the tracks. Mom’s truck kicks up dust behind me, delayed as she’s forced to get out and take down the barriers that I’m able to maneuver around. I twist the throttle and send blue smoke chugging out behind me as I take the bike to its limits on the back straight. How could she fucking do this to me, after everything we went through, the risks we took, what I put on the line for her? She took your kid away from you. She ran, taking every dream I ever had of a family and a future with her. Fuck, Elena. Why? If only I could have explained it all to her she would have seen that I was doing my best to sort things out so we had a relatively safe future. Every conversation we’ve had in the last day, week, and month run through my head as I tug the heavy gate open to the back paddock. There aren’t many to mull over. That realization alone threatens to drop me to my knees. But the culmination of my stupidity ahead of me brings the simmering anger boiling to the surface, my raw frustration overflowing as I heave each breath out my nostrils. How could I have been so fucking naïve? So full of fucking hope at something that would never be more than a pipedream? Was I not good enough for her? Did I not offer Elena what she wanted? Mom’s truck bears down on me as I rip through the gateway on the bike, kicking grass and mud up behind me. The suspension bottoms out as I hit the ruts in the ground. The sledgehammer balances on the handlebars under my grip so I can stand on the pegs and ride out the rough ground. The framework for my lost future comes into full view as I hit the last slope. My heartbeat pounds an angry rhythm against my ribcage, crying out for its turn to rip apart the reminder of how fucking optimistic I can be. I ditch the bike, throwing it on its side without bothering with the stand. The engine chugs steadily behind me as I face the biggest waste of my time with the sledgehammer in my hands. The metal head hits the ground beside my foot, and I lean the handle against my leg as I rip my cut and T-shirt off, ready to throw down with my pathetic love-torn attempt at proving I was all Elena would ever need to make her happy. What a fuckin’ joke that is. The first bearer splits with a crash that doesn’t quite drown out the roar of anger tearing from my chest. How fucking dare she leave? I slam the tool into a stud, screaming at the wood when it refuses to break on the first strike. My throat aches, my voice hoarse as I slam the sledgehammer repeatedly into stud after stud, tearing the support from underneath the top plate. What could be better than what we had? I barely register the slam of Mom’s truck door as I take out the second to last stud on the first wall. The floor above creaks, the roof frame starting to sag without the support below. “Lloyd! Stop.” My angered roars become pained sobs, a mixture of grief and frustration as I tear the home I built for Elena down. I could never live here with anyone else. I’d never dream of walking the halls alone. This was for us. This was our house. “Lloyd.” Mom hesitates outside the structure, her concerned gaze trained on the creaking and complaining framework. “Step out before you hurt yourself.”

“Not until it’s all down.” There’ll be a bonfire tonight—a fucking big one. “You’re acting irrationally,” she cries desperately. “Stop before it collapses on top of you.” I’ve only heard her this desperate and unhinged once before—the day the prosecutor told my parents that there wasn’t enough evidence to take Garret’s killer to court. “You’re not thinking clearly,” she sobs. I laugh bitterly, and then grunt as I swing the sledgehammer against another stud. The crack of splintering wood above my head doesn’t bother me in the slightest. “I think she’s made it crystal clear for me, Mom.” I hit out at the last stud, smashing it three more times before it breaks. The roof groans and starts its descent as I look my mother dead in the eye and utter, “What’s life if she’s not in it?”

TWENTY-SIX Elena Seven months later I ran. I followed King’s mom’s instructions and walked for what felt like forever that day until I reached the bus depot. And then I bought a ticket on the next bus, not caring where it went. I had to get distance between us; I had to escape the pull that always brought me back to him. There was no way I could have dedicated myself to this child whose eyes are as crisp and bright as his father’s if I had stayed anywhere near his club. The reminders of the man I’d lost would have been too many, too often, and I surely would have lost my mind with regret. This, refusing to acknowledge my past and denying the truth of what I’ve done . . . it’s the cowards way out, the equivalent of burying my head in the sand. Yet what more could I do with strength as tested and cracked as mine? My rope on sanity was tethered by a few frail strands; knowing that all I had to do was travel less than an hour to get to King would have broken me before our child was born. I would have run back and asked for forgiveness, and inevitably, I would have ended up in the same cycle, wondering why I’d thought I could handle the rejection of never being enough to make him stay. I’m not sure I could have endured childbirth while bearing that kind of weight on my soul. And even if I had stayed and tried to make a real go if it, then what? Carlos would have eventually found me, and like a homing beacon, I would have led him straight to King’s family. If Carlos had hurt either Addie or her husband in his pursuit to get to me . . . I would have rather died than face the pain and betrayal my existence would have placed in the other spouse’s eyes. I’ve heard the news through the grapevine. I know Carlos is still alive. Watching the road for a solid fifteen minutes before I leave the house has become second nature. I never found out what happened after I left—if Carlos lived, if King survived whatever final fight he walked into. I’ve erred on the side of caution ever since, just in case the worst did come to pass, and a day when Carlos walks back into my life isn’t as impossible as I’d hope. If something had happened to King, I think I’m in a better state of mind to deal with it now rather than I would have been as a new mother trying to deal with the overwhelming emotions that come in the first few weeks after childbirth. And that justification right there of my choice to leave tells it how it is. I ran because I’m a coward. I ran because I couldn’t face the truth: that King would always choose the club over me, and that the man I married for money would most likely take it all away from me anyway. I ran to avoid facing the consequences of my choices, and in doing so, hurt everyone I love: King and our son. After a month, the burning need to know eased, and like with any drug weaned off, time was the greatest healer of love lost. Seeing my belly grow in the mirror and having nobody to share the joy of each tiny milestone with was the hardest part. My walls didn’t dance with me when I felt the first undeniable kick. My door couldn’t care less when I saw a tiny foot press up against my taut stomach. And the drapes certainly didn’t pay any mind when my waters broke at two o’clock on a Thursday morning. Dante Lloyd Burgadas was born weighing a healthy eight pound, two ounces . . . and was equally as quiet and laidback as his father. I cried for the entire first night, alone and faced with the very real, very tangible evidence that I couldn’t change what I’d done. King’s father was right—I’d denied his son a milestone in his life by taking the experience of his firstborn away from him.

But my heart told me King wouldn’t have been around to have witnessed it anyway. There would always be issues at the club, and I would have been left to deliver alone. And even if he had made time to be there, I could have guaranteed he wouldn’t have lasted more than a day before he left us yet again to go back to the people who are his true family. Here I am, left with both the greatest gift and the worst reminder of what could have been, all wrapped into one tiny, chubby package. Seven months I’ve had to convince myself wholly and unwaveringly that I made the right decision. And for seven months I’ve failed to do so. Standing here now, outside the gates of the last place I thought I’d ever return to, I’m not sure I’ll ever have the words to convince King that what I believed was right for me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get him to see it from my point of view. But a woman has to try. “Lady, can I help you?” A young guy bearing the badge of a prospect questions me from the far side of the gate. Winter is fading into spring, and the last of the heavy snow lies across the ground. The ice crunches beneath my feet as I pace from one foot to the other, steeling my nerves. Two months before Dante was born, I was approached while shopping for rompers by a man dressed unassumingly in a Daytona T-shirt and light denim jeans. After he managed to convince me that there was no threat of harm, he told me a story that brought me to my knees in the middle of the department store. King had been searching for me. King was okay. The investigator wouldn’t elaborate on what had happened after I’d left—I’m pretty sure he didn’t know—but he did ask if he could pass on my contact details. I rose to my feet and looked at the tiny garment still in my hands while I made a decision that would haunt me every day afterward. I said no. Time had passed; I had started a life where nobody knew who I really was or what I’d come from. Aside from being lonely, my days were normal. Why would I have wanted to change that? The answer was abundantly clear when I took the time to think about it. King was still my waking thought in the morning and my finishing hope at night. Yes, life was simple. Yes, I had gotten away. But if an investigator whom King had hired could find me, then how long before Carlos caught up as well? If and when I faced my ex-husband, what would I want to be reflecting on in my final moments? Sure as hell not a life lived in solitude for fear of feeling. No. If the day ever came when I realized the day’s dawn had been my last, I’d want to be able to think back on a life lived happy and to the fullest. Maybe it would be shorter, but it would be worth it. Quality, not quantity. I’d want to know that I’d had my time with the man that I still love, and a son who appreciated knowing his father. If King’s willing to try and make it work, then why can’t I? All I have to do is ask him to compromise, to promise he can spend more time with us as a family and less so concerned about this bunch of men. It’s selfish, and wrong of me to do so, but maybe if and when he sees Dante something might switch inside of him. Perhaps the physical proof of what’s more important than a bunch of outlaws will kick start a change in him I never could? “Lady. If you can’t tell me who you’re here for, then you need to go.” The kid eyes what I hold in my arms and frowns. I let my gaze drift over the cold steel and concrete façade of the building again. My heart thrums in an almost indecipherable buzz. Despite the cool air, my skin flushes with heat. Just because he searched me out doesn’t mean he wants to see me. What if he only wanted to find Dante? I glance at the young guy, opening my mouth to speak before I shut it again and drop my head in defeat.

You can do this. His club may be the most important thing in his life, but I can try to make our little family the constant, like he said we would be. Isn’t it better to have shared that than never had it at all? “Can you tell King he has a visitor, please?” I rush the words out so quietly that I’m stunned when the guy acknowledges what I’ve said. “Who should I say is here?” He fidgets, immediately on edge after I utter the name of the man who still holds my heart in his possession. “His son.”

TWENTY-SEVEN King “How much cash you gonna throw at this before you admit it, man?” “Admit what?” I lean both elbows on the desk and clasp my hands together as I glare at Hooch. “She doesn’t wanna be found.” He shakes out a cigarette and throws his boots up on the edge of my desk. I swat them off with a manila folder. “She thinks she doesn’t want me to find her.” “That so?” He leans forward in his seat instead, resting an elbow on one knee. “She tell you that?” “Fuck off.” My chair scrapes as I push back and stand. “I know that woman better than she thinks. She’s scared of facing the truth is all.” “Which is?” He eyes me carefully. The end of his smoke burns bright. My fingers run idly over the top of my desk, moving random sheets of paper and my pen so the whole lot is perfectly lined up. “She loves me, still.” “I think she made it perfectly clear that she feels the opposite when she left your parents’ place.” “Nope.” I shake my head vehemently. “Don’t believe it.” Hooch sighs and runs both hands over his thighs before pinning me under a pitiful stare. “Dude . . . let it go. It fuckin’ broke you once. Don’t do this to yourself again.” “I can’t.” I might have lost my head for a few months after she went—okay, I completely lost touch with the world and went recluse—but I didn’t quit. I simply learnt how to get through the day without feeling, without thinking of her. I learnt how to get through the day by confining the time I spent praying to a God I’m pretty sure by now doesn’t exist for an hour after I went to bed each night. “You have to move on,” Hooch urges. “Why?” I march around the desk and lean back on its front corner, my arms crossed high on my chest. “Tell me why I should let her go without a fight. Tell me why she should be able to disappear into the great fuckin’ beyond while she’s got my child.” “Because if she really loved you still, don’t you think she would’ve stayed? I mean, taking your kid away . . .” He sucks in a sharp breath. “That’s pretty fuckin’ cold, man.” It’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times. How could she do that to me? But then I did just as bad, if not worse, to her when I placed the club as a priority over her desperate pleas. I said it was for her own good, and I actually believed my lies when I said I couldn’t have helped her without the backing of these men, but let’s call a spade a spade, I could have done it alone. I fucking did in the end. She needed me to step up and prove myself way before she finally got away. She begged me to put my money where my mouth was and prove I loved her, and I did what? Walked away . . . “I know you don’t want to hear it,” Hooch continues, “but I have to put it out there.” “I know, and I appreciate it, man, but I’m okay,” I lie. “I’ve got all this crap keeping me busy while Apex is in and out of hospital with his health.” Hooch snickers as he looks around the room. It’s a darn sight tidier and less biohazard-like than when I’d walked in after Apex’s first heart attack. “You’re not doin’ this shit because you love it.” He narrows his gaze on me knowingly. “You’re doin’ it to keep distracted.” “Maybe, but fuck, it’s working, ain’t it?”

After the standoff with Carlos, I was voted into VP the following week. Turns out Beefy had sweet fuck all to do to convince the remaining voters that I would be a good choice—I proved that myself. Apex retained his position on a final warning. One fuck up and he was out the door and on the national blacklist. He took the news well . . . and then had a heart attack on his way across the room to the bar. Blocked valve, it turned out. Doctor told him to reduce his stress while he waited for surgery, and ergo my role gained its first important task: run the club in his absence. “When is the old fucker due to get out?” Hooch still doesn’t hold much love for the guy. I’ve heard his old man say he’d have handled things differently too, but hey, that’s their chapter. My concern is here, with Lincoln, and with the people I think of as family. “Couple of days, I think. You should be back home by then anyway, so no need to get all dark on me,” I say. He opens his mouth to retort, but the resounding crash of my office door as it rebounds off the wall beside it has us both on our feet. I take a moment to catch my breath as my heart goes haywire. Jumpy much? “Joker. What the fuck, man?” Hooch drops his hand from where it was rested on his gun. “King. You gotta come out the front.” My heart hasn’t slowed. The clear worry on his face keeps my panic cemented in place. What the hell is going on? “What is it?” “You have a visitor.” He swallows loudly, trying to catch his breath still. “Two, actually.” Fuck. “Who is it?” “You better come see.” The prospect darts off across the common room toward the entrance. I jog to catch up, Hooch close behind me, and catch him by the cut before he makes the door to slow him down. “Kid, you gotta tell me who’s here. Information, Joker, it’s the . . .” My words drift off as we pass through the front door and out into the cold. No way. “I thought you’d want to see him,” she murmurs, fidgeting with a blanket in her arms. My gut nosedives as my heart soars. Emotions are torn in every direction while I try to work out if this is for real. She’s here. “Say hi to Daddy, Dante.” Elena eases the blanket shielding the cold wind aside to reveal the chubby, pink cheeks of my boy. My son. “Where did you take him?” I ask, my eyes darting between her face and his. “Why did you leave?” “Can we come inside?” She gestures to the wind that whips through the trees, stirring up what’s left of the snowdrifts. “He needs to warm up. The heater in the car’s broken, and I haven’t fed him for over an hour so he’s probably hungry.” Dante. She named him without me. Of course, you idiot. His blue eyes blink against the bright light, and a fat little hand emerges from under the blanket to wrap tiny fingers over the edge. “Of course you can,” Hooch replies, simultaneously kicking me in the leg with the side of his boot. “We’ll get you comfortable, give you some privacy to feed the little guy.” He reaches out and takes her baby bag from her. “Thank you.” Elena passes her gaze over me before she follows Hooch indoors. My chest rises and falls rapidly; the panic grows every step she takes away from me again. I can’t let her go. She has to stay. This is it. She’s not leaving again. Joker returns to his post at the gate, and I hustle to catch up with Elena and Hooch. What do I say to keep her here? Has she come back to patch things up, to try again? Please tell me she changed her mind.

The step she takes sideways to avoid brushing against me as Hooch clears the sofas in the common room and sets her bag down says no. I drag in her scent, light and summery, and jam my hands in my pockets. I want to hold her, never let her go, but I don’t want to scare her away. I can’t risk doing a single thing that’ll make her run again. “You can stay while I do this,” she says, settling down on one of the seats and positioning Dante to feed him. I drop my ass to the arm of the sofa opposite and watch with nothing short of amazement as she latches our boy on and fills his belly with everything he’ll need to grow up healthy and strong. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She’s so relaxed, so calm. Everything I’m not. “How old is he?” “Twenty-nine days.” “Wow.” I scrub a hand over my beard and suck in a deep breath. “I wish I’d known. I would have been there.” “I didn’t try to contact anyone because I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to come.” Ouch. “Why did you leave without trying to talk things through, baby?” She sighs and dips her chin, closing her eyes briefly before she opens them on our creation. “He’s just like you in so many ways, you know.” I shift across and kneel beside them to get a closer look at the little guy. “How?” “So happy all the time.” Elena’s eyes glisten. “Sleeps all night, and hardly ever fusses. He’s so perfect, and more than I deserve.” Her leg stiffens under my touch, but she doesn’t try to move my hand from her knee. “I’m sorry I did things the wrong way, baby. I’m sorry I let you down.” “No.” She reaches out a hand and places it gently along my jaw. “King, no. You did what you thought was right, and I guess it was for you, but it wasn’t for us.” “How do I make things like they were? How do I make things right again? Tell me, woman, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anythin’ you say.” “That’s the problem: it was never right, King. You can’t fix something that was broken to begin with.” She lets out a heavy breath and adjusts Dante’s head on her arm. “We had so much working against us; don’t you ever wonder if perhaps we should have heeded the signs?” “No.” Fuck the signs. All I know is that when I managed to be with her I couldn’t think of any place or time I would have rather been. Everything is her. It always was, and always will be. “Don’t leave again.” “Your P.I. found me a couple of months ago.” I rock back on my heels, irritated that the bastard never told me. “He asked if he could reveal that he’d found me, and I said no.” What the fuck was I paying this guy for? “He didn’t tell you?” she asks, reading the expression on my face. “Nope.” I shake my head. “I wondered why he didn’t charge me last month—fucker was guilty.” She chuckles, but her smile fades quickly. The room falls quiet around us once again, just the subtle slurps and squeaks of Dante between us. “I realized though,” she explains, “that I had been wrong to say no. I thought when he asked, that life was good without Carlos knowing where I was, but then it dawned on me that although it might have been safe and pedestrian, it wasn’t good.” She twitches a small smile. “I miss you.” I try to speak, yet her free hand covers my lips. “Just listen, please.” I nod, coaxing her to continue.

“I missed you, and so I came to see if it was me or Dante you wanted to find.” “Both of you, baby.” “Being here, though . . .” She looks around the clubhouse, taking in the details. “It’s overwhelming. I feel exactly like I did before I left. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this life.” “You don’t have to step foot in here ever again if you don’t want,” I reassure her. “You can live off site and I can come home to you every night.” She shakes her head, a depth of sadness in her eyes that can’t be washed away with a few kind words. Her mind is made up; I know it. “I can’t be your mistress.” She frowns, as do I. “Why the fuck would you be my mistress? Are you worried about the property girls that hang around?” She smiles sadly, rubbing my arm. “I mean, I couldn’t come second to this place. Yes, you’d come home to us, but where would you be most of the time?” Damn it—she’s right. “Here.” “I can’t live a life of waiting for you to come back to us, of being expected to be grateful for the few times I got to see you.” “Isn’t something better than nothing?” I ask. If all I could have were a minutes of Elena each day for the rest of my life, fuck, I’d take it in a heartbeat. “It is,” she agrees, “but everything Carlos put me through . . . I can’t take much more worry in my life. I couldn’t sit and wonder if the things you do, the things you can’t talk to me about, put you in danger. I couldn’t handle watching you walk out the door every day, wondering if this was the time you never came back.” “We can work through this,” I whisper, desperation clear as day in my voice. “We’ll find a way to make it work.” “We tried, King. We tried to make ‘us’ work and your club got in the way then. Why would it be any different now?” “You’re askin’ me to do something I just can’t do.” “I’m not asking you to do a thing but let me go and live your life uncomplicated.” My gaze drops to Dante, so sleepy and undisturbed by all of this. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but we’ve got the biggest complication right here.” “Let me raise him until he’s old enough to make the decision for himself. It’s safest for him—for us. It’s best.” “Why? How the fuck can you taking my son away again be ‘best?’” I push up and walk to stand behind the sofa opposite her, resting my hands on the back to avoid punching something. “You’re denyin’ me my right to be a father.” My anger is reflected in her ten-fold as she loses her patience with the conversation. “You denied me my right to raise a child in a happy, loving family the minute you fucking left me to suffer for the sake of your goddamn club,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea how many times I thought I’d die at Carlos’s hand? Do you have any idea, King, how fucking hard it was to hide this from him for as long as I did?” She shakes her head, her fingers gently stroking the side of Dante’s face despite the fire raging in her eyes. “I lost count of how many times you mended my heart, just to break it all over again. It hurt that much more every time you did it, and I died a little more every time I let you.” “I never meant to hurt you.” “But you did. Again and again. All I wanted was somebody to fucking hold me and tell me everything would be okay, but you left me alone. You were the one who taught me that the only person I can rely on is myself.” She hesitates, shaking her head as she catches her breath. “Yes, when I’m with you it’s great, it’s

fucking amazing, but it’s all the times I’m not, all the hurt at being rejected for something that’s more important to you than me that I can’t handle.” She cries, something I’ve barely seen her do. “I’m sick of being sad, King. Don’t you get it? I want to be happy, not worried, not sad, not angry . . . happy!” “I don’t know what you want me to say? I don’t have a problem with balancing the club and you, only you do.” I slam my fist into the sofa cushion, frustrated that she makes life so fucking complicated. I want her—that’s the one constant in all of this. Fuck what else comes with it; fuck what I have to do to get that. Why can’t she be the same way? She says that she doesn’t feel enough because I can’t give her all my time, but I don’t feel enough because she’s not grateful for some of my time. “Why is it all or nothin’ with you?” I holler. “If you really loved and missed me that much, woman, whatever you got would be enough.” “I’m sorry,” she wails. “It’s just how I feel—I don’t know why, but it is. I can’t let you put us second. But I also know you can’t put us first. That’s why I’m asking you to leave us alone, stop trying to find us, and let me put Dante first. Let me put our son’s happiness before ours. Please, King.” I know what would be the right thing to say here: “you aren’t second.” But I know that’s a bald-faced lie. They still are. If I had to divvy up my time between them and the club, I know who’d have the greater percentage. I’m working for presidency, and after the sacrifice and effort I’ve put into aligning myself to be able to finally do right by this club, I’m not giving that up easily. My soul tears in two as I let my gaze roam over her, seated opposite me. She’s as beautiful as ever, even more so as a mother. I think about where I’ll be when I’m too old for this shit, and it’s always her there beside me. Doesn’t matter what I do. Doesn’t matter what anyone tells me. Every time I close my eyes at night and wonder where this road will lead me, she’s always standing at the end, waiting. And there lies my problem—those are nothing but empty fantasies I create at night to help me sleep. Nothing but lies I tell myself to give reason to the following day. Without the hope, the chance that those dreams could one day be true, what’s the point to all of this? What do I get out of it? Nothing. “If you need time, I’ll give you time, but I can’t cut ties completely.” My breath whooshes out my nose as I lean on the back of the sofa, my fingers digging into the frame. “You need to promise you’ll stay close. That Dante will know who his father is.” She nods, lifting our boy to shift him across to her other breast. He settles into feeding again and she tips her head back, resting it on the back of her seat. “I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do to come today. I almost turned around and headed back.” “What made you stick it out?” She watches as I move around the sofa again to sit. “I guess I was worried that if I didn’t come to see you, I might never come at all. And I want you to at least have this, to have seen him one time.” “Yeah, except this won’t be the only time, will it?” She swallows and looks to her right, staring at the bar. “Will it, Elena?” “I don’t know.” “You’re not disappearing again.” “I need to. I need more time away from you to work out if I can put my interests second to yours.” “Can’t you do that close by?” Why does she have to put so much distance between us? I need to hear her say it. “Why do you need to be so far away?” “Because every time I look at you I’m reminded what love is.” Hope swells in my chest, the emotion a fist around my lungs. Yet I fight to keep my face neutral, to not

show my weakness. “Why do you say ‘was?’ Nothing’s changed about how I feel. I don’t get how you can switch it off.” “I can’t. That’s the problem.” A lonely tear slides over her cheek. I edge forward, but she holds up a hand to stop me. “Please, don’t touch me again.” With my palms up in surrender, I slip back onto the worn cushion. “I don’t understand how you think this could be easier on you. If the feelings are there, baby, why do this to yourself?” “I already told you why.” “Because you can’t deal with only getting a part of me.” “Exactly.” “I think you’re over-exaggerating.” She scowls at me. “Where are we, King?” She tips her chin up, gesturing to the room around us as she snaps her maternity bra closed. “Where are we sitting?” “In the common room.” “Of?” “My club.” “Exactly.” Her gaze hardens, something akin to resolution hiding behind the pain. “As long as this is where you want to be, you have no room for us. Admit it.” “I’d make fuckin’ room,” I growl. “Yes, this is my life. This is who I am. But it’s not the sum of everything that I love.” I point to Dante. “I love him. I love you. I love that we made somethin’ so perfect. And yes, I love the people here almost as much. They’ve been there for me, given me direction, and picked me up when I needed it. I’m not givin’ any of it up: you, him, or them. All you’d have to do is tell me when I’m not spending enough time with you. Help me balance the two things, the two families.” “And what about Carlos?” She holds Dante out for me to take. “What do you think he’d do if he knew I was here?” Bitterness laces her next words. “I heard he’s still alive.” I slip my hands underneath the bundle of warmth, my gaze fixed to his sleepy eyes. My chest tightens with equal parts adoration for this little piece of us, and a panic that he could be harmed by something out of my control. I guess this is what being a parent feels like: love and fear all rolled into one. “Why does he have blue eyes?” Hers are brown, mine green. It doesn’t make sense. “All babies have blue eyes at first. They’ll change as he gets older.” I cradle him in my right arm and run my index finger over the tip of his button nose and around his chubby face, then push the blanket back to see all of his shock of dark hair. His ears are the same shape as Elena’s, with a little dip in the middle of the shell. But aside from that, I can see the resemblance to my family coming through strong. “You didn’t answer me,” Elena says quietly. “If I stayed, King. If we tried to make things work, what do you think Carlos would do if he knew?” Dante lets out a small squeak as I roll him to his belly and settle him on my chest. His tiny fingers open and close over the VP badge on my cut while I run my palm up and down his back in slow, smooth strokes. “He’d find a way to get to you.” Even after the promise I forced him to make. “Exactly. And you know it wouldn’t be so he could give me a welcome home party.” A shiver runs the length of me, and I can’t quite figure out if it’s a chill from the truth of her words or a thrill from feeling Dante’s warm breath heating the cotton of my T-shirt. “I’d do everything I could to protect you. You know that.” “I do, but there’d be that one time, that single day when it wasn’t quite enough. Could you live with yourself if Dante was hurt in all of this?” “No.” His rosy lips part, his eyes firmly shut as he succumbs to sleep.

“Exactly. So for once, just set your heart aside and realize that there’s something greater than us at stake here.” Elena fusses in the baby bag and pulls out a bib. “You might want to put this under his head in case he burps.” He grumbles as I lift his head delicately and give Elena space to lay the towel square out over my Tshirt. Dante’s eyes move under his lids, and I catch myself wondering what it is babies dream of. Is he imagining Elena? Seeing her in his dreams? You wouldn’t be the only one, buddy. “What do you propose then?” I ask, not able to tear my gaze from the beautiful life we made. “I’ll let you know where we are, but you only visit on his birthday and Christmas.” “No.” She can’t keep me away from him that long at a time. I’d miss so much. “Every second weekend.” She shakes her head. “Quarterly.” “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’?” I bellow. Dante squeaks in protest. “Sorry, li’l man.” I hold her gaze as I lay out my last demand. “Monthly.” She huffs out a breath and fidgets with the baby bag. “Okay.” “Where are you livin’?” Where has she been hiding all this time? “Denver.” “Nope.” “Pardon?” “You’re moving’.” “I don’t think you have the right to tell me where—” “You didn’t have the right to take my son away from me,” I butt in, “but you did it anyway.” She scowls and slams her arms across her chest, making those milk-filled tits pop. Down boy. “You’re movin’. Understood?” “I’ve got a job there.” “I’ll get you another one.” “Dante has a life there as well.” “He’s barely a month old, Elena,” I grate out. “He’s got nothin’ that he’ll remember. All he needs is you, me, and a shitload of love to get him through the crappy time when he asks us how he came about.” She smirks at the final bit, seemingly fighting a proper smile. “I guess.” “Baby, I’m not having you walk back in here after the better part of a year away just to rip my family away from me again.” She stares at the sofa cushion beside her, her fingernail picking at a seam. “You remember that conversation we had outside the motel when you wanted to come with me? The day you told me about this guy?” She smiles, still avoiding eye contact. “How could I forget? You killed my last hope that day.” I ignore the lance through my chest that jibe gives. “Remember what I said to you about how I had somethin’ amazing I’d been workin’ on for us?” “Yes.” She frowns, looking up from her destruction of our furniture. “The day you left I tore it down. Couldn’t bear to look at it.” “What was it?” Her gaze falls to Dante, who’s out to the world. “I built a house.” Her sharp intake of breath makes the little guy twitch in his sleep. “A house?” “Well, most of one. I hadn’t finished. All the same, it would have been perfect, but after you walked out I couldn’t look at it without feelin’ like a failure.” “You weren’t a failure, King.”

“I was, otherwise why would you have left me?” “I told you—I couldn’t compete with this.” She tosses her hands in the air. “Exactly. I failed you.” Elena lets out a short, jaded laugh. “No, King. I failed you.” She swivels on the seat, tucking her legs up beside her. “I knew where our affair would lead, what it would do to the two of us. My gut instinct screamed at me to walk away from you, but I was selfish.” She closes her eyes, dropping her face into one hand and mumbling behind her fingers, “I did this to us.” With my palm skimming over Dante’s back, I stare at his perfectly soft and rounded face. “I don’t regret any of it.” “Neither,” she whispers. “So what does that mean?” I shrug. What does it mean? Love complicates everything. A neutral man, one who was removed from our web of emotion, could see this for what it is: a woman putting the welfare of her child first, and a man whose calling is to make a better life for the people in his. We each have our priorities, which dealt with alone could be completely manageable. But throw love in the equation and the lines blur. Our passions drive us apart, but our insatiable need for each other keeps drawing us together. “Are you sure that distance is the best healer?” I ask. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why no matter what happens, we end up back here again, sitting in each other’s company?” “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I do. He’s sleeping on you.” I shake my head, yet she continues. “If it weren’t for Dante, King, I would have chosen to stay away.” Her words close a fist around my heart. “Was what we had that trivial? That easy to let go of?” “I keep telling you, no.” She sighs and throws her head back. “We’re going around in circles.” “Because I can’t understand why you’d do this.” I sit up a little and twist to my side to set Dante down gently on the sofa. He stirs, and I reach across to snag the blanket at Elena’s feet, wrapping it over his little body and tucking it underneath to make a snug cocoon for him. She watches me in silence, her head cocked to the side as I fuss over our child. I move to where she sits and drop the bib in her bag, and then crawl to kneel before her. She sighs as I push my arms either side of her seat, encasing her in my hold. “What are you doing, King?” “Trying to remind you why we risked our lives for these moments.” “I don’t need remind—” “I think you do.” She closes her eyes as I lean forward and rest my forehead to hers. “There was a reason we thought this right here was worth the fight.” Elena sniffs. Her forehead furrows under mine. “Don’t . . .” “Why?” I whisper, as I skim my lips across her wet cheeks to her ear. “Because the truth hurts?” “Because it all hurts,” she murmurs, tilting her head as I reach the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. “It’s supposed to.” I dot kisses along her collarbone, stopping when I reach the fabric of her sweater. “That’s what makes the good times feel that much sweeter.” Her fingers knit in the hair at my nape and pull my mouth off her heated flesh. “I didn’t come here for this.” “I don’t want you to leave without it.” “Why?” Her eyebrows pull together. “Why would you do this, knowing it’ll hurt me that much more when I go?” “Because I’m trying to make sure you don’t leave me.”

“I’m not about to change my mind.” “Then I’ll keep reminding you why you should until the day you stay, Elena.” I pull free of her hold and kiss the tip of her nose. “I tried to stop loving you, and it only made me miss you more.” Her tears flow free once more, yet her expression is stoic and determined. “It might not be today, baby, but you can’t deny this forever.” “I’m not denying that I miss you too, King.” She places a tentative palm to my cheek. “I’d never deny that I still love you.” “I know. That’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head a little. “What?” “I meant you’re denying yourself. You’re denying the right to feel this, to have what nobody’s ever given you before.” She swallows audibly, her fingers tightening on my cheek a little. “And what’s that? What have I never been given before you?” “Unconditional love.”

TWENTY-NINE King Hooch slips on to the stool beside me. The club’s quiet, vacant of most people being that it’s midafternoon on a weekday. After the showdown with Carlos, we lost a dozen or more prospects and hangarounds—people who realized that being a part of our club meant they stood dangerously close to the cliff’s edge. The place was instantly a ghost town; the fully patched members are mostly nine-to-five workers, so without the younger blood the halls became empty during the working week. “Take it things didn’t go none too well?” Hooch takes hold of the empty bottle of Jack beside me and turns it over in his hands. “Not the best, no.” “She comin’ back?” My nostrils flare as I stare at the wall behind the bar. “Probably not now, and dude . . .” He spins to face me, sitting side on to the bar. “I think she really meant it.” He heaves a sigh and sets the bottle down on the wooden bar top. “What you gonna do?” I shrug. What can I do? She’s made it clear; as long as I stay with the club, she wants no part of my world. What part of the fact that she is my world doesn’t she get? Hooch slams a heavy hand down on my shoulder. “Chin up, brother. There’s ways we can make sure you get to see your kid at least.” I grunt in reply as he raps his knuckles on the bar and walks away. I turn and catch him before he disappears into the garage. “Hooch.” “Yeah, man?” “Keep this to yourself, yeah?” He frowns, looking as though he’s about to argue before his face softens and he simply nods once. The last thing this place needs are rumors of who Elena is and what our connection involves. Thanks to Apex’s indiscretions, the whole mess with Carlos on our turf was brushed off as an inter-club argument. There was no mention of Elena, and the only witnesses to what Carlos and Apex said about my involvement with Elena—the prospect and the old boy—were kept quiet with a stern word from Beefy. Maybe Apex had been right from the start? I should have walked away and let it go when I still could? If the brothers find out about my affair with Carlos’s wife, then shit, my respect and reliability are shot straight out the fucking window. My head makes a dense thud as it hits the bar between my arms. I’m fucked. All I ever wanted was to live an honest life amongst a brotherhood of men who looked out for each other, no questions asked. And now I’m staring down the barrel of a life sentence lying my ass off, pretending I’m straighter than a freshly dry-cleaned suit. What sort of fucked up oxymoron is this? In order to be the guy they need to bring the club back on the straight and narrow, back on the safe side of the tracks, I’m going to have to be the biggest charlatan of them all. I can’t do it. I can’t live a lie and expect to sleep straight in bed at night. Fuck, I don’t sleep at all as it is.

“Hard day?” I whip my head off the bar to see Callum leaning on an elbow beside me. “You could say that.” “Joker was acting weird. Anything happen I should know about?” And it begins. “Nope. Just another day tryin’ to make sense of the mess that Apex has in that office.” Liar, liar, pants on fire . . . “Understandable.” He takes a seat beside me as two more of the lifers wander in through the garage door. “Speakin’ of the old bastard, you seen him lately?” “Couple of days ago.” The change in conversation perks me up somewhat. This I can talk about. “He was waitin’ on some test where they have dye in his blood. Angrier than a cut cat at, as he put it, ‘wastin’ his motherfuckin’ time and energy on this bullshit.’” Callum chuckles, rubbing a hand over his stubbly chin. “Yeah, that sounds like him.” I glance around the room, noting one of the lifers has left and the other is setting up a game of pool at the table. Satisfied nobody is in earshot, I turn back to Callum and lean a little closer. “Can I ask your opinion on somethin’?” He looks my way quizzically and nods. “Sure.” “You think I’d ever get put forward for pres?” When the vote came through that put me in the position of VP, I took that role on with full confidence. But after seeing Elena today, realizing the sum of my errors, taking on the ultimate role seems too much of a farce. They need someone better. Someone like Callum, I think, as I stare over at my friend. He bows his head, rubbing a stiff palm over the back of his skull while he thinks it over. “I’d say yes, just based on what everyone says about you, but I don’t want you gettin’ the idea in your head if it doesn’t happen, you know?” I nod and give him a pat on the arm. “I understand.” He offers a wan smile as I stand. “Just wonderin’ is all.” The clubhouse slowly comes alive as I cross over to Apex’s office and barricade myself from the growing noise. Painting on a happy face for those ten minutes was hard enough—how the hell am I going to do this for months, or years? I drag a hand over my beard as I take in what’s left of the mess to sort and file. The old boy didn’t want a bar of me in here to begin with—understandable, given our history, but a firm word in his ear from Beefy and Apex soon gave in. He hasn’t filed a fucking thing since the day he took over. There are power bills, property rate notices, receipts for food bought when we’ve organized a run, and random scraps of paper with scrawled notes every-fucking-where. Took me two days just to reconcile the fuel account and figure out which current members still carried cards for it. The Aces need a damn secretary. They need somebody who understands how the place runs, who can keep track of the basic paperwork, filing what’s non-important and saving only those letters that need a final decision for the officers. A go-between if you like. The realization of who that could be smacks me square in the face. I turn heel toward the door and rip it open on a mission to track down Abbey. The girl’s been here long enough, and seen enough to know what she’s doing. She needs an excuse to keep the property girls off her back. Who better to fill the role than her? As I circle the common room without finding her and then head for the stairs, a niggling thought in the back of my mind grows to a dull ache, demanding attention. As much as I’d hate to break this temporary sense of calm, of purpose, I can’t help but acknowledge what I’m doing for what it is. Yet again, I’m deflecting, distracting, and drawing my thoughts away from the one thing I should be trying to sort and file as completed.

Elena. Yet again, I’m putting the club first.

THIRTY Elena Six years later “Can we go out for dinner tonight, Mama?” I flick my gaze to the rearview and smile at Dante. “Not tonight, sweetheart.” “Aww, why?” “Because Mama doesn’t have enough money.” Living is frugal, but the thing I’ve come to accept about the way Dante and I survive on my measly wage is that the important part of it all is just that—we’re living. Four shifts a week on the front counter at an auto-repair shop would never be enough to take us anywhere, but we have food. We’re alive, we have a life, and we have each other. I pull my old car up out front of our house and sigh when I spot the gray sedan parked two doors down. “What’s the matter?” Dante asks from the back. “Nothing, baby. You go on and get out. Make sure you grab your bag.” I step out into the mild spring air and lean a hand on the roof of the car while I watch our lurker watch me. We enter the same Mexican stand-off we have each and every Friday when he comes past to check in on us. The moron isn’t even subtle about what he’s doing. He lifts a long lens camera and snaps a few pictures of us. I flip him my middle finger and follow Dante up the path to the front door. His lens is positioned outside the driver’s door, resting atop the wing mirror as he takes another snap. Enough. The guy’s been tailing us for months, and I can only guess one person who’d hire such a fucking novice to get the job done. “Take your things to your room, baby, and then start on your homework. Okay?” “Yes, Mom!” Dante runs off down the hall as I shut the door behind me and leap off the two front steps to head for our stalker. He pulls his camera in and depresses the button on his car door with a concerned furrow to his brow. It doesn’t matter how hard he holds his finger on that thing—the window isn’t going any faster than usual. The jerk starts the car as I reach the sidewalk of the next house over from where he’s parked. I catch the clunk of the gearbox as he slots it into drive, and sidestep out into his path. He bangs both palms on the steering wheel with a frustrated scowl as I stare him down, my hands on my hips. The window whines back down. “Are you crazy?” I nod. “Apparently.” “Move, lady.” “How much he paying you?” I ask, moving closer, yet not giving away my position as a human roadblock. The guy snickers and ducks his head back in the car. “As if I’d tell you that.” He revs the engine for effect. I lift an eyebrow. He makes a shooing motion with his hands and gives the gas another pep.

“Help! He’s stealing my car!” The man’s jaw drops and he looks frantically around to see if I’ve drawn any attention. “Please! It has all my baby’s things in it!” I smile sweetly at the asshole. The door flies open and he steps out, rushing around the hood to reach me. “Shh. Just shut the fuck up, okay?” “Tell me who hired you to follow me.” I case him out, looking for any telltale signs that he’s packing. Nothing obvious. “A biker, okay? That’s all I’m going to say. The guy’s part of a club, and I’m not keen on fucking them off.” He sighs, running a hand over his balding head. “I’m just trying to do my job, lady.” “You’re terrible at it. Whatever he’s paying you, halve it.” He snickers and leans back on the front of the still running car to fold his arms high on his chest. “Yeah? And how you gonna know if I do or not?” “Ask him.” I’m bluffing—I wouldn’t, but he doesn’t know that. The wiry man looks me up and down, and then slowly nods. “Yeah, you strike me as the type who’d do that.” “You picked the wrong woman to tail, buddy.” He shrugs, pushing off the car to walk back around to his door. “I work for whoever’s paying. And your man, honey? He pays.” My man. The P.I.’s unknowingly given me the lowest jab he can. My man. Every damn day I have to tell myself it’s over. They say time heals all wounds, but after six years of wondering what King’s doing, how he is, and who he shares his nights with now, I beg to differ. The time apart has only served to filter out the petty arguments we had, the little things that used to annoy me about him, and strengthened the memories of what I love and miss. “Tell him we’re doing just fine,” I snap and storm back toward the house. The car passes me by as I turn up the path, and when I head inside Dante is doing exactly as I asked, his homework spread out before him on the small table. How did I luck out with this child? He’s never given me trouble, never questioned why it is he doesn’t get to see his father. He helps me cook, cleans up after himself without being asked, and on Sundays brings me breakfast in bed as it’s my “day off”. He’s selfless —a lot more than I can say for the man he resembles in almost every way. “Can you help me with this sum, Mom?” His brow furrows as he concentrates on the set of equations set out on his sheet of paper. A look I’ve seen on King when he’s determined to find a solution to the problem himself. I never hid from Dante who his father is. I waited for him to ask, and when he did a little over a year ago, I sat down with him and told him the truth—a story about a man and a woman who, despite their love for each other, were never supposed to be together. “What’s got you stuck?” I take the other seat and drag it around to sit beside him. Dante points out what he’s already done to try and work out the multiplication, explaining each number he’s written down on the worksheet in great detail. Sharp green eyes follow the tip of his pen as he works through the problem aloud, telling me how he came to the answer he has. A heavy weight settles in my chest, the feeling as familiar as an old pair of sweats. Every time I see him like this—so studious, so focused, and so determined to get it right—I see King. The child’s more like his father than he’ll ever know, and I can’t help but marvel that all of this comes through even though the two of them haven’t spent more than the brief hour together when Dante was a newborn. With the way King and I left things, the visits we’d bartered over never came to fruition. Perhaps he was ashamed of the way he reacted? Perhaps he finally let me have it my way? I’m not sure, although I’m guessing it was

more a case of stubborn pride getting in the way—a lot like myself. Admitting fault has never been a strong point for either King or me. Dante flicks his head, throwing the longer strands of his hair out of his face when he looks up to see why I’m not answering. “Mom?” “Sorry, baby.” I offer him a smile and squint at the page, willing my thoughts to focus on the task at hand. “What was that last bit?” I’ve told myself a hundred different ways that this right here, seeing Dante settled, safe, and happy is all that matters. I’ve lectured myself a thousand times while lying in bed, seated on the sofa, or with my hands wrist-deep in dishwater that I made the right choice—for our son. Yet every time my thoughts drift to the only man I’ve loved, the last man to have had his lips on mine, I can’t deny the ache of regret that buries another thorn deep in the chambers of my heart. Each glimpse of King, each whisper of the man who gave me this precious child that I see in the simple gestures and habits Dante exhibits, I slip a little further toward the thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late to say sorry and make our trio a family somehow, even if what I had with King is beyond repair. Maybe . . .

THIRTY-ONE King Am I okay to drive? Looking down at my hands, I carefully trace the outline of my fingers, checking for any blurriness, any shakiness. All good here. The call came in that I needed to get across to Apex’s residence before it was too late. The years of drinking, smoking, and stressing over a life lived on borrowed time has taken its toll on him. The man is going to be lucky to survive the night. I shoulder between a group of brothers drinking and having fun with their women, to get to the garage. The clubhouse is in full swing, the members celebrating the end of another working week. They’re happy and that’s all I can ask for. I’d join in, but I know what it costs for us to put on an evening of alcohol and food to keep their bellies full. I also know that our options to keep the bank account fat are growing thin. The club is in debt, and bad. I throw a leg over my bike and flick the key. My phone buzzes in my chest pocket, and I stop short of firing the engine to life to answer it. “Go ahead.” “It’s too late, King.” Apex’s old lady sniffs down the line. “He’s gone.” I lean over the tank and rest my forearm on the handlebars. “I’m sorry.” “We knew it was coming,” she says shakily. “Beefy made it here before he went, and Apex told him what he wanted you to know. He’ll come back and see you now.” She pauses, drawing in a deep breath. “I only wanted to call to save you the ride.” Fuck me. “Thanks, darl. I’ll come around tomorrow, okay?” “That would be lovely.” She sighs and then disconnects the call. Fuck. I slide the phone back in my pocket and get off my bike grudgingly. Can my job get any fuckin’ worse? The walk to the common room is long, held up by how slow my feet move toward my duty as the VP. Members sing badly to the music blaring over the speakers as I re-enter the chaos. One of our more recent acquisitions, a six-foot goliath of a man called Vince, stands facing me with his beer in his hand. He frowns when he takes in the look on my face and steps through the groups of people to come up beside me. “You good, King?” “Got bad news, brother.” I look around at the people filling every corner of the room and long for the seclusion of my bed. I’m too tired for this shit. “Want me to get everyone’s attention?” I nod. The guy’s been invaluable as a new member. I’ll never forget the day we picked him up, not all that long ago, trying to kill himself in a bar fight . . . with me. Vince heads off across the room and within seconds the music is shut off and the main overhead lights flick on with a buzz and a hum. I give Vince a nod of thanks and take center stage. Cries of “What’s goin’ on?” and “Where’d the fuckin’ music go?” carry across the room. I hoist myself up on to the bar and stand, towering over the crowd. Curious eyes train on me, and my skin sears under the pressure. Until now, I’ve managed to get by without any need to be the center of

attention like this. The horde of eyes watching my every move sends my anxiety into overdrive. I like my space, my privacy, and to blend into the background when not in times of crisis. I guess this could be a time of crisis, though. “What’s the story, King?” one of the more recent members calls out. I lift a palm to the curious brother down front and clear my throat. “I’ve got some sad news.” A hum ripples through the room and I raise my hand again, bringing peace to what was mere seconds ago a hive of activity. “Apex has passed away, peacefully, at home. I’ll give you news on the funeral and that when I have it, but for now lets all give thought to his family and what we can do to help them in this tough time.” A roar of disbelief and sadness fills the void as I climb down and make my way through the chatting groups to find solace in the sanctuary of the office. I turn to shut the door behind me and find Vince in the way. “I just need a moment alone, brother.” I keep my hand on the door to push my point across. He stares at me for a beat before he nods and turns away, melting back into the crowd as somebody turns the music back on, albeit to something a little slower and quieter. The club will celebrate for an entirely different reason now, and most likely for a lot longer. Stories will be shared, respect given, and men will sit in companionable silence as they lift their bottles to their lips in toast to a man they only half knew. I close the door and take a seat at the clear desk. Months after I was put in charge at the clubhouse, I finally made heads and tails of the mess. Abbey’s a huge help, picking up the mail and sorting it before I get my hands on what comes in. She’s the only person other than myself who knows what financial shit the club is in—and I intend to keep it that way. Nobody out there needs to know that we’re struggling to meet the bills. Nobody out there needs to be worried about a thing. The club is a place for members to unwind, to let go of their stresses and find solace with people of like minds. That safe haven slipped when Carlos came knocking on our door six years ago, and I’m never letting it happen again. We lost a lot of young blood, and we lost something worse along the way—the respect of the older members. I’ve strived to bring it back. I’ve pushed and tugged Apex in all the right ways to get him to agree to necessary repairs, to get the old bastard to give the people what they deserve. And now he’s gone, and here I am with a huge fucking problem to try and sort out. A swift rap at the door pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. I straighten up in my seat and call for them to come in. Callum and Beefy edge inside the office and shut the door behind them. “Hey man,” Callum greets. “Bumped into this ugly fucker on my way in, and he broke the news.” He jerks his head toward the common room. “Looks like they already know too.” “Yeah,” I say. “I let them all know.” Beefy pulls the single seat out from the far side of my desk and lifts his eyebrows at Callum. “No, you have it.” Callum leans a shoulder into the wall by the door and jerks his chin at the chair. “Take a load off.” The past three years have been kind to Beefy. He had a health scare that placed him in hospital for a solid six weeks, and when he came out he was two-stone lighter, thanks to their restricted diet. Either the big guy decided that was one scare too many, or he figured he’d keep on with what the hospital had started—whatever it was, he’s now a third of the man he was, and if a stranger were to see some before and after pictures, they’d struggle to believe they were of the same guy. “What did Apex have to tell you?” I ask as he takes the seat.

Beefy sighs and leans forward, his elbows on knees. “He more or less gave me an instruction.” “Which was?” “To make sure you become the president in his place. As much as it pained him to say, he has nothin’ but respect for what you’ve been doin’.” He shakes his head, laughing quietly. “Don’t think he had anything to worry about, though. I’d be surprised if anyone contested it.” “I don’t want it,” I blurt. “Hey?” Callum asks, pushing off the wall. “What do you mean?” “I mean I don’t want the role.” Both men stare at me as though I’ve grown an extra ear on my forehead. “I did my piece fillin’ in while he was sick. I want a break.” “Why?” Beefy asks, his brow furrowed. “You’re good at what you do.” “Maybe so, but I don’t want to be doin’ what I’m doin’ anymore,” I snap. They sit and stand in silence as I run both hands over my head in an attempt to gather my shit before I go right off at them. What can I say without coming off as moody and whiny as a premenstrual woman? I’m tired, the stress of the job eats at what small amount of sanity I have left, and I’m ready to storm out my office door and tell the club that they can all get fucked and learn to look after themselves. I thought my purpose in life was to help others, and at first it was. I got a thrill seeing the efforts of my hard work pay off; I got a buzz each time somebody thanked me for a good change around here that I was directly responsible for, but now? Now I wonder when the hell it’s going to be my turn. When the fuck is anyone going to help me? “Who else do you propose?” Callum asks. “Name one other officer on that board who the majority are goin’ to vote for over you.” He flashes a grin at Beefy. “No offense there, big fella.” “None taken.” Beefy narrows his gaze on me. “You put somebody else in the role and we have to wait another six months for them to get a hang of the ropes around here.” He shakes his head, scowling. “You’ve finally got this club to a better place, King. Why take us off this path when it’s doin’ so much good for the people around here?” A good place. If only he knew. I’m juggling fire, and quite frankly, I’m sick and tired of being the only one burnt. All I can do to reply is shake my head and look to the desk between my hands. “Come on,” Callum urges. “You a man of the club, or what?” I snap my gaze to his, daring him to question my loyalty again. “What do you fuckin’ think?” I’d die for the Aces. Fuck, I’ve already given up my fucking family for these bastards and let the only woman I’d have as my old lady walk away with my kid so that they could get a nice peaceful existence. The truce between the Fallen Aces and Carlos is intact, and I’d be an idiot not to realize that it’s a direct result of keeping Elena out of it all. He’s the kind of guy to get a sick thrill out of seeing that he’s not the only one who’s lost her. He’ll be enjoying the fact I’m suffering without her, and if I brought her back into the mix I could guarantee our agreement would be out the window. Carlos isn’t a man to uphold a gentleman’s agreement out of honor if it doesn’t favor his interests. I’ve given it all up for these assholes, and what do I get in return? Pressured into a leadership role I’m not so sure I’m cut out for anymore. “I need a break. This shit is killin’ me, guys.” “So pack your fuckin’ saddlebags and fuck off for a week, a month, whatever,” Beefy snaps. “Go sing Kumbaya with a bunch of freakin’ hippies if you must, just come back refreshed and ready to do what you were fuckin’ born for.” I stand with a growl and push my chair back. “I’m out. This conversation’s goin’ nowhere.” Both men watch me as I step past them and cut a path through the grieving club members to get to my bike. I need out. I need fresh air. I need a change of scenery.

Fuck, I do need a holiday. I just need to get away.

THIRTY-TWO Elena My joints pop and creak as I stretch out in my position on the sofa. Dante is curled up at my feet, glued to the television. We finished his homework without me losing myself to my thoughts again, and after dinner I decided to reward him with his choice of movie. I should have known it would involve a ton of gun fights and car chases . . . if only the kid knew who his mother had been in another life, we wouldn’t have to spend part of the grocery money to rent him a dramatized version of the things I’ve seen and done. I could entertain him with these kinds of stories for free. He tips his head to the side and rests it on his palm, his elbow propped on the arm of the sofa. His bright eyes track the movements on the screen, absorbing every last detail of the story to tell me again in two days from now on our way home from school. Being so young, his mind is a sponge; he remembers everything. Except his father. I draw a sigh and uncurl my legs, ready to stand, when there’s a knock at the door. Who on earth is visiting us? I make my way over and check Dante as I go. He’s still lost in another world, oblivious to the fact we have a visitor. The chain makes a light rattle against the wood as I secure it into the slide. I crack the door open and peer out at the man who stands on our stoop. “Evening.” Our stalker fidgets with his hands, turning side-on to check the street behind him. “What do you want?” “Pleasant wee thing, aren’t you?” He laughs forcibly. “Got some news for you.” “Yeah?” “Your lost lover phoned me tonight.” He pauses to lean forward and check both ways again. I find myself looking down the street also, put off by his nerves. “And?” “He asked for your address.” Damn it. “Did you give it to him?” The man lifts an eyebrow. “Of course. Thought you might like to know.” I don’t get a chance to thank him. He leaps the two low steps in one long stride and drops onto our front path, hustling to the side of the road and straight into his waiting car. I shut the door and turn around to rest my back against it, my palms flat to the cool wood. Why? After all this time, after tracking me for as long as he has, why now? I close my eyes and shake away the paranoia that builds. What if Carlos knows? What if our lucky streak has run out? “Hey Mom?” “Yeah?” I drag a palm over my face and suck in a deep breath. “Could you grab some more popcorn while you’re up?” “Sure,” I say with a laugh, loving how easily Dante can ground me, give me purpose and pull me out of my thoughts. I’m worrying about things that have passed. If Carlos wanted to come after me, it wouldn’t have taken him six years to do it. Logic tells me he’s moved on to his next gullible woman, found another thing to play with.

If we were to cross paths, however, I know it’d be a completely different story. I leave Dante on the sofa and retreat to the privacy of my bedroom. With my legs crossed, I sit on the bed and scroll through Facebook, looking for any trace of the only people besides King I’ve ever trusted: Sully and Maria. The same profile as always comes to the top of the search list. It looks as though it could belong to Maria, but the details are private and all her photos are blocked. I’ve never been brave enough to send a request or a message through in case it’s not her, in case it’s a honey pot left by Carlos to lure me in my own sweet time. Sully is untraceable as usual—nothing resembling the man exists. I Google both names, for what end I don’t know. They’d hardly be advertising under a website where they were. I toss the phone aside and flop back on the comforter to stare at the ceiling. I’ve thought about them so many times since I left Carlos’s house. Wondered where they are, what they’re doing, if they even got out. Patting the bed beside me, I find the phone and bring it back up over my head. King’s profile isn’t so hard to find. He keeps it under his given name, but has his road name in parenthesis as well. I hover over each familiar image, sighing at my own ridiculous weakness. I’ve resisted the urge all this time, stayed away and never gone as far as to type a singular letter of his name into the search bar. But one tip-off that he knows where I am and the curiosity has killed the cat. What does he look like now? Has he changed much? The albums are filled with Harleys, images shot at rallies, people tagging him in their Instagram pictures of empty bottles on a table after a hard night out— random things that explain his life, but not how he is. Why am I torturing myself with this? Because you’re curious. Why has King asked for my address now? Six years I’ve stayed away; I think it’s fairly clear that I don’t intend to change my mind on keeping Dante away from club life. Dante is safe. Dante is happy. I’m not about to risk that. But Dante also needs to make up his mind for himself on whether he wants King as a part of his life or not. The only way I’d let it happen is if King cut all ties to the shady world he lives in—the world I fought to get away from. But perhaps that’s not my decision to make anymore? King belongs where he is. The Fallen Aces are so much a part of his makeup that I don’t think he’d be half the man I know if I took that away from him. Likewise, what if I’m restricting the man Dante is growing to be by not allowing him to know his father? I’m so damn confused on what’s right. I set the phone down and lie back to stare at the ceiling. I try to doze off, but my mind has trouble letting the PI’s visit go. One simple warning, one little bit of information, and the unanswered questions flow thick and fast. God help King if he does show up, because there’s a hell of a lot I have to ask him. Dante watches the movie through to the end and then stops in for a cuddle before he takes himself to bed. He never asks who our visitor was, seemingly not picking up on my unsettled behavior. I tuck him in —a habit I can’t break—and then load up the clothes washer for a distraction. I set to cleaning up our dishes from the evening next when a low resonance catches my attention. Paused in the middle of the kitchen with a dish towel hovering over a plastic bowl, I still my breathing and listen intently as the rumble grows. Oh, hell. It can’t be—not this soon. Convinced he wouldn’t have ridden all the way here straight after contacting the P.I., I slip into a state of denial, busying myself with the last of the dishes that need to be dried. My ignorance lasts all of twenty seconds before the rumble is a chest-shaking growl that I can’t deny. Damn it all, I’m going to be sick. I move to the cupboard . . . and realize it isn’t where the tumbler in my hands goes. I carry the cup across the room to the shelves above the cooker . . . and stare at the things in the cupboard before my addled brain remembers what the hell I’m doing. I place the plastic tumbler with its peers, and then turn in

circles, trying to work out what the hell to do next. Oh my God, how do I look? I’d thrown my comfiest sweats on to have a night in with Dante. The engine cuts out as I sprint down the hallway and hang a sharp right into the bathroom. The fluorescent light is unforgiving on my complexion as I stare in the mirror in horror. “Shit, damn it.” I swipe up my foundation brush and squeeze the hell out of the tiny bottle that’s pretty much empty. There has to be something in here. The container is a mangled mess by the time I’ve bled it dry of everything I can. I’m leaned over the counter, fingers pulling my lower lid down as I swipe a pencil quickly over the rim, when he reaches the door. He knocks twice, solidly. My hands flap frantically beside my face as I scan the counter for my brush, and then knock the toothbrush holder onto the floor with a loud clatter as I grab it. Pulling my hair into a ponytail in record time, I rush down to the door and take a moment to breathe, to gather myself, and put on my usual resting bitch face. He can’t know what he does to me . . . even when I haven’t seen him for more than half a decade. I stare at the badly painted timber door, the only thing separating the two of us after all this time. Pushing up on my toes, I cautiously put one eye to the peephole and curse the fact I never replaced the porch light when it blew last month. A mop of blond hair, darkened by the night, covers his face. It’s longer, he’s let it grow, and because of that I can’t see his eyes as he looks down to his feet, just his trademark beard and full lips. Damn it. I step back and drag a deep breath in before shooting my arm out and taking the handle in my grasp. Get your shit together, woman. He’s just a man. My grip on the door is the only thing that keeps me on my feet. Holy shit. He’s not ‘just a man’—he’s a man who’s aged well. Dark green eyes stare at me in the light that spills from over my shoulder out to where he stands. The seconds stretch. “Do you have a habit of turning up at people’s houses this late?” I snap. There, that should do it. Short, snappy, and exactly what he’ll probably expect of me. The bastard smirks. “Only when it matters.” Aw, hell.

THIRTY-THREE King She hasn’t changed a bit. Still as stunning as ever, and still as sharp-tongued. “I guess you better come in then.” She rolls her eyes, but I can see straight through her bullshit. “You don’t look overly surprised to see me?” I step into her modest house and take in the surroundings. A single three-seater sofa sits before an old TV, which rests atop an obviously worn and second-hand side table. Mismatched chairs are tucked under a round table to the right, and her kitchen is no more than a short counter and a cooktop. The walls are bare and there doesn’t seem to be much sign of what she does in her spare time: no magazines, no craft, no books . . . nothing. “You seen enough?” she snaps. “Or would you like a tour?” “Is he here?” I turn and look her over. She’s not dressed to impress, wearing a simple pair of black leggings and an over-sized sweater that hangs off one shoulder, but fuck me if she isn’t sexy in it. “If by ‘he’ you mean our son, then yes, Dante’s here.” She crosses her arms and stares me down with a scowl. “He’s asleep.” Come on, Elena. I might not have seen her for years, but I know this woman. She can’t have lost all feelings towards me. It’s there—all I need to do is figure out how to bring the truth back to the surface. “Why did you come?” she asks. Always to the point. “I think it’s been long enough, don’t you?” She ducks her chin, and her toe taps an erratic rhythm on the carpet. “Cut to the chase, King. What do you want?” “My family.” I take a step toward her and she backs away. “No.” “We’re not arguing anymore,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I left you alone this long, gave you space, and—” “Are you serious?” Her brow furrows and she squares her shoulders, dropping her arms to her sides. “You gave me space?” “I’ve never turned up before now, right?” “Maybe. But you had your fucking lap dog following me around like the clumsy bloodhound that he is.” Damn it. “You know about him, huh?” “Who do you think told me you were coming?” Mental not to self: fire the fucker. “I’m curious, okay?” She eyes me as I pace the small room, looking over everything and nothing all at once to avoid her face. “You took my son away. I want to know what he looks like, how he turned out.” “If he’s anything like you,” she murmurs. “Kinda.” I rub a hand over my throat; this isn’t turning out at all like I’d hoped. “Can we not argue?” “You show up here when I’ve so obviously tried to make a life for us away from you and everything your damn club represents, and you expect me to not argue?” She laughs bitterly and turns away, a sardonic smile on her lips. “You were always a dreamer.” “I want you closer. I want to visit Dante.” “He doesn’t know a thing about you,” she snaps. “He never asks about you, King.”

Ouch. I’m pretty sure she caught me flinching. “You kept me a secret?” “I kept you my memory.” She slumps down on the arm of the sofa, her shoulders crowding forward. “Why fill his head with stories, King? Why give him something to miss if he didn’t need to?” “He’ll get to an age where you can’t stop him if he chooses to look for me, Elena.” I crouch down before her and try to catch her averted gaze. “You can’t keep him from me just because you don’t want me anymore.” A lonely tear crests her cheek and she swipes it away with the back of her hand, drawing in a deep breath. “How is your club, anyway?” “Don’t try to pretend you care.” “You happy? Is there a . . .” She wriggles her head side to side, pursing her lips. “Special lady?” And there it is: she’s jealous. I laugh, harder than I mean to. She smacks my upper arm with her open hand. “Shut up.” “Oh, baby.” “What? It’s a valid question.” Her anger grows the longer I chuckle at her unease. “Is there?” I’m a callous fucker; I make her stew a little longer. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.” She glowers at me as I walk around her to take a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. “Tell me about Dante.” “You didn’t answer my question.” She glares over her shoulder and then gives me her back, her arms firmly folded once more. “Is he good at school?” “He’s a top student, very concise in his work.” Atta boy. “And he’s got good friends?” “A few.” She shrugs. “Is she nice?” Uh-uh. Not yet. “How long you been here? Is this the house you were in when you brought him to see me as a baby?” She sighs and pushes off the sofa. I watch her go, admiring her lithe body as she storms into the kitchen. “Are you thirsty?” “Not really.” She bangs about for a minute, and then reappears with nothing. I do my best to conceal my smirk as she leans a hip into the dining chair and scowls at me. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” “And I’ve got every right to be.” She stares off down the hallway to her right, her lips set in a firm line, her jaw stiff. “You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with all those years ago.” “A lot’s happened in the time you’ve been gone.” My mood sours. She’s bringing up things I didn’t plan on rehashing with her. “What happened to the guy who was too shy to approach me at that corner store?” “He learnt what a relentless asshole life can be.” I look away. She doesn’t know what she’s playing with. “Can we talk about something else?” “Like what? Why you left me at your parents’ house when I needed you the most, all so you could go gallivanting back to your God damn club and save the fucking day?” Bitch has flipped the tables. “You’re going to wake up Dante,” I seethe, staring her down. She lifts her chin and takes two steps forward, wriggling her shoulders, all staunch and confrontational. “What’s the matter, King? Asking you the hard questions? Did you think you could walk in to my life again and avoid giving me the truth of it all?” “Don’t.” I push to my feet, the anger pulsing below my flesh, hot and eager to escape. “Don’t take me

there.” “Where?” Her nostrils flare, her cheeks red with her rage, and yet tears build in her eyes. “Back to a time when you put me second and expected me to beg for more scraps at your feet like a pathetic puppy?” Her arms unfold, and she lashes out, shunting into my chest. “I might have been in love with you, but I wasn’t prepared to fight for you to show me that you loved me too.” “You know I loved you . . . you know I love you.” She reaches out to push me again, tears on her face, but I catch her wrist. “Prove it,” she growls. “I bet there isn’t a thing you could say that would show me you’ve always loved me, that you didn’t stop, that you never forgot about me the whole time you’ve been putting that damn club before us. What the hell can you say, King, that would make me believe I was the one for you? Huh?” I clench her wrists hard, probably a little too much so, and pull her close. “Never kissed anyone since.” She blinks once, twice. Her chest heaves. “Wh-what?” “Just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t look at another woman like that without thinking about you.” Her body goes limp, the fight subdued. “Never?” I shake my head. I could ask her if there’s been anyone else—hell, there has to have been with a woman as stunning as her—but why ruin this moment? Why kill the mood? Elena pulls back, forcing me to let her go. “I don’t believe you.” She faces away, hiding her emotions from me. “Why would I lie?” Her body stiffens as I stroke the hair off her bare shoulder. “I’ve seen the kind of women you have at your clubs. Are you telling me you’ve never been tempted?” I skim my palm over her shoulder and lean in close to her ear, testing her reaction when my breath hits her neck. “Baby, temptation is a given. I’ve looked, but never admired. Never even thought about touchin’.” She tips her head away the slightest fraction and gives me the barest amount of permission. “Why?” “Because why would I want to touch someone if all I’d do is think of you?” I chuckle before pressing a light kiss to her neck. “Especially when nobody could ever compare.” “King . . .” “Elena?” A shiver wracks her body. “What are we doing?” I run my nose around the shell of her ear, inhaling the sweet smell I’ve missed so much. She’s changed her soap, changed the tone, but the floral notes still give me the same goose bumps as they did six years ago. “We’re connectin’,” I whisper. “Remembering why this all started.” “And what then?” A gasp slips from her lips as I loop an arm around her waist and pull her flush against me. “What happens after?” “After what?” I smile against her neck. “You know what I’m talking about.” Her palm covers my hand, holding my arm around her. “What do you want to happen?” She holds tighter as I begin to rock her to an imaginary tune. “I don’t know.” She twists in my hold, her palms laying flat against my shoulders. “I miss you.” Her breathing quickens as I duck my head and nuzzle her neck. Softest spot on the woman. “What do you want me to do?” Her voice is strained, protesting, but her body tells me a whole other

tale. “Give life with me a try. Spend a week, a month with us.” Her head swivels back and forth. “No. I can’t confuse Dante like that.” “Why would it confuse him?” I step back, surprised as she spins out of my hold and retreats across the room, putting distance between us. “Why the hell wouldn’t it? His father, a man who hasn’t been in his life until now turns up and wants us to damn well blend into a fucking lifestyle at an outlaw motorcycle club, a life I never wanted for either of us? What don’t you get about that?” “And why haven’t I been a part of his life?” I argue back. “Huh? You tell me, woman. Why?” “Because your damn club is more important.” “No!” Fuck, I’ll probably wake him, but who fucking cares? “You made that a problem, not me.” “Like hell I did.” She paces to the entrance of the hall, checking in the darkness. Her face bears a storm as she turns back toward me. “Sure, you probably pass me off as another one of those needy, possessive women who can’t share. But damn it, King, every fucking time I needed you, you left me drowning. You were never there when I wanted you the most.” “I can’t be there to save you every time you stub your toe, woman.” “Is that what you think it was?” Her head whips back, her hands to her hips. “When I was knocked unconscious because he caught us together, was my plight that fucking trivial?” I bow my head, ashamed that I accused her of such. “When he shot me in the leg, was I putting it all on?” she continues. “Or what about when he carted my fucking mother’s coffin in and then proceeded to cut drugs from her damn corpse right before my eyes? Was I over-reacting then?” Her face is pained, her tears fierce. I’ve never felt lower in my life. “I didn’t know,” I whisper. “No,” she sobs. “Because you didn’t stick around to find out. And worse than that, you never fucking asked.” “Fuck, Elena.” “Mom?” Jesus. Both our heads whip to the shadowy figure partway into the hall. “Dante.” Elena wipes her cheeks frantically, but it’s no use. Her eyes are red, her skin flushed. “I’m sorry we woke you, baby.” “Who’s here?” “Nobody. Go back to bed.” Fuck, that hurt. “I’m not nobody,” I growl. “Come out here, boy.” His cautious feet scuff into the living area between us. The keenest green eyes stare up at me, a frown pulling his eyebrows together. He’s so big. Dante swings his gaze to Elena, his brow furrowed. “Mom?” She places a hand to her forehead, hiding her eyes. “Baby . . .” “Hey.” I draw his attention back my way to try to give her a moment. “You know who you look a lot like?” He shakes his head, turning his body toward me. Elena holds a fist to her mouth as she watches our exchange. “Your daddy.” Dante glances back at Elena and then at me before he asks, “Is that you?”

THIRTY-FOUR Elena I thought I knew heartbreak. I thought I knew suffering. But seeing King choke up, seeing Dante look between us for an answer neither of us can vocalize . . . I’m ruined. “Yeah, baby,” I manage to push out. “He’s your daddy.” I’m pretty certain not a breath is taken. Silence envelops the room as our boy looks between us, his face twitching through a set of warring emotions, and then he turns heel to run back to his room. “Dante.” I go to chase after him when King steps forward to halt me. “Give him a minute.” “He’ll be upset,” I say. “I should go talk to him.” King shakes his head, sadness in his gaze as he stares at the floor beneath my feet. “If he wanted to talk, he would have stayed. Give him a moment to work through things, and if he doesn’t come back out, then go.” “And you know so much about him and what he’s thinking because . . .?” He pins me with a deathly stare. “I might not have been around to see him grow up and get to know him, Elena, but I was young once too.” I grab a hold of the nearest thing next to me, the dining chair, and pull it out to take the load off my weak legs. “This is exactly what I tried to avoid.” “You can’t protect him forever.” King kneels before me, a position I’m so used to with him, and places his large hands on my knees. “It doesn’t matter how we finally met, he would have always had a lot to work through.” “I guess.” “He was never going to run into my arms and profess his happiness.” He chuckles. “The kid doesn’t know me from Adam.” He doesn’t, and whose fault is that? I bury my face in my hands and groan. “I don’t think I could have done my life more wrong if I tried. I want a start-over. I want to do this all again and get it right.” “Who says it’s wrong?” “The look on his face,” I say, gesturing to the hall. “You saw how torn he was. If I’d stayed closer, swallowed my pride and kept you in his life, if only for a few visits a year, maybe he wouldn’t be so confused.” “Maybe. And maybe he’d resent you more for not letting me see him more often. You can’t play a guessin’ game, Elena. Nobody can predict the outcome of their decisions, otherwise the damn things wouldn’t be so hard, would they?” I smile at the fool and reach out to touch his cheek. “How do you always see the bright side of everything?” “A life accustomed,” he answers, leaning in to my touch. “What do you want to do now, babe? You want me to go?” Do I? Even I don’t know the answer to that. No, I don’t want us to become a part of his life, a part of his club, but damn it all, I’m still the same selfish woman I was years ago—I still want him to stay so he can make me feel better, even if for only one night.

“I do, but it’ll just confuse things.” “You sure about that? Maybe it’ll help you make up your mind?” “There’s nothing to ‘make up,’” I snap, dropping my hand to my lap. “We’re not living with you; we’re not hanging around your club. We’re staying put, living our own life. That’s what I mean by confusing things. Why ask you to stay if I have no intention of taking this anywhere?” “Fuck tomorrow,” he says with a frown. “Live tonight.” “And exist in an eternal nightmare trapped between love and hate, right and wrong?” I shake my head, my chest aching already. “It kills me, King. I can’t let you in.” “Don’t shut me out.” “It’s nothing personal. It’s survival.” “Bullshit it is.” He wraps his huge hands either side of my face. “Do you know why we were created to be monogamous animals?” I shake my head in his hold. “Because love is the greatest healer. No matter what comes your way, no matter how bad, what’s the one thing that can wash all the pain away? Can make life full of light if even for a second?” I lean in to his hold, touching our foreheads. “Love.” “Exactly.” His thumbs stroke back and forth over my cheeks. “Tell me honestly, are you happy?” “Dante’s—” “Not Dante,” he grumbles. “You. Are you happy, baby?” Years of suppressed feelings wash in as an unstoppable wave of pain, regret, and frustration. I try to pull away, try to get space to clear my head and shove all my regrets away in the dark corner I’ve kept them in for so long, but he holds firm. “Tell me.” “No.” My lungs seize, the pain too severe. I’m fucking miserable, but I’m also convinced that the alternative is no better. “Come home with me.” “I can’t.” King lets go and stands, walking away. I long for his return, for the closeness, the comfort of having him beside me. But I don’t deserve it—ever. “Why?” he growls. “Why do you have to be so fuckin’ stubborn?” “Maybe you should go,” I say quietly. Dante hasn’t returned, but he doesn’t need to hear this. The heat in King’s stare as he takes me in, hands fisted at his sides, is so severe I look to the right and stare at the wall. His approach is given away only by the clinking of his buckles as he strides toward me. I close my eyes, convinced I’ve pushed too far, that this is it, he’s going to act out of rage. His rough palms slip around my jaw, and I scrunch my face up, waiting for the pain, be it verbal or physical. Yet he takes me utterly by surprise, pulling my face around and laying his warm lips over mine. I suck in air, his air, and he freezes, our lips still connected. Tentatively, I open my eyes to his, and the pain, the desperation . . . it tears a new hole in my soul. He’s asking me for permission to continue, to give me what he holds at bay so fragilely, and I don’t know if I can. Yet I know if I refuse him, I’ll do nothing but transfer this pain, this hurt, this burden to a man who deserves none of it. Ending us was our decision—I should wear the cost of that. “Elena?” he murmurs against my mouth. The movement, the feel of his lips tickling against mine . . . I’ve missed it. It awakens a need in me I’d denied for so long I honestly thought it had gone. But it didn’t. I need King as badly today as I did the day

I left him. The hurt hasn’t lessened, but the desire has grown. I pull his bottom lip between mine gently, releasing it to sweep my mouth over his once more. He groans and responds with the same careful movements. No good can come of this, but we’re each as weak as the other. Resistance is futile. “Not here,” I whisper as his mouth skims a hot trail over my jaw and neck. “Not right now.” His chest rises and falls rapidly as he pulls back, hands in my hair, on my face, as though tracing his memories in the flesh. “When?” “Let me go talk with Dante.” And have a moment to think if this is the right thing to do with some clarity. He nods and backs away, letting me stand to go and talk with our son. “You’re right. He comes first.” The way he says it, the reverence in his words . . . what does he really mean? Does he finally agree with what I did for the sake of our child? I walk toward Dante’s room while King waits at the dining table. Surely after all this time he wouldn’t do a one-eighty and give up the fight that easy? I’m thinking too much on it. As I lift my hand to knock, I push my doubts to the back of my mind. I rap my knuckles against Dante’s door and get no answer. Pushing it ajar, I find him lying on his bed, clutching a teddy that’s been his go-to since I bought it for him as a toddler. My heart sings, the reminder of why King and I can’t act too rashly laid out as perfectly as an angel. I lean back to usher King up the hallway, to show him our child at peace and unfazed, but the clunk of the front door closing chases any frail dreams I had away. He finally understands. He gets why we can’t mess a round with this when there’s somebody else’s life to be influenced by the decisions of our hearts. We have a son to think about before ourselves. We have a future to think of—it just doesn’t involve us.

THIRTY-FIVE King “What gives, grumpy?” Fingers frowns at the harsh way I’ve backed my bike into the park beside Apex’s vacant one. “Fuckin’ life, old boy. Just fuckin’ life.” What the fuck was I thinking, going there? What the hell was I tripping on? “Boys have been lookin’ for ya.” He heaves two new bottles of oil onto the workbench. “Got themselves in a flap over somethin’.” He walks a little closer and squints at me. “You look like shit, son.” “Gee, thanks.” Riding fourteen hours with barely an hour to break it up will do that to a man. “Guess I better go see what these idiots want before I turn in, huh?” Fingers nods, returning to setting himself up for the day’s work. The brothers keep him busy; there’s always a bike in need of repair or service. Honestly don’t know what the guy would do with himself on a day off anyway. Nobody’s seen him show any sign of a life outside our walls. The common room is relatively quiet when I enter, only a couple of the younger guys around the pool table. I make my way across the floor, hoping like hell I can slip inside the safety of my office without being noticed. Seems not to be so. “King. ’Bout time, man.” Callum. “Hey,” I drag out. “What’s the rush?” “Let me round up the guys and we’ll talk it through.” “What?” Fuck. All I want is a liter of Jack and a quiet place to pass out. “They want to call church early.” He whips his phone out, thumbing through to a number. “Hold on. I’ll ring them up.” “Callum, man, I really need to—” He lifts a hand to stop me and turns away as the call connects. I don’t stick around to find out who he’s talking to; it can only be any one of the officers. Apex is gone and they need a solid replacement. I still need a valid way to take myself out of the running without losing my patch. I never mentioned a thing to Elena in case it got her hopes up. Yes, I’m doing this for a better life with her, but I’m also doing it on my own terms; I don’t need her constant questions adding to the pressure I’ll be under to accept the position. “Where the hell have you been?” Fuck, no more. I stiffen and turn to face Beefy. “What gives?” He eyes me cautiously as I drag a hand over my face and beard. “You look like hell.” “So I’ve been told.” His eyes narrow a fraction. “You still lookin’ for her?” “How the fuck do you know?” I whisper-yell. The asshole taps the side of his nose. “I have my ways.” Fucking Hooch. I sigh and jerk my head toward the office. He follows me in, closing the door as I take a seat in the worn leather office chair. “Found her a while ago. Been keepin’ tabs.” He jerks his chin, pulling his bottom lip in. “How is she then?” “As fuckin’ indecisive as ever.”

He chuckles and moves to the seat opposite. “That where you went tonight?” “How’d you pick that?” I ask dryly. “Man, you ain’t ever been this angry about a thing. Could only be a woman.” “Truth, right there,” I say, toasting him with a bottle of Jameson that was tucked on a shelf beside me. “Want one?” “Guess.” “So . . .” I search the drawers for glasses and settle for a couple of centenary coffee cups our Harley dealer gave the club, “what’s the deal with everyone wantin’ a pres instated quick smart?” “They’re itchy without a direction.” “They’ve got direction.” I pass him his mug. “Maybe.” He takes the drink and raises it in thanks. “But what’s a flock without a shepherd?” “Lost,” I murmur into the edge of my cup. “Dead right. They want the familiarity of somebody to make the hard decisions for them.” “They don’t have any hard decisions.” I take a swig of the real hard stuff and grimace through the initial burn. “This club hasn’t done a single thing out of line since we got Carlos off our backs.” “Is he though?” “Fucked if I’d know. Haven’t exactly called him up for a Sunday chat.” Rather not talk about him either if it can be helped. “He’s there, King, and you know it. Just lurkin’, waiting for a time when it suits.” “As are the Blood Eagles,” I remind him, “and nobody’s worried about them.” He shrugs one shoulder, agreeing, but not siding with me on the fact of the matter. Why is it that a mentally unstable asshole, with a fucking stash of coke on hand the size of the average house, instills more fear in our people than a fully-fledged crew of death-seeking wrecking balls on bikes? “I don’t get everyone’s fascination with the asshole,” I state. “What has he got that they fear more than the Eagles?” “It’s what he doesn’t have.” I lift my eyebrows and shake my head at him. “A conscience, morals, or any sense of guilt or compassion. The Blood Eagles will only turn up guns ablazin’ if we give them reason to. Carlos will fuckin’ well roll on over when he gets bored and needs the entertainment.” “He’s left us alone for six years.” “And in that time what has he done?” Developed his cartel, grown his reach, and taken half the smaller gangs and clubs under his wing with the promise of cheap drugs and large payouts for doing the kind of work that would make the devil wince. He’s right: we’ve been sitting idle while Carlos has been hustling. Fuck it. “Gotten stronger.” “They need to know that when the shit hits the fan, when Carlos comes knockin’, wanting what we have, that they can trust the judgment of who’s in charge.” I scrub my hands over my face and then down the last of my drink before pouring another. “Why me, though? Surely they trust you?” He glances to the floor and flexes his left hand. “Oh, come on.” “I’m sorry. I wanted to keep it until after this shit was sorted out.” What the fuck has he done? “Spill.” Beefy takes a sip of his drink and wets his lips. “You know that things have been tough at home, right?” Sure. But damn, every man has his troubles from time to time. That’s the point of these kinds of

brotherhoods; there’s always somebody there to pick you up when you don’t have the strength yourself. “I thought you’d got that sorted out when you started on this whole lifestyle change?” I indicate to his remarkably smaller body size. “Margot wants more. She said our girl’s been runnin’ with the wrong crowd, and without me around she struggles to keep her in line.” He sighs, looking everywhere around the room but at me. “She wants me to take a year off, spend more time with the family.” “We’re all your family, Beef.” “That’s the problem. I’m spread too thin.” He chuckles. “In all seriousness, I need this. I haven’t been as well since that stint in the hospital. Every little bug takes it outta me, man. I need time out.” “This isn’t your local football club, Beefy.” I can’t believe the double standards of the asshole. On one hand he’s damn near breaking my arm he’s twisting it so hard toward me taking the presidency, and on the other he’s giving me a fucking sob story about his God damn snotty nose. “Jesus, King. I thought you’d understand.” “Yeah, well you thought wrong.” I swivel my seat side-on so I don’t have to face him. He’s broken the news on the wrong day. After that mess with Elena, I couldn’t give a flying fuck what’s gong on in anyone else’s life that has them thinking they need to bail on the club. If I can give up the one thing I want the most in order to keep proving my loyalty to this pack of fools, then so can he. “Sorry I even asked,” he snaps, slamming the mug down on the desk. “I’ll send somebody in to get you when church is assembled.” I don’t answer. He walks out, the sound of the door slamming closed behind him resonating in my ears as I wonder what the fuck I’m becoming. This isn’t me. I’m not grumpy and jaded. I’m not Apex. My ass flies out of the chair as though it’s the very reason why I’m becoming like the man who I would butt heads with over issues just like this. I stare at the leather, scowling at the inanimate object like a lunatic. Fucking chair. Fucking life. I won’t do it; I won’t back down and admit that I can’t have it all. Fuck the world. I can do it all. If I want Elena in my life and a club under my feet, then I’ll damn well make it happen. Just fucking watch.

THIRTY-SIX Elena No sun breaks the dawn, hidden away behind a cluster of storm clouds. The weather mirrors my mood as I stare at the scribbled note King left before he walked out last night. I won’t quit. Maybe I’ll wait most of my life, but there’ll come a day when you say yes. I turn the fuel docket over in my hands, reading the time and place on it again. Why? Because somehow knowing that little detail of his journey, knowing where he stopped on his way to see me last night, connects me to him. Dante slips in beside me, and I shove the note under my pillow before he sees it and asks what it says. “Morning, Momma.” He nuzzles in behind me, cuddling up to my warmth the same as he has since he was big enough to climb onto my mattress himself. I rue these mornings, knowing they won’t last forever. One day he’ll stop coming in, and then before I know it, I’ll be phoning him up and trying to bribe him to come over on the weekend with his favorite meal. “How’d you sleep?” I ask, same as I always do. “Had a real strange dream,” he says. “Does my daddy have a motorbike?” I’m going to hell for this. “Wow, yeah, he does.” “And I dreamed it?” he asks, surprised. “That’s so strange,” I lie. “What else do you remember?” “He made you cry.” “Really?” I roll over and stroke the hair from his face. “Why?” He shrugs. “I think you missed him, Mom.” No crying. No more tears. “Crazy.” Time to change the subject. “What are we going to do today?” He sucks his lips together while he thinks it over. “Make a cake, and then we can take it to the park and eat it there. You can walk while I ride my bike.” How can I say no to such enthusiasm? “Sounds perfect.” *** By the time the cake’s made, cooled, and iced, we’re setting off for a late lunch at the local parkland. I fill a backpack with everything we’ll need and open the trunk of the car to place Dante’s bike inside. Wrestling with the handlebars, I curse as an urgent courier van turns up behind me. The driver hops out, envelope in hand, and jogs across to me. “Elena Burgadas?” “What do you want?” I sigh, realizing I’ve just chewed a stranger’s ear off because of my frustrations with Dante’s bike. “I’m sorry.” The man looks at me, surprised, as I straighten up and run a hand over my hair. “Could you please sign?” My stomach turns; the last time I signed for a delivery it ruined my chance of sleeping soundly for a solid month afterward. I take the envelope from him and sign the handheld device. He nods and jogs back to his van, speeding off into the warming day.

I flip the envelope over and frown at the lack of sender’s details. Figuring I have nothing to lose, I grab hold of the tear-strip and rip it open. A single sheet of notepaper is inside, containing a printed message. From King. Damn it. Dante shuts the front door behind him and gets buckled into the car while I read the simple message: Don’t have your phone number—you keep that hidden well, so here’s a message the only way I can get it to you . . . You’re moving. Closer to me. Stop arguing. I said stop. You’re moving; it’s final. You’ve got a week to pack. That motherfucking— “Mom. You coming?” Ugh. Five hundred miles between us and he still manages to piss me off. Still, I smile. The man’s going to be the death of me, but what a sweet death it’ll be.

THIRTY-SEVEN King Ten months later “Abbey, I need you to do me a favor, gorgeous.” She looks up from her filing and frowns a little. A few weeks back, one of the newer club girls took her out to get her hair done and she came back with it cut to her shoulders. I still can’t get past how much more mature she looks. “Can you pick up a birthday present for a seven-year-old boy?” She cocks her head to the side—her way of saying she wants more explanation. “Nephew,” I lie. Nobody around here knows a thing about my family to be able to call bullshit. The only person who knows is Hooch, and he’s miles away in the Fort Worth chapter. Abbey nods and goes back to slotting the invoices away where they belong. I lean to my left and pull my wallet out of my back pocket as Sonya appears at the open door of my office and knocks quietly. “What’s the matter, love?” I pull out a couple of twenties and wave them at Abbey. She snatches the bills and scoots out of the office. “I tried to fire up the cooker just now and the gas was out.” Sonya chews on her bottom lip. “When I shot outside to switch the tanks over, ugh, they were all empty.” Shit. When did we last pay the gas company? I hold a finger up to her and snatch up the manila folder that sits on the left side of my desk. She waits patiently while I file through the enormous list of what still has to be paid and come up with a bill, a reminder notice, and a bright fucking sheet of paper with “stop supply” emblazoned all over it. Damn. “I’ll sort it out. Can you do anything without gas?” She nods. “I’ll make subs. Don’t worry about a thing, King.” “Thanks, precious.” Sonya transferred from our Forth Worth chapter with her man a few years back, and after he was taken too soon in a road accident, she’s been a staple around the club. I couldn’t run the place as efficiently without her. She leaves with a smile, and I step out from behind the desk to make another run to beg for a loan I know I won’t get. The club digs deeper into the shit every week that goes by, and every option to try and recover, to try and cut costs, is exhausted. I’m out of ideas. Out of faith that I can keep this club on the right side of the law for much longer. Abbey re-appears at the door, as I stop by the small mirror that hangs on the wall to check my appearance. “Do you know what he likes?” I shake my head. I have no idea what Dante’s into. Parenting fail. “I’ll ask the people at the shop what’s popular.” She slinks away, leaving me staring down the fake in the mirror. I moved Elena closer to Lincoln nine months ago, and in that time I’ve seen my boy once. The worst part of it? It wasn’t because Elena stopped me from dropping by, like I would have thought, but because I’m exactly the man she said I was—I’ve put the club first over my own kid and missed two scheduled weekends because things here needed to be sorted out.

My gaze falls to the president badge stitched on my cut. I fucking fought it. I argued, I gave reasons why I should be overlooked, but nothing would change their minds. Those men went in to the meeting with a purpose, and no amount of bellyaching from me would change that. I relented. I agreed to one term. A term lasts four years. I’ve struggled through the last ten months, so Lord knows if I’ll even be alive after a full fucking term. But it is what it is, and the best I can do is make it work . . . somehow. The garage is empty when I head out, a small reprieve. Fingers would have asked questions, grilled me about the shitty look on my fucking face, and as of this moment I don’t have it in me to answer. I ride through the streets, half paying mind to the fact some cars straddle the side of the road when they see me in their rear view mirror. My image instills fear; it demands respect. Most of the time that’s a good thing, but I often wonder will the real man beneath it all ever be seen? Ever be appreciated? Ask a bunch of strangers on the street what they see when they look at me and none of the accolades would be anything good. I guess they wouldn’t be far off, though. After all, I’m a shitty father to date. Once upon a time I’d thought I could change. Once upon a time I would have said, “Fuck the past; let’s make the future where it’s at.” But the years tick by. Age wearies my face, and I look at that guy in the mirror now wondering when he decided to give up, to only put in half the effort. When the hell did I think I’d finally get it all figured out? When I’m dead? My tires whirr on the asphalt as I weave the bike from side-to-side, killing time until the road opens out into a stretch straight enough for me to pass the farm truck in front of me. I lift a hand and wave at a curly-haired girl who stares out the back window. Her lips spread into a wide grin before she twists around, pigtails flying as she does, and faces the front again. Every so often I come across a kid who’s not afraid—who hasn’t been jaded by life—and the acceptance is a welcome reprieve. I give the girl a smile as she looks one last time, the truck turning off to a side road. My joy is short-lived as I pull up outside the bank and drag in a deep breath. Boots clinking and leather hot and sticky on my back, I head inside and give the young woman on the front desk a smile. “How may I help you?” Her words are sincere enough, but her eyes dart to the other customers while she waits on my answer. People stare. People whisper. And they make assumptions. Let them. “I’d like to speak to a lendin’ officer, please.”

THIRTY-EIGHT Elena With my palms braced on the edge of the kitchen counter, I stare at the old digital clock on the cooker as it ticks over another minute. He was supposed to be here more than an hour ago. Laughter drifts through the house, followed by the shrill sound of kids’ voices battling over one another to be heard. Dante sits amidst the chaos, smiling large and enjoying the attention. So he should; it’s his birthday. “Do you need a hand with anything?” One of the mothers—her name escapes me—stands in the doorway to the kitchen, one hand braced on the frame. “Uh, let me think.” I glance around at the stacks of unopened chips, candy bags, pop, and plastic plates. Yet I take none if it in. I’m still spitting mad at King. “I think I have it under control. We’ll do the cake soon.” She nods, smiling, and walks away to rejoin the madness. I should be there as the host, making sure everyone’s enjoying themselves, but what good am I when my temper is as brittle as dry kindling? One spilt drink, one dropped plate of crumbs, and I’m likely to lose it. Damn you, King. This’ll be the third time he hasn’t shown up. What was the point in him forcing us to move here? So he could ignore us at closer proximity? I should have fought back harder, but there was only so much I could do when the controlling bastard paid our deposit on this place and cancelled our term at the last. How he did that, I’m yet to find out, but I’m sure it either involved a friendly fist or a lot of booze and women to convince the landlord he should listen to somebody who wasn’t on the damn lease. I throw a handful of M&Ms in my mouth and puff my chest out, ready to tackle the rest of the party as though King was never meant to come. It should be easy to pretend he’s not a part of our lives given he seems hell bent of making sure he’s not. The kids take no time at all to rip through the piñata and collect the candies off the ground. I lose myself in the simple things, laughing along with them as they act the fool, hyped up on sugared sweets. One of the families indicates they’re ready to leave so I duck back inside to take care of the cake before they all miss out. Candles alight, I carry it out and our small gathering sings an out of tune, but perfect rendition of “Happy Birthday” to Dante. The sponge cake is sliced, and I’m handing out the last plate to a cute wee girl with her hair braided to the side when the last damn sound I wanted to hear breaks the otherwise short-lived peace that is children feeding themselves. My heart sinks when I notice one of the mothers leaning in and whispering to another as the deep rumble cuts out on our driveway. “Excuse me.” They all grace me with painted smiles as I shoot out the front to cut King off in his tracks. “You’re too late,” I snap, drawing King’s attention from the present he has in his hands. His shoulders drop, and for the merest of moments I wonder if I’m being too harsh on him, but then I remember Dante’s face when I’ve explained in the past that King wouldn’t be showing up, and my resolve is set. Yes, they’re still getting to know each other, but it doesn’t stop our son being disappointed at coming second to a bunch of men on bikes.

“Elena . . . not today.” I laugh bitterly at him, punching my arms across my chest and burying my fists at my sides. “That’s exactly what I said when you failed to turn up an hour ago.” “I had things to take care of while the place was still open, okay?” “No, King,” I shake my head, determined to stop this cycle before it even really begins. “It’s not okay. This is exactly what I said I didn’t want when you showed up uninvited in Denver. And then what? You moved us here anyway and nothing’s changed.” “Let me give him his present at least.” He squares his shoulders, finding some fight in himself, although his eyes show how truly tired and worn out he is. “What is it?” He stares down at the blue patterned paper and swallows. He has to be kidding. “You didn’t even buy it, did you?” “Does it matter?” “Yes it fucking matters.” I huff, throwing my arms down as I turn away, too angry to look at him anymore. “You couldn’t spare even an hour to go out and personally pick out a gift for your child.” I spin around at the sound of a solid thump and find King sitting on his ass in the middle of the path. He sets the gift down on the grass and tucks his arms around his legs. “What are you doing?” He can’t stay there. Damn it. He better not be thinking about camping out until I let him see Dante. “I’m tired, Elena. Physically and mentally. I can’t be fucked fightin’ anymore.” He runs ringed fingers through hair that hangs the longest I’ve ever seen it. I take a moment to look him over a little closer. His clothes are clean and crisp, but his beard is shaggy, his hair overgrown, and his eyes have dark shadows under them. He’s exhausted. “Maybe you don’t have time for us anymore,” I whisper. We’re clearly too much for him to try and keep up with. “And if so, that’s okay. Leave us be, watch from a distance if you must, but please,” I beg quietly, “stop confusing Dante about whether you want to be in his life or not.” King drops his head to his knees, burying his face. I itch to reach out and comfort him, a pang of what I once felt for this conflicted man rising inside of me. His heart’s in the right place, but he can’t see what he’s doing, how much he’s hurting those who should matter most by trying to be everything for everyone. Minutes pass, the sound of chatter and laughter growing inside once more. I lean a hand on the door handle and sigh. “I better get back to the guests. I can give Dante his present if you like.” King rises, the gift still lying in the grass. He stares at the concrete beneath his feet for a moment and I wait, unsure if he’s going to speak. His silence is loud enough as he turns and walks away, straddling his bike and firing the beast up with a roar. My hand slips off the door, and I drop to the top step as he rides away without so much as a glance in the side mirror. After years of back and forth, after my heart being tugged and stretched in every damn direction, it’s finally happened. He’s given up the struggle. He’s left us to live out our lives in peace. I’ve never felt a pain like it. If this is what victory feels like, I’d rather have died in battle.

THIRTY-NINE King Two months later Music resonates off every surface around me, vibrating through my tired and weary bones and leaving a dull echo inside my empty heart. My kid’s in trouble. My girl won’t listen. Two issues that have taken precedence over everything else in my life. I left Elena and Dante behind two months ago. I walked away from my kid on his fucking birthday. Any trace of feeling, of emotion, of anything resembling pride died that day. I’ve fought for years to be the better man, to make life right for everybody in mine, but to what end? Vince’s kid is on Carlos’s hit list for something he didn’t even fucking do, and our club is so far in the fucking red I couldn’t put up for a box of bullets if our lives depended on it. Our membership dwindled when we stopped making it fun to be a part of the club; I couldn’t afford to throw parties, and organize all-expenses-paid runs anymore. So who have we got now when it matters? When one of our own needs us to step up and help him fight? A bunch of old boys who’ve long since hung up their knuckle dusters, and a side helping of young, inexperienced prospects and hangarounds who wouldn’t know the first thing about taking on a man like Carlos. The place is in crisis. And the guy who’s supposed to lead the club out of the shit is drowning in his own: me. What a fucking joke. I’ve failed everyone and everything. I’ve tripped over my own feet one too many times, and getting back up with a smile on my face to try again has got harder and harder to the point where I don’t want to rise anymore. I’d rather lie down and die to save the disappointment of finding myself back here all over again. My fingers work nimbly to fold one of the paper serviettes Sonya left out for the boys into something resembling the origami swan I was taught to make as a child. It’s been years since I’ve done anything like it, taken the time to sit down and test my memory, crafting something from nothing. But the therapy is warranted. Abbey placed the first message on my desk with a face as pale as a ghost. The girl at least had enough sense to slide me a stiff drink to chase the bad news with. I opened that envelope and slipped out the photo with my heart in my throat—I don’t think it’s moved since. He’s onto them. I failed in the biggest fucking way. And what’s worse was the message on the back, in the man’s own handwriting no less. ‘You’re messing in my business – truce is over.’ I sent Callum and Vince out of town a month ago to sort the issue of Vince’s son. Sawyer—the crazy motherfucker—had caught wind of Carlos’s hit list, and being the sociopath he is, thought it would be the ultimate “up you” to take his father’s targets out first and deny Carlos his satisfaction at being the one to deliver the consequences of crossing him. Little did Sawyer know, one of the men was the kid of his fellow brother. To be honest, his bloodlust was so strong I don’t think he really cared. He’d been stirring up shit for years, getting under everyone’s feet. It was time to send him back to where he came from, and we did. We gave Sawyer back to Carlos. I drank myself to oblivion that night, unable to stomach what I’d done. I’d handed a child back to his

parent, knowing what kind of a man Carlos is. And why? Because it gave me a way to save the club from bankruptcy. I sold our collective souls to the devil, knowing he still had mine in his fist. The Fallen Aces will work on a one-off project to right the wrongs done by Vince’s son’s friend, and in exchange we’ll get the cash to get this club out of the red. Doesn’t stop what the asshole’s doing to me though. Doesn’t stop the fact Carlos knows where Elena is and he’s going to make her life and mine a living fucking hell for the plain fun of it. Our oldest prospect, Dog, watches me over the rim of his beer bottle. He laughs as he engages in conversation with the patched members beside him, but his focus is very obviously on me as I sit alone, doing my best to keep my shit under wraps. The concern in his eyes shines bright, worry clearly distinguishable in the hard lines of his tanned and tired face. He takes a sip as I pick up my two paper creations and turn them to face one another. “I never needed your help,” I whisper through a scowl, wiggling the swan in my left hand. “Accepting help doesn’t make you weak,” my right-hand swan states. “But it means we owe you,” the left swan says, “and until you started interfering we were doing just fine on our own.” The swan in my right hand sighs and flops down dramatically on the tabletop. The paper effigies parrot the words Elena and I spoke yesterday when I tried yet again to convince her to move out of her house until I can stop Carlos’s threat. She’s in danger, our son is in danger, and yet the woman’s still as stubborn as a mule. My mood grows increasingly angry with the birds clasped in my grip as though it were them who argued about something as base as a life-and-death situation. But it wasn’t. It was the mother of my child who denied my protection, who reasoned that she could keep the big, bad wolf from knocking on her door. Little pig, little pig, let me in. He would burn the house down, too. The folded napkins un-crumple as I drop them to the tabletop and nudge them so they lie next to one another. The swan from my right hand cuddles up to the back of the swan from my left, reminding the bird that no matter what, it’ll always be there. You’re fuckin’ losin’ it, boy. Paper swans. I’m reduced to acting out the miseries of my life through paper swans. Fuckin’ lost it already. Thrusting my right hand in the air, I stare blankly at the table before me and whip my wrist in a circular motion to signal I’d like another drink. Yet instead of Sonya with an ice-cold brew, I get my VP, Callum. Fuck it. “How goes it, boss?” He leans a casual elbow on to the table, narrowly missing my love-struck birds. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” I snap. “You know as well as I do that things aren’t going so well. So how about you just man up and say what it is that’s on everyone’s mind, huh?” I stare pointedly at Dog while I make my request. Callum sighs, scrubbing a hand over his stubbly jaw. “Brother, you’ve got us all worried. Somethin’ is clearly eatin’ at you, but you won’t deal.” He picks up one of the birds and stares intently at it before tossing it haphazardly on the table again. “You need to let us know what’s goin’ on so we have a chance at helpin’ out.” I fix how the discarded swan lies, tucking it in to ‘cuddle’ the one beside it. “Who’s to say you can help?” “Who’s to say we can’t?” I reluctantly drag my eyes to his, wincing at the stern reprimand in the brown depths. “Fine. Tomorrow.” “Now.” He places a boot against one of the legs of my stool and pushes it back from the table. It’s a mean feat given my height and stature; I’m no lightweight. “Office.” My jaw drops, my tongue poised to give him a dressing down for daring to tell me what to do, but I

halt. Over his shoulder stands my sergeant at arms, Mighty, and the single look he gives me speaks volumes. My men depend on me to keep this ship tight, and right now, they can’t trust me to keep my shit together. I can’t trust me to keep my shit together. “Let’s do this then, but let’s also get something straight—you don’t fuckin’ pull this kind of stunt on me again.” I punctuate my words with a pointed finger in Callum’s face. He glares me down, shepherding me toward my office as I stand. “Ditto.” Casting a glance around the common room, I recognize concern in no less than a dozen faces that all stare intently back at me. I’m the fuckin’ main attraction at the circus, the laughing stock, and I’m the fuckin’ president. Some leader, huh? “I’m losin’ respect, man,” I whine to Callum. “If they find out what you want me to tell you, then I’m done. I might as well toss the fuckin’ gavel out to them like a bride’s bouquet.” Would that be so bad? “Get over yourself,” Callum snaps back, guiding me with a firm hand to the shoulder when I start to stray toward the bar. “If they had that little faith in you, you’d be out already.” I stare him dead in the eye, bringing us both to a halt. “Somethin’ you want to share?” The asshole has the audacity to laugh at me. Actually laugh in my face. “Settle down, tiger. I haven’t got any plans to take over just yet. You can keep this bunch of crazy kids for yourself.” “You sure about that?” My gaze darts between his eyes, searching, but I come up empty. With a shunt, he has me walking toward the office again. “I’m sure.” “Seems like the opportune time for a mutiny if there ever was going to be one,” I mumble, crossing the threshold to my second home. I might not be happy about my title as president, but fucked if I’m going to let them take it from me like that. I kind of want to be remembered in a good light if I can help it. Callum shakes his head, his hands on his hips like a right little bitch as I round my desk. “Just let it go, King.” The masses of paperwork spread across my desk stare at me like jaded employees waiting on resolution for their grievances: debts, threats, and loose ends left behind by Apex that I’m struggling to square away. The enormity of the task still ahead of me hits me square in the face yet again. “You don’t get it,” I try to explain, staring at the mountains of grief before me. The door clicks behind Vince as he joins our little pity party. Great. Callum had the whole fuckin’ thing planned from the get-go. “Get what?” Vince asks, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re talking to yourself, playing fuckin’ origami games with napkins. You’re going to snap soon if you don’t take a step back.” The asshole isn’t exactly telling me anything I don’t already know. Doesn’t fix my problem, though. “You. Don’t. Get. It,” I grind out through a clenched jaw. Vince’s eyes flare, his fists flexing at his sides. As do mine. If the fucker’s after a smack down, he’ll damn well get one. He might have a few inches height on me, and ten or so pounds in weight, but I’ll be fucked if I’m letting the moody asshole think he can get one up on me. I might be near breaking point, but I’m still the boss around here. Callum lifts a hand to urge Vince to back off. “How about you explain it to us. Maybe if you talk it through we can help you figure out where you’re stuck.” The bastard’s talking down to me, trying to reason with me like a child, and fuck it all if the respect I have for the man doesn’t make it work. The corner of the sheet of paper that holds my biggest problem peeks out at me like a beacon in the darkness that my life has become of late. Perhaps they could help? Although I don’t know how. Elena’s the stubbornest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Both men startle when I lunge for the letter, taking action toward accepting their help before my

inflexible ass wins out again and reasons that I can find a way to do this alone. “There’s something I haven’t told you guys about me.” For good reason, too. Callum looks to Vince. The confusion between them is palpable. “I have a kid.” “What?” Callum cries out. “When?” The familiar shame at having to explain how washes over me from head to toe. I place a steadying hand on the edge of the desk. “He’s seven. Product of a fucked-up love triangle that never should have happened.” The soothing darkness behind my closed lids brings me some respite while I wait on their questions. “And how does this affect what’s going on now?” Callum asks from my left. I open my eyes, but still avoid looking at either of them. “Carlos knows about him.” The admission sends a sharp pang straight through my heart, the familiar ache in my chest following close behind. Shoving the photograph in my hand at Callum, I explain. “I’ve had a P.I. following him and his mother— Elena. She won’t let me near him—and the guy gave me those.” All I want is to protect them, and because of petty arguments that don’t seem so important now, Elena won’t give me access. She’s shutting me out, shutting me out at the worst time. I never should have left her to raise him alone. I never should have walked away . . . “Is this because of the deal we made?” Callum asks, referring to the recent pact we arranged to get Carlos off the Butcher Boys’ backs—save Vince’s son from trouble. “No.” I shake my head, wishing it were that simple. “Then why?” Because I fucked up, and my past is coming back to haunt me. Because no matter what I do I can’t escape my mistakes. Threading my overgrown hair between my fingers, I give it a good tug to dish out a bit of penance for my sins. “Past grievances.” “What did you do?” Vince utters, propping himself up against the wall. How can I tell them what I’ve done without losing trust? If this is how I shit in my own backyard, how are they supposed to trust me to take care of their houses? I needn’t say a thing though—the lament must be clear on my face. “You fuckin’ sly dog.” Callum laughs at my expense. “You fucked Carlos’s missus!” I shush the moron, scowling at him. “Don’t tell the whole fuckin’ club.” “How did he not know about it until now?” Vince asks, moving to stand before my desk, his fists leaned on the top. “Did she run?” I nod. “When he found out about the affair, I helped her start afresh, bank-rolled her to begin a new life away from him. He never knew she was pregnant.” At least I think he didn’t. These days I can’t be so sure. “So what changed?” Callum asks. “How did he find out?” The ridiculousness of the situation can’t be avoided. I laugh before explaining it to them. “Would you believe it if I said his kid—the one he has with his current woman—goes to the same school as Dante? He did the math.” “You fucked up that relocation, man.” Callum walks the perimeter of the office, staring at the stuff on the walls as he shakes his head in clear disbelief. Did I what. Should have left them in Denver. “I didn’t want her too far from me. I didn’t want to miss out on my boy growing up.” I look at Vince, knowing he’ll understand my reasoning given his history with his kid. “Carlos has been sending Elena messages,” I explain. “Started with vandalizing her car, moved on to killing the family cat, and now he

sends her artwork of bent and mangled bodies.” I scrub both hands over my face, trying to erase the images of those sketches from my brain. “I think the guy doesn’t take to infidelity well.” I fucking know he doesn’t. But one story at a time, huh? “Fuck,” Vince hisses. “Mm-hmm.” What else does he want me to say? That the whole damn thing is my fault for letting her go, for holding on too long to start with? I push the scattered papers on my desk in to some semblance of order while I wait for the news to sink in fully with the boys. “Elena—is she safe?” Callum asks. He reaches across me to pick up one of my favorite pictures of her —a candid shot taken by the P.I. of her carrying the groceries into her house. “She won’t listen,” I say. “She doesn’t want to leave the house in case it startles Dante . . . my kid. The woman’s as stubborn as a mule, and then some. She thinks she can settle this with Carlos without Dante having to know.” “Yeah, right,” Vince mutters. “What if somebody else talked to her?” Callum asks. “Would that work?” “Another biker?” I look between the two of them, hoping for some sign they’re joking. “Hardly.” Why would she listen to one of these guys if she won’t give me, the father of her child, the time of day? “Another woman then,” Vince interjects. “What if we sent Ramona, Sonya, both of them even?” I shrug, unsure if I want to deal with the fallout if Sonya was hurt trying to help. “I guess, maybe . . . look, I’m not doing anything that jeopardizes anyone else. I’ve had enough of sending lambs in for the slaughter.” The men glance at one another, and then at nothing in particular as we all think it over. Could it work? Getting somebody else to talk to her? Surely the anger she harbors toward me has a lot to do with why she’s refusing to budge on this. I can’t screw up again—I can’t lose them both before I ever really had them. “Be back in a minute,” Vince says, ducking out the door. Callum wanders over to the single chair in front of my desk and leans both hands on the back. “Is this the same woman that caused all that shit back when we were just patched in?” I stare at my fingers splayed on the top of the oak desk. “Yes.” “Why didn’t you tell me back then?” he asks quietly. I’ve hurt his feelings—I know it. Just another disappointment to add to the list. “I didn’t know how.” “I would have helped, you know. Done what I could.” “I know.” I lift my gaze to his and frown. “That’s the problem, man, I’m sick of involving everyone in my shit. They all end up gettin’ hurt because of it.” He shakes his head and stares at me in silence until Vince returns a moment later with Ramona and Sonya. I look at Vince’s newly named old lady, Sonya, and at the mother of Sawyer’s little boy, Ramona, and pale. “No, Lynch,” I protest, using Vince’s road name. I can’t put them in harm’s way; two hearts as large as theirs are better used elsewhere. They’re good women, and I’m not sanctioning putting them at risk. Vince holds up a finger, warning me off with his glare. “You can’t handle this on your own—that’s abundantly clear. Tell them.” “Tell us what?” Sonya asks, looking to Vince. I’m drowning in lies. I roll a pen under my palm, focusing on the movement to try and quell my unease at having to share this all over again. “I made a mistake several years ago that’s put someone I care a great deal about in danger.” Love. Someone I love. “Layman’s terms?” Ramona asks.

“I had a child with a woman . . . Carlos’s woman.” I flinch, closing my eyes to avoid their reactions. “No way,” Ramona cries out. “Why haven’t you said anything until now?” “It’s not exactly something I’m proud of.” I don’t regret having Dante, and I sure as fuck don’t regret that time Elena and I had before it all fell apart, but telling people how I handled it after? Uh, nope. “What do you need to tell us this for?” Sonya asks, concern clear in her eyes. “Elena—the woman—won’t leave her house. Carlos has been threatening her, and I want her safe.” “You want us to try and convince her?” “Exactly.” I drop into the seat, out of fucks to give. They want to get involved, then whatever. The stubborn bastards probably wouldn’t listen to me anyway. “Sure. I’m in.” Ramona nods determinedly. Sonya hesitates, looking to Vince. What they have is new, and he’s fiercely protective of her. “You do what you feel comfortable with,” he says. She nods and turns her gaze to mine. “I’ll do it.”

FORTY Elena With my eyes closed, I drop my head back onto the chair and take a deep breath. Dante’s gone to bed for a quick sleep—something he hasn’t done for years. But we were out last night with friends I’ve made through my new job, and he stayed up well past his usual bedtime to enjoy the company of other kids his age. It was nice—normal and relaxing. All until we arrived home, and I saw the Escalade parked down the street. They first showed up a little more than a month ago, unassuming and stealthy in their surveillance of us. An untrained eye wouldn’t have picked anything out of the ordinary, but the logo of Carlos’s empire isn’t something I’d hoped to ever see again. I thought when King had walked away on Dante’s seventh birthday that that was it, we were done with the trouble. And we were for a while. Life resumed. My heart froze. And we continued with our daily routine as if nothing had ever been amiss. How naïve I can still be. I sigh and toss my arms beside my head, stretching my tired body out. I’ve started running again when Dante’s at school, and the years its been since I last exercised regularly has done nothing good for my limbs. Afternoon sun warms the living room, and for a moment I contemplate nodding off as well. Dante will wake me when he’s ready for dinner. Lord knows I need the rest as well. Time spent watching every street corner, and forever keeping my eyes open for danger when Dante and I are awake, is draining. Carlos could strike any time, anywhere, and with no reason whatsoever—it’s just how he works. The threats have been childish, constant, and frustrating. And they’ve been getting closer and closer to home. I found evidence somebody had been on our property, and what worries me the most is I don’t know if it was when we were out during the day or if I have to worry about creepers at night now. A girl has to wonder if fighting for an existence on the straight and narrow is worth it some days. Clearly the phrase “if you can’t beat them, join them” grew from somewhere. Probably situations much like this. My troubles ease away, the thoughts fewer and further apart as I begin to drift into a welcome slumber. The first time, I ignore the sound. But when the knock comes a little louder, a little harder, my eyes snap open and I stand with such abruptness I’m left fighting one hell of a dizzy spell. Ensuring the chain is secure, I edge the door open and find two women hawking for donations on my doorstep. “Can I help you?” I’m itching to tell them to fuck off, to leave me the hell alone, that snarky part of me that hates being woken up in full force. The older of the two points to her charity vest. “King sent us to speak with you. This is a guise for our friends down the way.” I glance across at the Escalade, quiet and unmoving, and sigh. They wait for an answer when I shut the door on them to take the chain off. I seriously contemplate walking away and leaving them hanging, but there’s a niggle in my gut that says I should at least hear them out. King’s left us alone since he walked that day: no visits, no mail, and no phone calls. Nothing . . . until he rung yesterday. So for him to send two of his club bitches across after I hung up on him, whatever he needs me to understand about why I can’t stay here while Carlos sends idle threats has to be important.

What’s a quick five minutes? I slide the chain free and open the door wide, nodding for them to step inside. “Please, take a seat.” Gesturing toward the sofa, I look them over while they’re distracted. They’re both pretty, but not the overly fake girls I remember hanging about the place the couple of times I dropped by all those years ago. The older of the two is familiar, and I stare at her she takes a seat. She could be the woman I met at the bookstore with Maria, but there’s something different about her that has me second-guessing my gut instinct. I take the long way to my seat, checking Carlos’s men haven’t moved. The Escalade sits where I last saw it, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s running, let alone what the people inside are doing, given the black tints. The younger one speaks first after I take a seat opposite them. “Thank you for allowing us to talk with you.” She seems uncomfortable, fidgeting with her hair a lot. “We weren’t sure if you’d even let us in.” I narrow my gaze as I focus on her hairline. Is that a wig? “I would have preferred not,” I reply in answer to her admission. “But Dante was up late last night, and he’s having a quick sleep before dinner. I’d rather avoid the drama if it means he gets to stay resting.” The longer I left them at the door, the more suspicion it would have drawn from our spies down the road. “How long have Carlos’s men been watching you?” the woman I’m certain has to be the bookstore lady asks. I glance across to the front windows. “I don’t think that’s the reason you’re here, is it?” King wouldn’t have sent them over to ask what he already knows. “King hasn’t told us much of what is going on at present,” she answers, “but enough for us to understand the urgency of the matter. I don’t want you to think your privacy has been compromised; we’re the only ones in the club besides King who know of you and Dante.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling at the thought of what King said about not wanting to talk about us. “Typical. He wouldn’t want to be shamed in front of his men. How would that look, huh? Fathering a child to the enemy’s ex?” “I don’t think that’s the case at all,” she bites back. Oooh, defensive. Maybe she’s King’s new piece? “King simply respects your privacy, and given the situation with Carlos, he probably assumes the less people that know what’s going on, the better. Would I be right, Elena?” Perhaps—it does sound like the way he thinks. I nod and shove a frustrated hand through my hair. “How about we cut to the chase,” she continues, clearly feeling she has the upper hand now, “bypass the niceties that you obviously don’t have time for, and just talk about why you’re ignoring King’s offer of help.” It’s not that I don’t have time for this; I don’t have the motivation to be bothered with it. Everything King’s done out of good faith in the past has only intensified the problem. I can’t take any more interference if it’s going to end up pushing us into Carlos’s sick and twisted clutches. He wanted to sell me the last time I was there; what the hell would he do with Dante? My son wasn’t born to be a drug lord. Like hell I’m letting one have any influence over his life. “I spent a long time afraid of Carlos, doing as he pleased for fear of his punishment. It took me a lot of work and a lot of unhappy days to get where I am now.” Not to mention a lot of self-sacrifice. “I’m not running from him again. I will fight before I lose what I’ve struggled to gain.” “And risk Dante’s safety?” The younger one questions my exact thoughts. It’s taken me years to get where we are, a struggle I don’t want to repeat, and yet staying poses just as much of a threat when it comes to losing it all. What the hell do I do? “He is with me, therefore, he will be safe.” I’d lay down my life for my child. Can’t they see

everything I’ve done, every decision I’ve made, has been for him? The older one rubs a hand over her head and sighs. I’m annoying them, making their task difficult. But so what? They came into my home and sat down to make me leave on the singular word of their president. They know nothing about me, about my history, about our past. “Tell me, Elena, if you were faced with Carlos at your door just now, do you think you would have been able to overpower him?” “I have the security chain.” A pathetic response, but I hadn’t really thought on what I’d do. I wasn’t prepared for her question. Wiggy snorts at me. “I’ve seen those things fly apart after a good boot on the door from a teenage girl. They don’t do squat if the person is hell bent on getting in.” She smiles smugly. “I beg to differ.” They wouldn’t stop somebody, no, but they’d do a damn fine job of slowing them down. “Want a demonstration? More than happy to help, you know.” This little bitch is getting on my last nerve. I’ve got a right mind to show her that I’m the one she should be worried about, not who might come knocking on my door. “Anyway,” the older woman says, clapping loudly, “I want to propose a compromise.” “I’m sure I won’t agree.” What can she say that King hasn’t already? “But go ahead and waste your breath if you must.” “Two weeks. Tell Dante it’s a holiday to see his father and move out of the house for two weeks.” She leans forward, hands clasped together as though to beg. “Come back with us. Let the boys do what they’re best at and give them that time at least to make it as safe as possible for you when you move back.” I fidget with my hair, annoyed that she’s got the ability to sway me. Dante has asked when he’ll get to see King again; the boy still wants to know who his father is, and I do owe him the chance to make up his own mind about the man. Ugh, why do I do this? Every time I think I’ve settled my emotions around King something happens to dredge it all back up to the surface. “I’m not sure. I’d want to know—” Two thundering bangs on the front door cut me short. My heart skips a beat, and then restarts at twice the tempo. “This is all your fault.” I glare at the bitches who brought danger’s curiosity to my door. I’ve done nothing but take Dante to school, go to work, and do the shopping. Carlos’s men have no reason to suspect I’m doing anything aside from living a standard, humdrum life. “They’ve never approached me until now.” I edge into the entrance way, leaving the women behind, and with the chain on I open the door a fraction. Damn. The guy who faces me is huge, as in, enormously huge. He makes Sully look like a child. “Why are you here? Carlos’s time is wasted on me. He has no right to have you thugs following me around.” Why can’t people just leave me alone? Why the hell does everybody think my business is theirs? “Who are the women?” he asks, chewing on a piece of gum. “Nobody.” “Can I speak with them?” He smiles sickly sweet at me. I shoot him an unimpressed glare. “You most certainly cannot speak to them. Now go, and tell your jefe that if he doesn’t call you off and leave my family alone, I will go to the police with all that I know.” Why the fuck did I say that? My panic has me throwing out a dangerous threat before I’ve thought it through. I stand strong, though, not wanting him to see my fear. Hopefully I can bluff my way out of this. “You’re a stupid fucking cunt,” he sneers. “You have any idea what he’ll have us do to you for making such threats?” Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do. He shakes his head and then throws a shoulder against the door. I step back, strengthening my stance

and push back. “Stop it!” “Who are the women?” he asks again before charging the door a second time. “Nobody important,” I reply, fighting to keep the door from bending under his weight. “Charity volunteers. You’re scaring them.” “Liar.” He charges the door again, this time with a run up. “You can’t come in.” I ramble to distract him while I turn so my back is against the shaking door. I should have kept it closer by. “I’m warning you—step away.” I reach out, realizing I’m going to have to leave the door to get it. “I know who they are, Elena,” the pest outside taunts. “Open up and this will be over a lot faster.” He breaks the chain, links flying, and shunts the door open without my weight against it. His face when he sees what I’ve got pointed his way is priceless. I fire the shotgun at him, stumbling with the kickback, and check to see I’ve hit. He’s a splattered mess over my front stoop. The adrenalin coursing my veins keeps me from losing my lunch at the sight. “Mama?” Aww, baby, no. I step into what remains of Carlos’s henchman and check the street. The dead guy’s buddies run our way, making ground on our shocked party as the women appear behind me. I let off the round still in the gun at them, and then spin to check where everyone’s at behind me. The woman I’m one hundred percent certain is Sonya sees Dante standing in the hallway and looks between the two of us. “Go,” I shout at her and her friend. “There are two more men coming.” I can do this; I can protect them. I break the gun and discharge the spent shells, fishing around in the box beside me for more as Sonya picks Dante up and runs out back. “Elena,” Wiggy yells, “we have to go now.” “Not until these two are dead as well.” I scowl, angered at the waver to my voice. I’m not afraid; I refuse to be scared anymore. I can do this. I can. I lift the reloaded gun and fire a shot at the frontrunner as he turns up our path. “Now!” Wiggy screams. “If you want your boy to have a mother, you run!” Her words are exactly what I need to snap me out of my stubborn endeavor. Dante needs me. He’s scared and most likely damn confused as to what’s happening. I’ve seen this kind of action before, but he hasn’t. We sprint down the hallway toward the back door that Sonya took Dante through mere seconds ago and break out into the pale sunlight as Carlos’s men breach my front door. An alley runs behind the properties on my street, and we careen into it, chasing after my boy who clings to Sonya like a baby bear. I drop the gun, only now realizing it’s still in my hold, and pump my arms and legs, determined to get to him, determined to be his shield should they need it. The men holler at us to stop, but I keep my focus squarely on my reason to run and power through the ache in my legs. I thank the Lord, thank anybody who’ll hear me that I run regularly, certain I would have tired by now if I hadn’t picked the habit up again. But then again, fear is a wonderful thing, and who knows how much it’s helping right now? The Escalade squeals to a stop at the intersection ahead of us. Sonya gasps and turns hard right to crash into somebody’s garden. I mirror her moves after a shunt from Wiggy, leaping garden beds and vegetable patches to cut a path through to the street out front. My neighbors holler and scream, ushering each other inside and to safety as our mad procession tears through their properties. Shots ring out, a bullet tearing past my ear close enough for me to make out the whizz as it cuts through the air, but I never let up. Sonya breaks into the street first and pounds the pavement toward the

crossroads. She reaches the intersection and checks both ways, holding Dante on her back with one hand beneath him. “Follow her,” Wiggy yells, pointing to Sonya. My feet slap the tarmac, sore and most likely cut, but I run towards the sound of bikes, laughing despite my shortness of breath. I never thought I’d want to hear that throaty echo again, and yet, here we are. I reach Sonya and take Dante from her, cooing to my sweet boy as he cries and wails my name. His distress, his need, angers me, because it’s the one thing I never wanted to hear from him. My child is scared, and all because his mother’s past has finally caught up with her. I did this to him. In protecting him, I left him vulnerable to danger. He’s never seen this kind of violence; he doesn’t know how to cope. One of the men reaches out and grabs my arm, wrenching me toward his bike. I climb on the back awkwardly, sandwiching Dante between the man who wears the vice president rocker and myself. “Hold on, love,” he yells before opening the throttle and sending us tearing down the road. As I hug Dante to myself, thankful the bike has a sissy bar, I eye the blur of houses streaking by. My hair whips around my face, and I lift my chin into the wind to push it away without letting go of my boy. His back presses into my stomach in quick, short movements as he breathes through his fear. Hell of a first ride for the kid. I smile into the wind before tucking my face on top of Dante’s head and letting the tears start as my adrenaline wears off. Guess you got what you wanted after all, King.

FORTY-ONE King The one condition Sonya had when helping me with Elena was that I needed time off. I think she secretly enjoyed being able to get back at me after the little intervention I’d staged on her a few weeks back when she went into a depressive funk. Payback’s a bitch, and she’s a damn hormonal one at that. I gave in. A good part of me knows she’s right; I haven’t taken time off since forever and after the shit I needed to sort out in Apex’s wake, my brain’s fried. Going back to my house was a non-option considering I’d killed that lease the minute I started helping out with Elena’s. Pretty sure she still thinks the place is a bargain; she has no idea I pay half her rent. So, I went to Mom and Dad’s. Mom’s in charge of the milking this afternoon, giving my old man some much needed rest after he’s been in hospital again with an infection. I sit on the back porch with my father in amicable silence, staring out over the fields as the cows make their way back to the paddock, tiny black and white specks on the horizon. Two cold beers slowly drip condensation over the small table between us. He sighs, breaking the moment. “Are you going to rebuild down the back?” We’ve managed to get through the last few days without him bringing up the past. They never asked why I showed up, and I never offered the information. “Hadn’t thought on it.” And I haven’t, hand to my heart. Every time I do, the memories are too painful to bear. So I just stop thinking about it. Problem solved. “If you want, we can sell it.” “Nope. Still want the land.” Bad memories of a future lost with Elena or not, the land still is my best connection to Garret. Dad nods slowly and reaches over to pick up his beer. “Everything okay at the club?” I haven’t visited in close to two years. My monthly visits pre-Elena bailing on us turned into quarterly, and then an annual visit before I just stopped. My parents became another bunch of people I shut out of my life to avoid disappointing with my choices. “Busy.” “When did you become president?” “Not that long ago.” I snatch up my beer, craving the deflection. “Selling the cows soon?” I ask, keen to steer the subject away from me. “Nope. Seen that woman of yours at all?” Smartass old bastard. I chuckle at his wit. “Not much.” “Your kid? How old would he be now?” “Seven.” I take a swig and watch a cow hesitate on the track, only walking again when the next one catches up. “What’s his name again?” Can’t blame him for forgetting—it’s not as though we’re a permanent fixture in their lives. Hell, the kid’s barely one in mine. “Dante.” “Dante,” Dad repeats. “That’s right. Who picked the name?” “She did.”

He grunts, jerking his chin up. “You see him much?” My thumbnail picks at the label of my bottle. “Not as much as I should.” Dad sighs and sets his drink down. He drums his fingers on the arms of his chair for a moment before he speaks again. “I’m a little let down by you, to be honest, Lloyd.” I don’t want to hear this. “You’re not the only one.” “You had such grand ideas for that club. You were going to make it something good, get your woman, and raise a family.” “Sounds perfect, huh?” I sass. “So what happened?” He shakes his head. “I hear things down at the bar, you know.” “Yeah? Like what?” Never spoken to someone far enough out of our circle to see what kind of reputation the Fallen Aces have before. “That your club is tied up with drug runners.” News sure travels fast. “That so?” “Bunch of Asians, I was told.” Koreans. The people Apex borrowed a healthy stash of money from before I took over the books. Money that gathers interest faster than I can pay off the principle. I hum at him, not exactly able to say anything on the matter to a non-member. “Things are busy,” I repeat. “You look tired. You keeping well?” Not really. “Well enough.” “Getting sleep?” “Some.” He kills the conversation by picking up his bottle and taking it for a walk down to his veggie patch. I watch as Dad checks his shoots, picking out the odd weed here and there. He’s damn right. I wanted to change the place, drag it out of the mud, and somewhere along the line I’ve decided it’s easier to sit back and let things happen how they will. Somewhere along the line I decided to be Apex, a thought that disgusts me. What do our prospects think of me now? Do they look at me and think the same things I did when I was in their position? Do the members trust me? I wouldn’t say the fire that used to fuel me has burnt out, more that the embers are buried deep within me and I can’t find the fuckers to blow life back into them. They glow, though, that much is true. I feel it sometimes, that urge to dive in elbows deep and fix the mistakes of my predecessors. I just wish I could recognize how it is I find that spark so I can emulate whatever it is I need to do to get my mojo back. I wish I knew how to be that guy again. The one who loved fiercely and fought twice as hard against the unjust. My phone breaks me from my thoughts and I pull it out of my breast pocket without looking at the display. “Go ahead.” “Boss,” Callum greets me, wind whipping over the mouthpiece. “Discussions went hostile, if you like. You might want to swing by and see what we’ve got for you.” “Spit it out, brother.” “Comes in a pair,” he says, following rules and not openly discussing business over the phone. “Mismatched sizes though.” Fuck me. He has Elena and Dante. “Meet you there.” I leave my beer where it is and run through the house without a single goodbye to my dad. I’ve got no time to waste, and beside, when I’m his biggest letdown, why bother him with excuses he don’t want to hear?

Snatching my keys up from the front table, I take the stairs two at a time to grab my shit and hit the road. Holiday’s over. I’ve got the most important business to date heading my way.

FORTY-TWO Elena The young one, who I’ve learnt is Ramona, was shot making sure I got away. I’ve never felt worse. A woman who I argued with, and made life difficult for, put herself in harm’s way to help me. Me. The man she rode with, whose patch says his name is Mighty, carried her through to the kitchen to get the bullet taken out and stitches put in. I stand shell-shocked in the center of the main living area, Dante huddled to my hip, unsure where the hell I should go. “Elena.” The guy who brought us back here, the VP, waves us over from where he stands beside a circle of old sofas. “Take a load off.” He holds out a chilled bottle of Coke to Dante when we approach. “Thirsty?” My boy nods, taking the offered drink and curling into a ball on one of the seats. “You?” I shake my head, taking a seat beside Dante. “I didn’t get a chance to take any of our stuff,” I spit out the first thing that comes to mind. “Do you think we’ll be able to go back soon?” He smiles and shakes his head, curly blond locks bouncing as he does. “Nope. Sorry, darl.” I look him over as he shouts across the room to one of the prospects, asking for something to eat for us. His cut reads “Callum” over the VP badge. He’s classically handsome in that rough football-player way. If I saw him on the street without his club gear, I wouldn’t have picked him as a part of the Fallen Aces. “Thank you,” I say as soon as he brings his attention back to us. He shrugs, dismissing the sentiment. “Just doin’ what we do.” The door behind us crashes open, King marching through, while a shorter gray-haired man shouts behind him. “Could have parked the fuckin’ thing properly.” The old guy’s eye catches mine, and he nods once. “Ma’am.” King rounds the sofa, dropping to his knees before Dante. “Hey, buddy.” Dante stares, his little fingers twisting the lid from his Coke half off, half on, over and over. “You okay?” I sigh in exasperation. He has to be kidding, right? King levels me with an icy glare. “I wasn’t talkin’ to you, woman.” Dante glances between us both and taps King on the arm to grab his attention. “I’m okay, Dad. Your friends helped us.” He pauses a moment, his lips twisting as he picks his words. “It was scary, though. I thought Mom would be dead.” King nods, swallowing repeatedly. “You’re safe now, little man.” He turns and looks to Callum. “Can you take him upstairs and get him settled?” “On it, boss.” “I’ll come too.” Both men stare at me. “What?” “Stay here,” King instructs, eyes on the floor. “I want to talk with you.” Damn it. “You need me, you ask somebody to come get me, okay?” I reach out and touch Dante’s chin as he nods. “We’ll keep an eye on him,” Callum assures as he leads Dante away. I pull my knees to my chest as the contrasting pair head up the stairs to our left, presumably to where

the living quarters are, considering down here is one over-sized bar. King’s back remains to me. His breath whooshes out his nose and he pinches the bridge of it with his forefinger and thumb. “I wish you’d let me help when I first asked.” “Don’t you dare,” I warn in a low tone. “Don’t you put this on me, you conceited asshole.” “Admit fault, Elena.” He spins around and pushes up to full height. “You knew the danger Carlos was, and somehow you thought you could fight that off with your fuckin’ mop and bucket.” “It was a shotgun, King. A fucking shotgun,” I yell. He backs up as I stand, matching his stance. “Whatever it was,” he hollers, “it wasn’t enough. You could have both been killed.” “And what of it? Going to tell me you would have missed us? Because you sure as hell don’t seem to while we’re alive.” He frowns, tipping his head to the side to utter, “You think I don’t miss you?” I purse my lips and stare him down. “Sure feels like it.” “You wanted me to leave you alone,” he roars. “You wanted that!” “I also wanted a fucking life with you, with kids, with it all.” My fists ball at my sides, the pent up frustration aching in my limbs. I strike out at the arm of the sofa and grumble, “But we can’t always get what we want, can we?” He rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead, ducking his head in jerky movements, his jaw set firm. “Fucking hell, woman.” “What?” I snap. “Did you think I was going to leap into your arms crying ‘my hero’?” “Would have been nice,” he sasses. “A bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss to start with.” “Thank. You.” I narrow my eyes, my bitch level one thousand as I smarmily say the words he wants to hear. “Nope. No way.” He stomps close and leans down so our faces are level. “Like you mean it.” Clutching my hands together at my left shoulder, I flutter my eyelashes and put on a sickly saccharinesweet voice. “Why, thank you, Mister. You saved me.” I gasp as he knocks me off balance, towering over me after my ass hits the sofa. His corded arms cage me in, one on the edge of the sofa, one on the seat beside me. “Have you always been this rude, or did I just choose to forget that part?” “Only with the men who piss me off, baby,” I bite back. His nostrils flare, the green of his eyes a deep shade of emerald. My skin flushes, my stomach flopping about like a fish out of water. No way. I can’t still feel something for him. After all that’s happened. After how mad he made me these past years. I can’t. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he drawls. “Cat got your tongue?” “Were you always such an asshole?” I whisper in a feeble comeback. “Nope.” He grins, lop-sided and panty-melting. Bastard. “Only after a certain little woman ripped my heart out and danced over its ashes.” “Sounds like a real bitch.” “She is.” His eyes stay on my lips, his breath hot on my face. “Real piece of work.” “Better put her in her place then.” He smirks again, leaning forward to place his head next to mine. I’ve got nowhere to go, nothing I can do but let him drag his full, soft, bottom lip along the shell of my ear. Every time. Goosebumps break out as his breath tickles my neck. “I think I have.” I jerk away from his touch, pushing against his arm to get free. Cool air rushes in as he steps back and looks me over from head to toe before turning and walking out of the room.

Holy hell. I think he just made me hate him more.

FORTY-THREE King It was there, an undeniable chemistry between us. She felt it. I fucking know she did. It wasn’t just my body going haywire having her that close. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils giving away that she noticed the return of what we’ve always had—a magnetism that can’t be denied. And she pushed me away. I thought I had her; I thought for sure that was the moment she’d finally, after all these years of lies, admit that she’d made a huge mistake in wanting nothing to do with me. I’d honestly believed I’d have her in my arms right now, and that we’d be talking through all of the shit and giving ourselves a fresh page to start on tomorrow. She came fucking close to breathing her last with those assholes chasing her down, and yet she still can’t admit that we shouldn’t waste any more time pretending there’s nothing worth salvaging. Warm water streams over my back, pushing my hair into my eyes and running off my beard in rivers. I thought a shower might freshen my mind up a little, but if anything, it’s fed the dire need in me to simply drown and let it all go. I can’t be the man people think I am anymore. I can’t live the lie. They think I’m some infallible creature who’s always got the answer, but I’m not. I’m human. I love, I hurt, and I need to be repaired from time to time as well. I’m so busy looking out for the club, but who’s there for me? Where do I turn when I need someone to just listen and hold me close? Who do I go to when the only woman I want that from can’t stand to have me touch her any more? Jesus, I’m done. I sit on the shower floor and watch the water run down the drain for an age, long enough that the cylinder runs dry and the water turns cold. Still, I’ve got no motivation to get out, to rise. Drying off and walking downstairs is only going to shove my biggest problem in my face front and center. The club’s in debt over its head and the payback from this “favor” for Carlos is yet to arrive. The issue itself wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we only owed the bank. They’d foreclose, our assets would be sold off, and we’d either disband, or start up again smaller and better equipped somewhere else. But we don’t owe the bank. We owe a damn gang of thieves who’re sitting quietly in the wings, sharpening their knives, waiting for our time to run out. I’ve got six months—twenty-four fucking weeks to round up a six-figure sum that at the moment seems like no more than a pipe dream. My teeth chatter, my flesh pebbled from the cold. Would anyone care if I just disappeared? I’m so tired of all this. I can’t do it. I can’t fix things. “King? What the hell, man?” Callum rips the shower door open and cranks the taps off. When the fuck did he come in? “I came to get you a while ago but heard the shower on so left you to it.” He steps across the room, his movements jerky and agitated. “That was fuckin’ close to an hour ago.” I growl some incomprehensible word at him, swatting him away as he drops a towel around my frozen frame. Heck, I don’t even know what the hell I was trying to say. Seems being able to speak is something else my mind’s decided to give up on.

“What’s the issue, brother?” He jams hot hands under my arms and forces me to stand. “Dry off and come out here. I want to know what the hell that was I just witnessed.” I take my time, hoping by some small miracle he would have given up and left by the time I emerge from my bathroom. But there he is. Annoying as ever. And I still love the guy for it. “Get into bed.” I damn near jump out of my skin at the sound of Sonya’s voice. I didn’t see her hiding off to my left. “Now,” she says, firmly. I frown at the two of them and slip a set of boxers on under my towel before dropping it and climbing into my huge, fucking empty bed. Callum leans on the footboard while Sonya perches on the side. I pull the covers over my head. “What is there that we can help with?” Sonya asks softly. “Nothing,” I bitch like a petulant child. “People who ain’t got anythin’ to worry about don’t sit in the bottom of their shower until they begin to melt away, man.” I whip the cover down and glare at Callum. “I’ll sort it out, okay? I just . . . I need some time.” I roll to my back and drag a hand over my face. “Can you cover for a few days?” I hate asking him to do it, but I need the break to get my ducks in a row. “Yeah, of course.” “Nothin’ important to worry about,” I tell him, desperately hoping it’ll mean he won’t interfere in the fucking financial mess. “Just make sure the boys are happy and sign off anythin’ that needs it.” “You got it.” He nods. “I know what I’m doin’, King.” “Yeah, I know.” I roll my gaze to Sonya. “Can you turn the light off on your way out?” She frowns a little. Words are poised on her lips, the twitch at the corners giving away her indecision. She huffs and smiles forcibly. “You need anything, you call out, okay?” I want them to fuck off—that’s the basics of it all. I’m lying here feeling sorrier than a teenager who missed out on tickets to his favorite band. A real man would quit his fucking sulking and man the hell up. Damn it, I want to. I really do, but the desire to quit on life is ten times stronger when there’s no point to doing anything I am anymore. Elena doesn’t want me. I can’t get the club in the black. Carlos is after our asses again, which makes all the risks I took years ago pointless. My parents are disappointed in me. And I’m doomed to die after breaking my back to try and make it all better, alone. Fuck life. I’m over it. I get no favors from this shit. I get no kickbacks. Shit, I ain’t selfish, but fuck this. I’m committing the slowest form of suicide ever. I’m working myself to death. And the sad part? I don’t know what the fuck else I’d do if not this. Callum follows Sonya from the room, and I’m plunged into darkness as he shuts the door. The general hubbub of the club carries on beneath me: bikes rumble in and out of the garage, music ebbs and flows in volume, and voices drift through the corridors. All the while I feel like a butterfly in reverse. Wrapped up in my sheets, holed up in my cocoon, I can feel the life drain from me as I slowly quit life. The longer I stay up here, the less desire I have to rejoin society. This shit was supposed to work the other way around. I was supposed to take the time out and wake up feeling a fuck-load better. I’m supposed to be recharging the batteries, yet all that happens is that life drains from my reserves.

A day passes, judging by the patterns of light on my bedroom floor. I watch the sun recede and the moon creep in, drifting in and out of sleep. Sonya knocks, asks if I need anything. Callum comes by when I don’t respond and stands beside my bed while I stoically ignore him. And then the fuckers send in the big guns. Sunlight is at the mid-point on its way back out of the room when I feel the bed dip behind me. I sigh and pull the sheet over my head. “I’m not in the mood, Sonya.” It can’t be Callum; the person is too light. “Good thing it isn’t Sonya then.” Fuck. I groan into my mattress and close my eyes, hoping she’ll go away. “When you coming out of your wee fort there?” Elena asks. “Never,” I mumble. She huffs. “Even Dante isn’t this childish.” I slam the blankets down so they sit under my arms. “I’m not being childish, Elena. I’m fuckin’ over never bein’ able to fix anything.” She tips her head to one side, and her long black locks slip over her bare shoulder. She looks good in a bright yellow tank top and a pair of light blue cut-offs. It’s the closest to summery I’ve seen her dress. “You ever get that feelin’ that maybe you were never meant to be able to find the answer to a problem? That perhaps it was a trick question?” “Sometimes.” She shrugs. “Is that what’s bothering you? You can’t find the answer to your problem?” “Problems.” I stress the S. “And not all of it’s solely mine.” “You’re only human, King.” She twitches her lips into a sympathetic smile. “You can’t always be the winner.” “Yeah, maybe. But I’m also tired of always bein’ the loser.” “You’re not a loser,” she says quietly, fidgeting with a fold in the covers. My heartbeat echoes in my ears. Saying it out loud scares the shit out of me, but I have to face my fears if I’m ever going to get past this. “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” Her gaze moves to the floor beside the bed and she pulls in a long breath . . . then shrugs. “What kind of answer is that?” I yank the sheet back over my head. “The truth,” she whispers. “I really don’t know.” The mattress lifts as my will to live plummets. *** The room is pitch black when I feel her return. She slips onto the bed behind me, lying on top of the sheets, and curls her body into mine, making herself the big spoon. The silence is deafening, her whispered words seeming as loud as thunder when she leans her head close to mine and says, “I might not know how I feel about us anymore, but it doesn’t mean I like seeing you like this.” Her fingers brush against my cheek, and I weaken. “Rest and get better, okay? You’ve got a son who’s asking where his dad is, and a bunch of people who care about you a lot, wondering if they’ve done something to let you down.” Warm lips press against my neck sending a tingle skittering across my flesh. Her body pulls away from mine, and once more she leaves me worse off than when she walked in. I wish she’d stop leaving me. I can’t take her pulling away from me again. ***

“You awake?” I blink against the bright light, confused for a moment before I realize that my drapes have been opened. I don’t answer. “I can see your eyes are open,” Elena admonishes. She moves into my line of sight and sets a plate down on the nightstand. “You need to eat.” She hesitates, her legs blocking my view of the sun on the floor. I catch her tired sigh as she turns and leaves the room again. I count to one hundred and eighty in my head, wanting to be certain she’s not about to walk back in, and then push up to one elbow to scout the food on the plate. Two cookies sit beside an apple, and a chilled bottle of water rests behind the dish. I reach out and snag one of the cookies, not sure if I can stomach the acidity of the apple given how long it’s been since I ate. I swing my legs out on the third bite and sit on the side of the bed, staring at the gray sky. Something about the beautiful simplicity of nature gives me a little hope that there’s life in me yet. I take another bite and smile as I think back on how Garret and I would sneak out to see the full moon, always counting down the days until it showed on Mom’s calendar. There was something about that huge white orb that brought us back to Earth and reminded us how little we really were, how insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Whatever troubles we had, they paled in comparison. Nothing seemed so important or trivial after we’d sat out and stared at the craters, pretending if we looked hard enough we’d see space people walking over the surface. I put the last bite in my mouth and cross the room to dig my phone out of my jeans. The battery has drained, which means I’ve been up here for at least two days. The icon lights up as I connect it to the charger and start it up. Flicking through the screens, I find and open the Google app, and then type in “lunar calendar.” The next full moon is scheduled for tonight, confirming my suspicions, having watched the moonlight get brighter with each night that passed of late. I take a bathroom break and return refreshed enough to try the apple. By the time that big old orb floats into the sky, I’ve got myself set up beside the bed with pillows and the covers tucked around my shoulders to watch it climb to the highest point. I’m transfixed by it, relishing the same feeling of insignificance, praising that after all these years it still has the ability to remind me how trivial my problems really are in the scheme of things. The light from the hall creeps into the room, disturbing my perfect viewing spot. I sigh and brace for her, opening my covers out when she rounds the end of the bed. Elena drops in beside me and stares out the window at the moon as I tuck her in. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” “I can think of better.” She’s oblivious to the fact I’m staring at her, admiring her delicate profile as she stares in wonder at the simple thing that’s managed to give me the kick in the ass I needed. “How are you feeling?” She startles when she turns her head and realizes how close our faces are. “Better. Refreshed and ready to tackle this bullshit.” She leans in, tucking her head into the crook of my neck, right where it’s always belonged. “You don’t have to carry the burden alone. Those people down there?” She sighs and shifts her hand to rest against my chest. “They love you, King. I’ve spent a lot of time getting to know them, considering I don’t have anywhere else I can go, and I’m not beneath admitting I might have been a bit quick to judge.” Her palm pats me twice. “They’re good people, and they want to help.” “And what about you?” I ask through a thick throat. She laughs through her nose. “Jury’s still out.” I place my lips against her head and close my eyes. Maybe with time she’ll get there, and she’ll realize how she feels. I sound exactly like I have for the past eight years.

“What changed?” I ask. “What happened to make you question something we never used to doubt?” “Same thing I’ve said a thousand times over,” she says. “You let me down when I needed you most . . . more than once.” “I won’t do it again.” She shakes her head, pulling free to sit up straight. “And you’ve said that a thousand times over, too.” What will I have to do to prove to her that this time I truly mean it? “However you feel,” I murmur, “I never stopped loving you. Not one single day. Not even for an hour. You were it for me. You still are.” I catch the jagged shudder of her breath before she slips out of the covers and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her and sending me back into the black in far more ways than one.

FORTY-FOUR Elena If all it took was me giving my right arm to make him better, I'd brandish the damn saw myself. I've never seen him this low, and I guess it's to be expected. I, of all people, know that's it's impossible to stay strong forever. The man carries a hell of a burden on his back. He's where the buck stops; he's who they all turn to for advice, for the final word, for the solution. I know I couldn't shoulder that responsibility. The days King has been holed up upstairs have given me a brash insight into the club. His VP, Callum, stepped in and took on the essential day-to-day duties, but even he openly admitted to another member that he doesn't know how King does it, considering he struggled to get his head around half the tasks. Dante, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He's thriving in this environment. The kid's made three new friends, children of members, and he's loving the added attention being around such a diverse group of people gives him. The mechanic took him out to the garage the day before last, and when I went out to check up on them two hours later, I found Dante helping a dark-headed girl clean a bike down. He was happy. He's found purpose to being here. Me? I still don't feel as though I fit. There was truth in what I said to King; I was too quick to judge. The women especially have been welcoming and there to offer me help at every step of the way. Sonya, who is the woman from the bookstore, has even given me clothes to wear until I manage to either recover or replace my own. I haven't asked King which it'll be—he's got far more important things to worry about than my possessions. Sure, it’s hard with no purse, no phone, and no access to my bank accounts until I get my ID replaced, but I’m alive. I’m healthy. I’ve got so much more to be grateful for than worrying over items that can be renewed. The sun sets on another mild spring day as I stare out over the backyard at two birds that hop over the grass in search of worms. People come and go around me, paying me no mind. I guess as much as I feel an outcast, I still appreciate the fact that they leave me be. Everybody here has a purpose, a reason to be at the clubhouse. I don't. Ramona emerges through the laundry door, an empty basket in hand, and hesitates when she spots me on the deck. She tips her head to the side and smiles. I don't know a lot about her other than that she was with Carlos's son, Sawyer, for a while, and that they have a son together—Mack. Dante's been playing with him most days, and I was hesitant at first, but soon let it go when I saw how much the kids have in common. "You want to give me a hand?" she calls out. I nod and cross over to where she is. We walk in silence together to the washing line, where Ramona drops the basket and begins unpegging the clean laundry. "How's the injury?" I ask quietly, guilt still ripe at what she suffered because of me. "Oh, it's not too bad." She extends her leg and swivels it left to right. "A little stiff at times, but nothing a good stretch won't sort out." I take a sheet down and shake it out before matching the corners. "I'm sorry it happened." She stops with a towel in her hands and stares curiously. "Why? Did you pull the trigger?"

I get her point, but still, if it wasn't for my stubbornness they wouldn't have been there to begin with. "It's still my fault you were there that day." "I was asked, Elena, and I offered to help. So don't you go wearing any of this on your shoulders, okay?" I nod and fold the sheet into a neat square. "Callum told me that Sawyer has returned home with Carlos." She stills and stares down at the ground. "Yes." "Are you worried about him?" I don't know anything about their relationship, but I presume there have to be some feelings there if they had a child together. "We weren't a conventional couple," she admits, "so yes, I'm worried, but mostly just saddened it got to be this way." Her face lifts and clear eyes pin me in their gaze. "What was he like with you? Carlos? Is he as bad as everybody says, or is it just rumors to make him seem more of a threat, you know?" I sigh and snatch up a pillow case. "I don't know what you heard, but I can assure you it's just as bad, if not worse." She drops her folded towel into the basket and walks closer. "King's real worried about you." "I know." I hastily fold the sheet into a much less tidy square than the last. "I am about him, too." "He hasn't told us how you two met, but I gather it was a long time ago." "Yes." "Tell me if I'm asking too much." She steps away and folds another two towels before asking the next question. "Do you love him?" "What business of yours is that?" "I’m simply looking out for a friend." She shakes out a towel with a snap of the fabric. "He invests a lot in you, and so far all I see is a complete lack of gratitude on your behalf." This tiny woman has one incredibly sharp tongue when unleashed. "If you knew our history—as you say you don't—then maybe you'd understand." "He doesn't do anything to spite people, King. He does everything out of the good of his heart." "Don’t you think I know that?" I throw the next sheet in the basket half-folded. "What is it you really want to say?" She lances me with a heated stare. "Don't take advantage of him. If you want his help, take it, but don't pick and choose what he does for you out of convenience. Stop messing him around—he doesn’t deserve it." The anger inside of me rages so thick it needs an outlet. I lash out and kick the washing basket over, spilling clean laundry on the concrete path and grass. "You don’t know a damn thing about me. I've been through fucking hell and back to be with that man, and after all that, he left me to come back to this fucking shithole. I'm done with you people judging me. I thought you were nice, but now I see the truth." "And what would that be?" she snaps. "That you all stick up for each other and outsiders aren't welcome here." I spin and storm toward the damn clubhouse, pissed off that I have to walk back into the one place that's the source of all my anger. Ramona looks surprised when I whirl around to serve her one final line. "And don’t worry, if I had a fucking house to go to, I'd be out of here and out of sight in no time." But I don’t. Because like everything else, King has that under his control. I'm barred from going home, stuck here to suffer through the judgments of these people who only know King as he is now, who don’t know what we went through all those years ago. Fuck them. As soon as I have an opening, I'll be out of here. And this time? I won’t look back.

I’m not making that mistake twice.

FORTY-FIVE King Three weeks later "Can't say I expected to see you back here so soon." Mom stands from where she'd knelt in front of her flowers, weeding. "It's been weeks, Mom." "Yes, it has. And last time you stormed out it was almost a year." She sighs. "How are things with Elena and your boy?" I shrug. Ever since she showed me that glimmer of hope while I had my bender, she's been hot and cold with her emotions. One day she'll be laughing at a joke, the next she's shooting foul looks my way as she does her best to avoid me. A mean feat given she's still stuck at the clubhouse until I can organize a new house for her. "And you? You look a little more relaxed than Dad said you were last time you came." "I'm good." I pick up her bucket of weeds as she dusts off and collects her tools. "Well, your father will be in soon, so let’s go get some lunch ready, huh?" I follow Mom around and help her out in the kitchen. Preparing food is a basic task that clears my head, takes me away from the shit going down at the club—exactly why I came. Vince's kid and his friends are working on the sly for us to try and lift a distribution arm out of the hands their buddy dropped it in and return it to Carlos. They fix this wrong—I fix our club's finances. It all sounds so simple in premise, but when it involves one of their own going undercover to pose as a dealer and get information for us, there's risk involved. Yet again, lives are being gambled with, and Carlos is at the center of the whole problem. What eats at me the most is I know I should tell Elena that our club is involved with Carlos, running drugs for him. Maybe she’d understand why we’re doing it—to save ourselves from bankruptcy—but the woman would be justified in feeling betrayed that I’ve gone into business with the man who almost destroyed us. No telling what she’d do when she finds out all his threats are nothing more than emotional blackmail to keep me in line and remind me who’s in charge. Keeping our business agreement a secret from Elena has the potential to ruin any hope of her sticking around, although with the way she's been behaving, I kind of have to wonder if she's already lost to me. "Sit down. I'll bring some iced tea over." Mom sets the plate of sandwiches in the center of the table and ushers me to a chair. I do as I'm told and drop my head to the table between my arms. "Tell me why you came, Lloyd." The vibration of the pitcher as she sets it on the table tickles my forehead. "I don’t know." "You must." The chair beside me scrapes as she sits. "What did you hope to get out of visiting us?" "Can't I just come see my parents for a bit?" "You never 'just come see' us anymore." I sigh and roll my head to the side, moving my left arm so I can see her. "Tell me I'm not doing the wrong thing."

"With what?" "All of it." She sighs and reaches out to rest her hand on mine. "I don't know what you're doing to tell you if it's wrong or right." A soft smile graces her lips. "What I can tell you, though, is that I've never doubted your ability to do right by people before." "Even with Elena?" I ask with a callous laugh. "Even with her." "You know she cut me off, right?" "You alluded to it on one of your visits." "She said I let her down when she needed me most." Mom simply shrugs one shoulder. "You did, Son." "I didn't see it for ages," I say, lifting my head off the table. "But I do now. I want to make it right, but I don’t know how to when she keeps pushing me away." "She's only doing it because she's hurt. You wounded her; she's bound to be touchy." "If you were her," I ask, "what would you want me to do?" Mom leans back, her arms over her chest. "Make up for it, I guess." "By spending time with her?" She shakes her head. "Not just with her, but on her. Don't simply be there in body—give her all of you, no distractions, no phone, nothing. Cut off from the club and give her one-on-one." Could I do it? Cut ties completely and not know at a single touch what was going on within our walls? "It'll be hard." "It's not the hardest thing you've done, though, is it?" She offers me a weak smile. The back door rattles as Dad opens it and kicks his boots off. "Long time no see." "Hey, Dad." "To what do we owe this pleasure?" He crosses through the kitchen and takes a seat at the table. "I lost touch with what's important in my life," I admit. "Thought I better go about rectifying that." He grunts his acceptance. "He's making a start with us," Mom says, "and then setting things right between him and Elena." Dad stills with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. "You sure you want to be involved with the likes of her?" "Pardon?" I frown at him. "She ran off when things got too hard and took your kid from you, Lloyd. I can’t say I exactly think of her in a glowing light." Fair enough. "She had her reasons." "I'm sure she did." He scoffs back a fast bite. "But do you think she'd do it again?" "I don't know." Would she run and repeat history? Take Dante with her? "I'm taking precautions to know she can't." "That so?" "Yeah." First thing’s first—if she's not in control of her lease, I'm going to know if she breaks it or abandons the place. "I'm keeping a close watch on her from here on out." "You do what you will," he grumbles. "But I have one request." I lean back and watch him carefully. "Fire away." "If she does go again, you don’t bloody chase her. You let her go and dig her own grave." Like I could ever promise that.

FORTY-SIX Elena “You wanted to see me?” I step into King’s office and look around at the pictures on the wall, the tidy folders all lined up on a shelf, and the way the things on his desk are arranged by size. “Yeah, I do.” He drops what he’s doing and stands, rounding the desk to stop before me with his arms crossed. “First, though, why is it I need to get one of the boys to round you up like a damn employee?” “You tell me,” I snap impatiently. My temper’s already thin after yet another run-in with a do-gooder who had more opinions than I could shake a stick at. “Half the time I wonder if you’re even here, so I find it easier to just wait until you decide you want to see me.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means, King, that here we are again, except this time we’re under the same roof and yet again I barely see more than an hour of you a day.” “I was at my parents’ place this morning.” He drops his face to toy with his beard. “Oh. How are they?” I haven’t heard a thing about them since I walked out on less-than-stellar terms, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered how they were. “They still don’t like you.” My shoulders curl with the impact of his words. “Ouch, King.” “It’s warranted.” “I know.” I slump down into the seat beside me. “That’s what hurts the most.” He eyes me curiously for a moment before speaking. “How are you, anyway?” “Alive.” I shrug. “Dante was happy enough when we hung out yesterday afternoon, but you don’t let me talk with you to know how you are. Why?” I laugh bitterly at the thought. “Probably because I couldn’t give you an honest answer if I tried.” “Really?” “Really.” I drop my chin, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. “Somewhere in the months after I left your parents, it all hit,” I admit. “Everything. The weight of what I’d been through in the escape from Carlos, and dealing with my pregnancy mostly alone . . . everything.” King shifts to squat beside the seat—as if he’d do anything else. Every time we do this, every time he gets me to open up, this is how we are. “I wish you’d talk to me about this stuff, baby.” “Why?” I laugh. “What good does rehashing the most painful part of my life do?” “Shares the burden.” I look his way and smile. “You have to admit you haven’t been in the best shape yourself to share any more bad news.” “Maybe.” He shrugs, those deliciously rounded shoulders tugging at his T-shirt. “But you know I’d rather let it break me than have you suffer another day with it.” “Even after how I’ve been of late? After how cold I’ve behaved toward you?” “You could set me in ice, babe, and I’d still thaw that shit out with the warmth I have for you.” “Why?” I whisper. “Why persist when I keep telling you there’s too much damage?”

He frowns, his lips pursed as he swallows. “When a vehicle gets damaged beyond repair, you know what they do with it?” “Wreck it?” “Recycle it. It gets crushed, has massive weight born down on it until it can’t handle any more, and then they take that thing it was and turn it into something else.” “What are you getting at?” “Stop beating yourself up because you aren’t who you were anymore. Accept who you are now.” I swallow hard, pushing the tears away. I don’t have time for remorse or regret—they don’t get me anywhere. King shifts to his knees and shuffles around the seat to face me front-on. “Tell me honestly: Do you think I’m the same person I was ten years ago?” “I’ve only known you eight,” I sass. Couldn’t help myself. He chuckles. “You get what I’m sayin’ though.” “I do, and no, I think you’ve matured. You’re a bit more worn down by the world, less hopeful and optimistic.” He frowns and nods. I’ve struck a chord, it seems. “Exactly.” A heavy second hangs between us. “Do you still love me the same as you did, though?” I stare into his crisp green eyes and delve deep into my thoughts. I don’t want to answer out of haste. I don’t want to give him my knee-jerk reaction and say that I don’t know. The answer isn’t so hard when I allow myself to see it. “I love you differently.” “How?” I sigh. How do I put it so that he doesn’t take offence? “Less lust, more respect.” “Respect,” he repeats, as though trying it out for himself. “Tell me one last thing, then.” “What?” I whisper, afraid of what he’s going to ask. “Why do you think you no longer fit?” I narrow my gaze for a moment, affronted that he seems to have picked out my greatest fear so easily. “Is that what you think?” “You shut yourself off from everyone else here,” he says. “You allow Dante to settle in to this life, but you keep yourself at arm’s length. Why?” “Because if I told you how many times I’ve had people come up to me, people I don’t know from the next patched member, telling me all sorts of theories on why I’m treating you badly and how I need to be the one to do all the sucking up, you wouldn’t believe me.” He smiles, rocking back on his heels before he stands. “I probably would. They’re a protective bunch ’round here.” “Are they what,” I murmur. “Are they right, though?” He jams his hands in his pockets. “Do you need to do some suckin’ up to me?” I shrug, determined not to admit it. “My indiscretions do seem to outweigh yours.” “Pfft,” he huffs. “So what? You want to know what I realized in those days upstairs?” “That life’s kind of boring when you’re confined to four walls?” He stares at me for a beat, and I realize what I’ve really alluded to—my time stuck at Carlos’s. “You were saying?” I coax. “I realized,” he says slowly, “that every time you and I argue, it’s over the same old stuff: the past. We can’t change that. We can’t undo the choices we made, the people we screwed around with, and what

happened because of that.” “No, but?” “We can start from now.” He rubs a hand over the nape of his neck, looking every part the shy boy I met at a corner store. My heart slips the headphones off and takes notice of what he says next. “Let me take you out for coffee.” As much as my sentimental side jumps at the idea, I shake my head. “No. If we’re starting again, make it something different.” “Okay.” He nods. “Like what?” I nibble on the end of my index finger while I think it over. “We can’t go too far from here, right? Because Carlos still has eyes on us?” “Not for too long, no.” Asshole. Even now, miles away, and having been out of my life for years, he still manages to ruin things for me. I catalogue the safe places we could go, the places I have been since Carlos’s men knocked in my door. “The house,” I blurt out. The idea has me wriggling in the seat. “Show me where it was you started our house.” His hand tracks a nervous path through his hair. “Are you sure?” “Yes. Absolutely. If you want us to start afresh, then I want it to be where you saw our future. Show me what you thought our life could have been, King.” I drop my head, subdued by the depth of the moment. “Make me believe it could happen.”

FORTY-SEVEN King Excited isn’t something I want to be at the idea of taking Elena to the section, but if my heart is anything to go by, I’m fucking ecstatic. She agreed to try with a clean slate. She actually agreed. I’d expected argument, reasons why it wouldn’t work, and her trademark stubbornness and reluctance to let herself feel. But I got none of it. Well, at least not on the subject I thought I would. “There’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about.” I tense, knowing how she reacted when I broached the subject a couple of weeks ago. Her head tips to the side, her ponytail falling free of her shoulder. “I found you a new place to live.” Detonation in three, two, one . . . “You did what?” “I haven’t signed off on it, but I thought you could take a look.” She drops her head into her hands and groans. “I’m agreeing to try again, King, to see if I can find what I once felt for you again. But this?” She drops her hands away to reveal wild eyes. “I asked you not to interfere. I asked you to let me figure out how to do this myself.” “I’m just tryin’ to help,” I say a fraction too loudly. “Well don’t.” The chair rockets out from underneath her, and she makes a line for the door. I try to catch her, but it’s too late . . . she’s out in the damn common room with no less than a dozen sets of eyes on her. “Don’t you think I can do it myself?” she yells, hesitating near the stairs. “Of course I can.” “Then why won’t you let me pick where I want to be?” She starts toward the stairs. “Because if it were up to you, you’d fuckin’ run a mile again and I wouldn’t get to see my son.” “And for good fucking reason.” She spins on the spot and heads back my way. Oh, shit. I look around, but fail to see Dante or any of the kids he might be with. “Where is Dante?” “In the garage with Fingers and Abbey,” our prospect Nathan calls from the bar. I raise a hand in thanks and take two steps back as Elena rushes at me, looking as though she’s about to strike. He open palm smack me in the shoulder, her jaw hard, her eyes dark with rage. “Why the fuck are you so upset about this?” I ask, fending off another hit with my forearm. “Because,” she snaps, “all anyone’s ever done is make the decisions for me. I came to America because somebody asked, I was married because somebody thought I should be, I was left in an abusive relationship to suffer because somebody thought it would be less confrontational for him.” When she puts it like that . . . “I did fine on my own for six years before you came back and fucked it all up,” she complains, backing up when she realizes her frenzied attack is useless. “Six years on my own, making my own decisions, and being free.” “You’re free now,” I try to explain as she stalks toward the bar.

Nathan backs up and gives her room as she snatches up a glass for a drink before searching the fridge. “Do you not have anything but fucking alcohol?” The glass tumbler flies over the bar, smashing the second it hits the floor near my office. “Elena.” “No.” A single finger is held up as she pulls out another glass and searches in every cupboard under the counter. “Seriously, guys. Lemonade, juice, something!” The second tumbler shatters with a growl from her. I shake my head, done with her bipolar fucking attitude. One minute I think we’ve got something started, and the next she’s trying to single-handedly tear down the clubhouse bit by bit. “I’m fuckin’ done, woman.” I march back into the safety of my office, throwing back over my shoulder, “I can’t keep up with your mood swings anymore.” “Don’t you dare make out that I’m just crazy!” Something larger smashes against the wall as I pass through the door. Too close for comfort. “I’m only human, King. I can only take so much before I snap!” I catch the murmur of the guys begging her to stop destroying glassware, but it only seems to spur her on. From where I sit at my desk with the door open, I can see it all unfold. One of Butcher Boys, the guys associated with Vince’s son, sits at the bar—Bronx. He’s the same sorry mug we sent in to the drug runners undercover. The smartass flicks a quick smirk my way before swiveling his stool, allowing him to watch Elena’s meltdown better. Great—my non-existent love-life is now the main attraction at the circus. “Who the fuck are you?” I hear Elena yell at somebody. “You might want to tone it down a little.” Ty. Bronx’s friend, and Ramona’s new fling. “There are kids around, you know?” “Don’t try and reason with her,” I call out. “She doesn’t listen.” The guy’s pushing shit uphill if he thinks he can get her to stop. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you!” Elena sets her sights on me and makes a line for my office. I cut her off before she reaches the door—time to shut this down. “How long have I been telling you that I don’t need your help,” she hollers, “and yet you still have to keep your nose in our business?” “Yeah, because funnily enough, we have a shared interest, Elena.” I stop nose-to-nose with her. “You expect me to walk away from my kid?” Or her? The sweet floral smell of her soap gets me every time. “Where’s Dante?” Ty asks. “Garage!” we both shout in unison, our eyes locked. “I get you’re pissed at me,” I growl through gritted teeth, “but tone it down, for fuck’s sake.” “Am I embarrassing you?” she snaps. “No, you’re making me want to take you somewhere private and fuck this anger right out of you.” Her eyes go wide. Shit—where did that come from? Instinct. Years of unrequited love. Desire. I’ve never stopped loving this woman, happy or angry, however she comes. “I . . .” “I mean it, Elena. I’ve had enough of pretendin’ that I don’t get myself in knots every time I see you around here. I’m tired of lyin’ about how I’m doin’, pretending that I can handle waitin’ for you. I can’t. Now shut the fuck up, and go for a walk to calm down before this gets way more personal than it already is.” She flaps her jaw like a damn fish before turning and stalking up the stairs. Fuck me. I run a hand over my hair and wander over to make sure the guys we’re working with to take Carlos down aren’t too put out by what they witnessed. Yeah, we’ve known each other for for a few months now, but they’re still guests

in our clubhouse, and that kind of behavior isn’t what I want them associating as normal around here. Ty quits his conversation as I approach and pushes out a stool for me to sit on. I’m still in two minds about whether I should go follow through on my spontaneous threat. If I thought Elena was hot before, something about her fired up makes me ready to tame that woman in the most carnal way. “Fuck me,” I murmur. “That woman is incredible.” “Intolerable, I would have said,” Bronx mutters. I shake my head and gesture to Nathan for a drink. “Nope. I meant incredible.” They both stare at me as Nathan slides my drink over before something drags Ty’s attention away. “Are you sure she should be going out?” he asks. I look over my shoulder and spot Elena with one of Sonya’s leather jackets in her hands and a set of keys. “For fuck’s sake.” Needing the Dutch courage, I slam back my drink and head after her. She lets out an squeak as I catch her by the arm at the door. “Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’? “Out.” She tugs at my hold but fails to break free. “Let go.” “You’re not goin’ anywhere,” I snap. “You’re goin’ to sit your skinny ass down and wait for me to get my shit, and then we’re goin’ for that ride to see where the house was goin’ to be. Okay?” Her lips are pursed, her stare hard. “Fine.” I let go and turn for the bar when I realize she’s still headed outside. Fuck me. I catch her three steps out the door. “Inside. Now. And wait.” Her nostrils flare as she stares at my hand cinched tight on her elbow. I run with it. Her steps are hurried as she tries to keep up while I drag her back across the common room. “Ty!” I call. He spins around as we approach. “Where did Ramona go?” “To find Mack.” “Keep a watch on this one, boys.” I shove Elena toward them and head for the stairs. It doesn’t take long before I find Ramona upstairs with Mack and Dante. I’m glad she kept them amused while all hell broke loose downstairs. She spots me leaning on the door and smiles. “Sorry about that,” I say. “She’s calmed down now.” “Is she always like this?” I smirk, and shake my head as I walk in. “Only when she’s upset.” And even then it’s never been this bad. I move to sit next to Dante on the bed. “How you doing?” “Good,” he answers simply. “Mom doesn’t want us to move.” “Yeah.” I nod. “She doesn’t. Do you?” Dante nods. “I want a new room.” An awkward silence stretches where I don’t know what else to say; promising him things I’m not one hundred per cent sure I can deliver seems cruel. “Would you two boys like to come help me make us all something yummy for dessert tonight?” Ramona asks. Both boys turn their heads toward her and nod. “What can we make?” Dante asks. “I hadn’t decided,” she says. “What’s your favorite?” Dante looks at me, then at Ramona. “Same as Dad—chocolate steamed pudding with lots of cream.” How did he know? “You know that?” “Mom always makes it for your birthday.” That doesn’t make any sense, though. “I don’t see you guys for my birthday.” Dante nods, matter-of-factly. “I know. Mom makes it anyway.” I’m spent. He’s so innocently revealed the thing I’ve been fighting to get Elena to admit—she does still

care. She still loves me, whether she knows it or not. Ramona reaches out and pats my knee lightly while she addresses the kids. “How about you go and find your mother, Dante, and ask her if she’d like to join us?” “Sure.” Dante damn near bowls me over in his haste to get off the bed and out the door with Mack. Ramona gives me a nudge to bring my attention back around. “You okay?” “We could have been such a good family.” “What do you mean ‘been?’ You are.” Not how I’d like. “I mean, the proper way, you know? With two parents in the same house.” “Just because you two are separated doesn’t mean you love your boy any less.” “I wonder if he’s going to look back on his life when he’s older and regret not having more time with me,” I admit. “I don’t want him to be angry at the kind of relationship he was born into.” “He’d be selfish if he was. His parents love him; that’s all that matters.” Is it? I often wonder if that’s all it takes. Because love sure wasn’t enough to save what his parents had.

FORTY-EIGHT Elena We don’t set off until well after dinner. As usual, King busies himself sorting out issues with the club— something about setting up a room for Ramona, or packing up Sawyer’s stuff. I can’t keep up. In that time I’ve plotted a million possible scenarios on how I’m gong to get through tonight alive. That moment we shared outside his office . . . it evoked a desire in me I haven’t felt in years. Hearing him take charge, tell me what he wanted to do to me without sugar coating it in fear of scaring me off . . . Yeah. “You ready to go?” I damn near leap out of my skin at the question. “Let me go change my panties first.” He cocks his eyebrow with the smarmiest damn smirk. “Not like that!” I blurt out. “As in, you gave me a fright.” I get up off the sofa I’d been waiting on and give him a smack in the arm where he stands, leaning on the back. “Don’t know if you noticed, but I upgraded,” he says, as we walk to the garage. “We both get a seat now.” He leads us over to an all-black beast parked front and center. “No. Can’t say I did notice.” He rolls his eyes and hands me a helmet. “Just put this on.” After five solid minutes of watching me struggle with the strap, he sighs and takes it out of my hands. I watch his face intently as he concentrates on what he’s doing, the brief seconds not nearly enough to enjoy myself before we’re ready to roll. King climbs on first, and then gestures to the pillion seat with a tip of his head. Doing my utmost to avoid any sort of close proximity, I end up tangling my foot on the seat as I try to break some sort of gymnastics record climbing over. He sighs and drops his head into his hand. “Fuck me, woman.” “What?” “Stop making life so difficult on yourself.” He points to one of the pegs where I put my feet. “Stand on that, then grab my shoulders and swing your leg over.” I can do this. I take a deep breath and lift my left leg, then do the thing I’m dreading most—touch him. As predicted, I don’t want to let go. The feel of his muscles under my hands, the warmth of his body heat radiating throughout me—they both hold too many happy memories of stolen time together. King starts the bike and idles us out of the garage and over to the gate where we have to wait for the prospect to roll it open. I shuffle about on the seat, doing what I can to find a position that means minimal contact whilst still ensuring I’m not about to come off on a corner and sport a healthy dose of road-rash. We hit the open road in no time at all and ride through the gray night, the moon lighting up the sky. By the time we reach our destination, my hands have slipped to his waist, and I realize as we hit the cattle stop at his parents’ gate that I’m pretty damn close to leaning my head on his back. Why are we here? I look over at the white farmhouse as we take a side track and bypass the homestead and surrounding sheds, curving instead along a laneway and down to the back of the property. King stops every so often, unhitching a taped gate and passing the hook to me so I can re-hitch it behind us as we pass through. The earthy smells of the farm are all new to me; I never came out onto the property in those few

days I was here last time. I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh, grassy air of the country. “We’re here.” King kills the engine and kicks the stand out. The bike leans off-center, which means I have no option but to repeat the shoulder technique in reverse if I don’t want to fall off-balance in my dismount. King makes light work of the helmet once again and sets it down on the seat. I meet his gaze and smile from sheer nerves. “What?” “Nothin’.” He shakes his head and turns away. “This way. Watch your step.” I huff a breath into my hands, trying to warm them up after the bite of the air as we rode chilled them to the bone. Wish I’d had foresight to bring gloves. The ground is uneven and sloped, and I make it twenty yards before I stop and wait for him to realize that he’s leaving me behind with his long strides. He turns around a short distance ahead of me and looks back. “You okay?” “Do I look okay?” I take a few more wobbly steps, narrowly avoiding a rolled ankle, to prove my point. The grass swishes around his boots as he backtracks to where I stand. “Like some help?” I don’t miss the hint of amusement in his voice. “Yes, please.” “Are you sure?” Fucker. He’s going to drag this out, have some fun. “I mean, you say you’re sick of me interfering and all that . . .” “Help me walk, King,” I snap, “before I break a damn ankle with these holes.” He moves around me to stand at my side, so slow, so predator-like. My arms cross over my chest instinctually as his gaze drags the length of me, the slope we’re on meaning he’s a little lower than I am. “You ready?” “To walk?” I scoff. “Uh, yeah.” I let out a startled squeal when he launches at me and scoops one arm behind my legs, the other around my waist. The shock of it all has me giggling like a schoolgirl while I grapple around his neck to save myself from falling to the ground. “I got you, baby.” The sincerity of those words sinks in, and I fall silent as King carries me the final yards to the foundations for a house. He gently lowers me to the grass and takes my hand in his. It’s warm and comforting, and I’m ashamed to admit I regret pushing him away for so long. If I hadn’t, if I’d swallowed my pride one more time I could have had another seven years of this. Seven years I’ve forever lost due to my stubborn ego. King doesn’t notice the tear I swipe from my cheek, too lost in his perusal of the flattened area before us. “That would have been the living area,” he says, one hand raised to point out the longest section of the foundation. “Big bi-fold doors that opened out onto a deck overlooking the pond.” He walks us forward a few steps, pointing out areas as he goes. “The galley, laundry, our bedroom, and over this side . . .” I tune out, his words lost to the cool night air. Our bedroom. The force those two little words have are incredible. One small statement that describes everything I gave up with such clarity. My right foot stumbles as my legs give out under the weight of regret. King breaks from his explanation to turn and check on me. “You okay?” “Just lost my footing for a bit then,” I say. “I’m fine.” Bright, white light illuminates my booted foot; King has his phone out and he’s turned the torch on. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive,” I snap a little too harshly. I collapse to the ground right where I am, somewhere between what was going to be the deck and Dante’s room. “I’m sorry.” King hits the ground beside me with a whoompf, and sets his phone face down in the grass so the torch shines out toward the sky, giving us light to talk by. “Tell me what the matter is, then. Is this”—he gestures to the ruins of the house—“too much?” “A little.” I rub what’s left of the chill in my arms away. “I guess I’m mostly starting to doubt the validity of what I’ve believed for years.” “Yeah?” He tries to hide his interest, his hope, but fails miserably. I sigh and stare out at the pale moonlight reflected in the gentle ripples over the pond. The place is beautiful. So much serenity to be found in the simplicity of nature. “I’ve never made a decision in my life that I thought was wrong at the time.” “Most people don’t, babe.” “I know it’s crazy that I ran all those years ago, but you have to see it from my point of view.” He loops his arms around his knees, and stares out at the pond also. “I wanted to, but I guess when neither of us invested the damn time in the other, it was hard for us to ever really get to that point, you know?” “I know.” I shuffle a little closer and gently rest my head on his solid arm. “I never told you what exactly happened when I was stuck with Carlos, and at the same time, I never asked you to tell me more about your club so I could understand its importance to you.” “You know I could never have told you much,” he says. “I know that, but you could have told me plenty that didn’t break the rules. You could have told me about the people who you care for, and who so obviously care about you. You could have told me a million things if I’d just stopped and listened.” I swallow hard. Putting a voice to my shortcomings is paramount to slow torture. “But I never did, because I was so wrapped up in my own self-importance.” King’s head rests atop mine. “You had every right to be blindfolded by it, baby. You ain’t Mother Teresa—nobody could have expected you to endure the shit he put you through without you feelin’ at least an ounce of pity toward yourself. You were abused, and I did nothin’ about it.” King pulls away, and runs a stiff hand over his face. “I’m no better than him, really. I knew your situation, and I left you to stew in it for personal gain.” “You did it so you could get the backing of your club,” I remind him. “So you had support and a better chance at getting me to safety. That’s what you told me.” “And it was the truth as much as it was a lie.” I turn toward him. The light from the phone casts shadows over his pained expression. “What do you mean?” “How did you get away in the end?” “With Sully’s help, and then yours.” He shakes his head and chuckles sardonically. “Nope, you did it on your own. You fought back. You haven’t told me how it went down that night exactly, but baby, when I saw you comin’ my way, it was you and only you. You did it alone.” “What are you saying then?” “That we never needed the club’s help if we wanted this”—he gestures between us—“enough. That I had a goal to be the president and make this club what it should have always been, and to achieve that, I left you to rot in hell.” “Don’t think like that,” I chastise. “You’re a good man. Look at what you do for those people. Look at what you did here . . . for me.” I point out at the splintered wood and overgrown foundation.

King reclines in the grass, his hands over his head as he stares up at the sky. “I know, but I had time to think about that when I holed myself up, and don’t you think that all the good that I do, that all the help I dish out, is just my consciences way of leveling out the pain I also inflict?” I lay down beside him, propped up on my elbow, and trace a finger over his nose and lips. “Aside from me, who else have you hurt?” He lists each name off on his fingers. “Mom and Dad; my predecessor, Apex; Dante.” “Guess what?” I murmur, leaning over to dot a kiss on his nose. “You aren’t Mother Teresa, either.” He chuckles, the deep, rich resonance tickling me to the core as he wraps both arms about me and pulls me on top of him. “Do you still think a life with me is too dangerous for Dante?” “Yes,” I answer in earnest. “But I also now know that it doesn’t matter where we are—we aren’t safe.” “So . . .” “So I’d rather be unsafe with you than alone for any longer.” He hums his assent with his large hands placed either side of my head to guide my lips to his. The kiss is warm, contrasting with the increasingly chilly night air that’s bitten at my ears and neck the whole time we’ve talked. I melt into it, allowing myself the moment, giving myself permission to feel without thought of consequence. Do I know where our future lies? No. But the difference is now, I realize that not knowing where the road takes you is half the fun of life. What joy is to be found in predictable schedules, safe surroundings, and the same routine day in, day out? If we weren’t supposed to be spontaneous creatures, then why does it feel so thrilling to act on impulse? Why do surprises bring us such excitement? King’s hands skim the curves of my body and inch under the edge of my jacket to the hot flesh on my back. I shiver under his touch, despite the intense heat radiating from him, and move my lips to kiss his neck and behind his ear. He places both hands on my hips and pulls me hard into his body, the rigidity of his erection painful against my pelvis. “Here?” I ask, aware we’re out in the open with nothing but overgrown grass to give us some modesty. “Baby.” He chuckles softly. “I’m not waitin’ a minute longer. Seven years is hell enough. Another seven minutes and I’m liable to kill somebody.” I laugh and bury my face in his shoulder. “Fair point.” He rolls us over, holding himself over me with one arm while the other hand traces a gentle line along the side of my face. His thumb brushes my cheek before he leans in again and gives me a slow kiss full of all the things he couldn’t say to me these past years. The hesitancy doesn’t last long. Years apart could only dampen the fire, but when two volatile elements are so close together, the result is explosive. Frantic hands jerk at clothes. Hot kisses soften the brutality of our haste. Before long we’re both half-stripped, yet fully aware of what we’ve wasted years to come to realize. Nothing could keep us apart forever. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper between kisses. “I’m sorry for everything.”

FORTY-NINE King Only when you’ve hit the lowest point can you be fully accepting of the change that is to come. Admitting to Elena that my decisions in the past were done out of selfish need, no matter how much I tried to dress them up in the pretty disguise of necessity—that was my lowest point. We’re both capable of change. And for us to make our relationship work, then we’re both going to have to compromise. I’ve never been more ready. Her soft moans, the arch of her neck as she seeks my touch . . . they’re all reminders of why I stayed true to this woman, even when she put me through hell by taking the one thing I wanted most in life from me—my family. Because even the simplest of movements, the tiniest of gestures, and I’m fascinated. I could watch her for hours, days even, studying her every nuance and never grow tired. Yet, I blamed her; I set the reasons for us to pull apart squarely on her shoulders. But with age comes wisdom, and with experience comes the ability to not repeat the same mistakes. I pushed her into a corner. I penned her in a box and expected her to be happy when I lengthened the chain one measly link. Her whole life she’d been shackled and penned to people, serving others before herself. And after I broke her out of her gilded cage, what did I expect? That she’d want to stay confined in another concrete and steel prison, just to be by my side? She had to fly, to feel the wind before she could decide truly and wholly if this was what she wanted. And thankfully, she came back to where she belongs. Right here. Right now. With me. We spend far too long on the damp grass of our dream section, exploring each other’s bodies and reconnecting on a level that I’ve only ever wanted from her. I take her hard and fast at first, afraid that if I hesitate, that if I take my time she’ll have even the most fleeting of moments to reconsider. But when she gives me that rare, genuine smile as we lie together in sweaty, sated bliss, I know I’m wrong. She’s loved me, reconsidered, and changed her mind before . . . and yet here she is. “What are you thinkin’?” I ask, lost by the depth of her eyes as she stares out at the stars. “I’m dreaming,” she answers. “Dreaming of how life might have been if I’d stayed here and had Dante nearby. How our life might look now if you’d finished this house and we’d weathered the storm together.” “And how does it look.” She turns her head to look me in the eye. “Good.” “Tell me more about it.” I reach out and snag her jacket where it lies to my right and lay it over her. She wriggles closer, resting her head on my shoulder, her nose turned in to my neck. Just how I like it. “You’ve set yourself up an office at home,” she starts, pointing to the far side of the non-existent house. “And you do all the things that don’t require you to physically be at the club in there.” I look out into the black, the rooms taking shape in my mind as she talks. “Dante is happy in school. We’ve got a basketball hoop above the garage, and you two have dirt bikes that you ride around on in the weekend. I’ve started my own business, and I work from home when Dante’s at school.” “Doin’ what?”

“Hadn’t decided.” Her fingers drum on my chest as she thinks it over. “Or maybe it’s charity work? I’m not sure—something that benefits people in situations like I was in—abused, used, and without much of a support network to help them out.” I run my fingers through her hair. Deep down, we’re the same really. Both looking for a way to help out those who need it, but also stubbornly fighting to get a fair deal for ourselves. Perhaps that’s the attraction? Who would know. Does love have to be defined? Is it not enough to feel it in every inch of my body and just know? “What else?” I prompt. “Any more kids?” She giggles. “Steady on.” “A man’s curious about these kinda things, woman.” She props herself up on one elbow. “Do you want more?” I flash her a sweet smile and answer, “With your features and my gorgeous blond locks, we’d create a pretty amazing little girl, don’t you think?” She laughs, laying her head down again for me to continue my fussing. “What if it was another boy?” “Then I’d have a fightin’ chance of at least one of them wantin’ to take over from his old man.” I freeze, realizing what I’ve said, and watch for her reaction. She regards me for a moment with a narrowed gaze, and I expect her to rip me a new one about how there’s no way in hell she’ll let our children be a part of the thing she hates the most: the club. Instead, her expression softens and a cheeky smile creeps across her lips. “Think you’ll be president that long?” I sigh, and my hand stills in her hair. “Depends what my woman has to say about it.” If she laid down an ultimatum again, I’m not sure how hard I’d fight. Having her back, finally getting what we deserve, is too good. I’d never fully quit the Aces, but I sure wouldn’t lose Elena over something as trivial as a position or title. “Your woman,” she replies with a smile, “says that you should follow your heart. Do what’s best for us, but don’t lose who you are through that.” She chuckles and shakes her head softly. “I tried changing you, I tried molding you into something you’re not, and where did that leave us both?” I shrug. “Fighting?” “Miserable.” She lifts a hand to gently run a finger along my jawline. “What do you want to do? Can you see yourself leading that bunch as long as they’ll have you doing it?” Her gaze flicks away briefly as a small frown pulls her brow in. “It almost wrecked you once. I don’t want to know what it would do to you if that happened again.” A valid concern. Being the president is stressful, and there are still days when I wish I could simply vanish and recharge. But the people are what make it worth it. They always have been. “I really don’t know what I want to do at the moment. I wanted to quit about the same time I found you.” “But?” “But there’s a lot coming up that I want to see through to the end, and to be honest, if I can find a balance between you and them, it wouldn’t be so bad. I think I hated it the most because it came to represent everything I’d lost.” “Dante and I?” “Exactly.” Her thumb sweeps along my bottom lip. “Can I tell you a secret?” “Sure.” I take her hand in mine and squeeze. “Anythin’ you want.” “I never stopped loving you. Even though I said I wasn’t sure, and I tried to convince myself that I had . . .” She sighs and shakes her head a little. “Nope. The brain can tell itself anything it wants to, but the

heart never lies. Nobody could make me feel like you do if there wasn’t a purpose to it.” I cup the back of her head and pull her close to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. “And what do you think our purpose is?” “To prove adversity wrong.” “I think we’ve already done that, don’t you?” She chuckles, laying her hot lips against my throat. “Let’s do it again.”

EPILOGUE Elena To be honest, I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since King and I stopped battling a pointless war. That night out at what is now our developing house was the moment I let it all go: the hurt, the resentment, the grudges . . . all of it. What good is a life spent living inside a memory? I’d let my mind be trapped in Carlos’s crazy world where nothing I did would ever work out, where all that I tried wasn’t enough. It took a long time, a hell of a lot of heartbreak, and seeing the evidence of what could have been laid out before me in a pile of splintered, charred wood and a lonely concrete foundation, before I realized what I’d done. I’d let the ghosts of my past control the future for my soul. When I let that go, when I cut their ties to the decisions I’d made and let myself actually think about what it was that would make me happy, history be damned, it was as clear as day. To put it in another context: What if I’d met King before Carlos came to Papa’s? What would I have done then? Would his ties and obligations to his club have bothered me so much? Probably not. So why should they now? “You’re an early riser.” I turn from where I’d been watching the sunset brighten the day on King’s parents’ back porch and smile at his mom, Addie. “Dante had me up with a nightmare, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.” “Lloyd at his damn club again?” His mother sighs. I smile, a warmth spreading through my chest at knowing I can trump her with the answer. “No. I let him sleep in. He’s still in bed.” And looking as ruggedly edible as ever. Her eyebrows shoot up, and she nods as though acknowledging the feat. “You are a good influence, then.” “You had plenty of reason to doubt that I would be,” I admit. She flaps one hand at me, the other wrapped around a mug of tea. “Nonsense. We all make mistakes— how do you think I ended up with his father?” I catch her deadly serious expression and blanche. Addie bursts into laughter, and I soon follow, her dry wit infectious. “I’m serious though,” I say, once the giggles have died off. “I’m sorry for the influence I had on him cutting you both out for a while there.” “That wasn’t you, sweetheart. He made that choice himself. I’m just glad he’s coming around now.” “I’m what?” King asks in a sleep-roughened voice. I drink the man in, more potent than a short black in nothing but his worn dark denim jeans, studded belt, and a contented smile. “Nothing you need to worry your sleepy head about.” He smiles, crossing over the porch to lean down and give me a good morning peck on the lips. “Hey, baby.” King straightens out and acknowledges his mother. “Hey, Mom.” “Late night?” she asks over the rim of her mug. “Yeah.” His hand hovers at his side, his fingers twitching in search of mine. I take it, and the gentle squeeze he gives me has worry thick in my veins. “Could you please give us a minute?”

His mom nods, bending at the waist slightly to see around him and check I’m okay with a lift of one eyebrow. I give her a smile and grip King’s hand a little tighter. He watches her go, his thumb tracing a line back and forth over my knuckles. “Try not to worry, babe.” He turns and kneels on the porch beside me. “It’s to do with club business, so I didn’t want her knowin’, gettin’ involved, you know?” “I understand.” I place a hand to his face and lean in to give him another kiss, morning breath be damned. We’ve got seven years of making up to do, and our few weeks, no matter how intense they’ve been, are nowhere near enough yet. Progress has been small, but it’s progress all the same. I’ve accepted that he’ll never tell me what they get up to at the club, and I’m okay with is, as long as he lets me know when the runs are going to be volatile so I don’t worry every damn time he rides off for no reason. Perhaps ignorance would be better, but I also don’t want to be that woman who sits at home telling herself that everything is okay when I should be listening to my gut. If something’s going to go wrong, I want to be at least marginally prepared should he not come home when he said he would. On the flip side, he’s agreed to let us live off-site while the house is finished—hence why we’re living at his parents’ place like a couple of love-lost teenagers. Neither of us wanted Dante to see anything he shouldn’t, simply because we were around if and when the club’s problems came home to roost. King didn’t elaborate, but in his words, “the enemy’s come a knockin’ before, babe.” Dante enjoys the change. Most days he’s out with King’s father after school, learning how to drive a tractor, what to do to set the milking shed up each afternoon . . . small tasks that Addie’s told me they’re setting aside pocket money for in a savings account. Life is . . . normal. Or at much as it’ll ever be. “Did I wake you when I got in last night?” King scrunches his brow with worry. Truth is I kind of wish he had. But he’s tired after a long day; I get it. And when he makes the effort to come back to me, no matter the hour, I can’t complain. “No. I couldn’t even tell you if it was this side of midnight or not.” “About two thirty.” He smiles at my frown. “It’s necessary, babe.” “I just don’t like you riding when you’re tired, is all.” He takes my chin in his hand and dots his thumb to my lips. “I wouldn’t put myself at risk if I thought I was too worn out.” The humor drains from his face. “But I do want to talk to you about what we were discussin’.” I hold my breath. What else should I do? He’s about to break a cardinal rule and talk to me about club business. “Are you sure?” “Positive. After all, it kind of involves you.” Okay, now I’m lost. What the hell could his club be discussing in the early hours that involves me? “Don’t leave me hanging.” He swallows and pushes to his feet. My nerves are instantly shot. My skin breaks out with a rash of heat, my gut roiling. “You met Vince’s kid’s friends, yeah?” “The Butcher Boys? Ty, Bronx, and what’s his name?” I click my fingers and will it to come back to me. “Malice.” “I knew it was an odd name.” My foot taps a constant beat while I wait on the bad bit. “It’s a nickname. Anyway, they’ve been doing a job with us to alleviate problems with none other than

your lovely ex.” “Carlos?” “Is there another ex I should know about?” He twitches a smile, and it relieves me somewhat. “No.” “Things aren’t going as planned, anyway. We’re pretty sure Carlos is going to drop us in it, all for petty payback.” “You never did tell me why you never finished him off all those years ago.” The nail of my middle finger picks mindlessly at my thumb—apparently my foot tapping isn’t enough to relieve the stress at talking about the one person I’ve been happily avoiding. “I struck a deal—he leaves you and our club alone, I let him walk.” “Why? Why didn’t you just finish him off?” King looks to the wood beneath our feet and itches above one eye. “I could have pulled the trigger on him, but I was still at the point where I hoped that the right attitude would stop the cycle. I didn’t want to kill another man for the sake of it if the bloodshed could be avoided.” I should respect his decision, but the majority of me is still mad that the situation they’re in now could have been avoided with a single twitch of a finger. “Why are you telling me this, then?” King stops his fidgeting and reaches out for my hand. I take it in mine, and he hoists me out of the seat, pulling me flush against his body, large hands to my backside. “I’m going to be gone for a couple of nights.” My heart beats so hard I swear it’s going to leave a bruise on his chest. “And?” He reaches up with one hand to stroke the hair off my face. “I’ve called in a favor.” He tips his head briefly to the side in thought. “Well, it’s more a favor to him.” “You might as well be speaking in tongues for all I know of what you’re trying to say.” “You remember Sawyer, right?” “I never met him, but I know he’s one of yours, and also Carlos’s first son.” I look away as memories of my conversation with Carlos, of the knowledge that Sawyer witnessed his mother’s death, surface. “What?” King tips my chin back to face him. “What are you thinkin’?” “Carlos told me once that Sawyer watched Carlos kill his mother.” King swallows hard, and nods. “That’s right, yeah. You understand why he hates Carlos so much then?” “I could see why, yes.” I offer a weak smile. “In short, baby, while I’m takin’ care of club business across state . . .” I lift my eyebrows, ready to shake the rest put of him if he doesn’t just spit it out. “. . . I’m takin’ Sawyer off the chain. I’m lettin’ him go after Carlos.” The world stops. There’s no sound but that of my breath as it ebbs and flows, my heart as it pounds slow and heavy in my ears. It’s the last piece of the puzzle, the final thing that’ll set us free from all of this harbored fear. I place a hand over King’s heart and look him square in the eye. “I want proof.” “Of what?” He knows—I can see it in his eyes. He just doesn’t believe I’d ask for it. “Of his death. I want Sawyer to bring me back proof that he’s really gone.” King’s hand fists in the hair at the back of my head, pulling me into his chest, hard and tight. He dots kisses on my crown and murmurs into my hair the words that have me impatient to reach the end of this chapter of my life, desperate to start the next. “Whatever you want, baby. I’ll make sure you get it.” “When do you leave?”

“Tonight.”

NOTE FROM MAX So what’s next, huh? Well, I couldn’t carry on the finalities of King and Elena’s story without giving the game away for the next two books. They’ll be there throughout Tormented and Existential, and you’ll see the relationship deepen between these two as they finally find balance in their lives. As hinted, Sawyer’s story comes next—Tormented. I’ve adjusted the order of the series slightly. How does he fare against Carlos? What happens to bring the drug lord’s reign to an end? Well, you’ll just have to read to find out. ;) If the Fallen Aces are your first books of mine, and you’re wondering what some of the details are behind why King ends up working for Carlos and who the Butcher Boys are … then I suggest you read the Butcher Boys series—it’s all explained in there. They’re available on all major platforms. Any questions, feel free to get in touch with me through Facebook or my email. I’m happy to do my best to answer everything for you ;)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS You think after this many books I’d have some sort of routine, method, or way of not losing my sanity while trying to meet deadlines. Well, some things never change. I don’t. And so my biggest thanks goes to my hubby as usual. Thanks for letting me dance on the verge of craziness while I wrap up another book. Thank you for letting me find balance between being a mother, wife, and author without criticising my short-comings, and waiting patiently for me to work out the parts that don’t work so well on my own. I’m getting there ;) Thank you to Abbey, my PA extraordinaire. We’re two halves of the same crazy pea-pod at times and I’m thankful you took me on when I reached out to you for help. You honestly take a load off and nudge me when I need it. Thank you. And to the bloggers—thank you again for supporting me and sharing the word. If you would like to be a part of any future sign-ups and exclusive content shares, then hop on over and join my Blogger only group on Facebook here. Same as last time, I’m sleep deprived, and supposed to be somewhere else, so if I’ve missed anybody, just know that I love you and thank you. Onto the next . . .

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Originally born and bred in Canterbury, New Zealand, Max now resides with her family in beautiful and sunny Queensland, Australia. Life with two young children can be hectic at times, and although she may not write as often as she would like, Max wouldn’t change a thing. In her down time, Max can be found at her local gym, brain-storming through a session with the weights. Or, she may be out bumping, and jostling her way along a dirt track with the family in hubby’s 4WD. FOR ALL UPDATES AND ANNOUNCEMENTS – SIGN UP TO MAX’S NEWSLETTER: http://eepurl.com/6bb6f BE SURE TO FOLLOW HER AT: Facebook - Profile Facebook - Page Goodreads Twitter & Instagram: @maxhenryauthor FOR EXCLUSIVE NEWS AND EXCERPTS - JOIN MAX’S FAN GROUP, THE MADHOUSE! Find us here!

TWENTY-EIGHT Elena Is this what death feels like? This unwavering ache that grows until it seems as though the weight of my emotions will crush my lungs and stop my heart from beating? His smell, his touch . . . he has no idea how close I am to breaking, to giving in. But one glance over at our precious boy as he sleeps like the angel he is reminds me why a mother’s sacrifice is the greatest gift she can give her child. I’m doing this for him. I’m doing this so our child isn’t used as a pawn in a crazed power struggle between two warring factions. If Carlos ever got hold of Dante . . . I can’t even think what would happen without feeling as though I’m going to be sick. If keeping him safe from harm means I live every day aching for the part of me that’s missing, so be it. “We should go,” I whisper, removing my hand from King’s face. He sighs and drops his forehead to my chest as he pulls me tighter into his hold. “Don’t do this.” “I’m not doing it to hurt you.” A moment passes with him breathing evenly in my lap, his hands flexing on my lower back. I give in and run my fingers through his hair, fighting the ever-present tears at the feel of his blond locks in my grasp again. I trace the shell of his ear, the contour of his beard on his throat, the fine lines that mar the sides of his eyes. I take everything I can from this moment before it’s gone too soon. “Do you not think I could keep you both safe?” He pulls free to look me square in the eye. I swallow hard and search his dark green irises for a shadow of doubt. But there’s none. He honestly believes he could. “Not forever,” I admit. “It would only take one day, one moment where we both let our guard down, were complacent, and he’d be there.” I rest my palm on his chest and whisper, “You know that too.” A storm rises in his expression, the love lost, and a deep-seated frustration replaces it. “Would you stay if he wasn’t around? You said you can’t compete, but if there was no threat, would you stay?” “What are you saying?” “I’ll kill him tomorrow if it means you’ll stay.” “No, King. No.” As much as I love the thought of Carlos being out of our lives for good, I can’t start the cycle again. “We’ve been there before. Look what happened. I was damn lucky to get away from him; I’m not bringing that kind of trouble back to your club, to these people, if it can be avoided.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him short. “Our happiness isn’t worth the misery or death of any of your people.” I rub a hand over my chest, trying to fight back the ache at the anticipation of his reaction to my next words. “The only way you could take out Carlos and only put us at risk is by leaving your club behind, taking them out of the equation.” “I’m not leaving this life,” he says sadly. “Don’t ask me that again.” “I know you won’t, and I’m not asking you to. I’m simply pointing out that we can’t have our cake and eat it too.” My despair fades as my familiar anger at his stubbornness flows in. “You made the choice about us when you told me your club comes first.” “Why is that such a problem for you?” “It just is.” Perhaps it makes me selfish, but I want the man, all of him, not the leftovers this bunch of

outlaws would give me. I want a husband, a father for my son, not a caregiver who pays our rent and visits a few times a week. I want happily ever after, not settling for seconds. “I want too much of you,” I whisper, “so it’s easier to not ask for anything at all. That way I’m not disappointed at how little I get.” “Fuck.” He pulls away, rising to his feet, and stalks across the room to the bar. I eye his back as he stretches over the top of the counter and rips out a half-full bottle of Jack. He’s bulked out, if it were even possible. His shoulders are wider than I remember, his thighs thicker in his jeans. “You’re looking good,” I say, trying to steer the conversation to something lighter as he downs a hearty swig of the hard stuff. King wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at me with the eyes of a predator. I slip off the sofa and move across to Dante, scooping him into my arms. I have no doubt King wouldn’t hurt us, but that glare—it’s the look I imagine he gives his enemies, people like Carlos. “I helped Mom out with the farm for a while. Dad injured his leg a few months back.” He throws back another slosh and grimaces, hissing between his teeth as he lowers the bottle. “If you’re ready to go, don’t let me stop you.” “King . . .” “What?” he snaps. “I didn’t want to leave on bad terms,” I mumble as I stoop to collect the baby bag with my free hand. A cold, callous chuckle erupts from his throat. “Fuck me. You walk in here and taunt me with our child, then rip my fuckin’ heart apart by smashing any last hope I had of us bein’ something, then tell me you want to leave on good terms?” He laughs, loud and scathing. “How else did you think this would turn out?” “Why are you being so cruel?” Can’t he see what I’m saying? Can’t he understand? “Are you fuckin’ serious?” “This is best for Dante,” I plead. “Don’t make things like this.” “You started it.” He throws back another gulp. “I guess I’ll just go then.” Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I focus on the sob stuck in my throat and turn for the door. “I still love you,” I say. “I always will.” “Strange fuckin’ way you have of showing that.” I hesitate at the door and look down at Dante as he stirs in his sleep. “I guess I just love this guy more. At least, enough that he’ll come first over you, over us.” Turning, I hold King’s heated stare. “I’m sure you can understand that, given where we are, huh?” “Go. Get out, Elena, before I say something I’m gonna regret.” Breathing is hard, the sun too bright as I walk out into the warming day. The snow has melted some, and is wet and slushy underfoot as I head toward the gate. The prospect slides the steel rails open enough for me to walk through and tips an imaginary hat at me as I go by. I lay on the best smile I can for the unsuspecting fool and walk out to my car, leaving what’s left of my ability to feel behind with the man I thought deserved it all. Yes, I did this, but we both knew where causing trouble between Carlos and the Fallen Aces would lead. We were never tipped to win. The odds were always against us. Anger fills my limbs as I buckle Dante into his car seat. Anger at being cheated of a life of simplicity from the start. Anger at having to be born into a family that had ties to the drug trade, at being so desperate to make life better for my mother who’d suffered enough that I walked into a trap laid out by a heartless predator. Anger at the fucking universe for making the man I love a part of the world I want out of so

badly, and at having to give it all up to ensure that there’s one person who gets a shot at a real life out of all of this. “You better grow up and change the world, little guy,” I mutter as I stroke Dante’s head before fitting his little woolen hat over. “For the better. Make this all worth it.”