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“Oh.”

Grabbing her food, she made her way over to Big G and nestled under his arm. He looked smug, victorious. Crash sulked.

“What are you still doing here anyway, kid?” I asked.

He squared his shoulders, fiddling with his fork.

“I want to join the Blackjacks.”

“No shit. I figured out that much for myself already. I told you, we’re not interested. Try another club, another chapter.”

Crash bit the inside of his cheek and stared down at his food.

“My…brother used to be a member.”

Damn it. That complicated things. Made the kid’s mission personal, which meant he would be persistent as fuck about it. I sighed and pushed my coffee away.

“What was his name?”

“Darren. Darren Fowler.”

I glanced at Baby Doll, then Big G, searching for recognition among them. They stared back with nothing but blank faces.

“You called him Digger, I think,” Crash amended.

“Shit.Digger.”

Yeah, I remembered him. He died in a shootout with a rival club—the Forsaken MC—four years ago. It was a damn shame, too. Digger had been a good kid, sharp, resourceful, and fearless.

“Didn’t know he had family,” I said.

Crash lifted one shoulder.

“We used to be close. Lost touch when Digger moved out.”

“You looked up to him?"”

Crash nodded, jabbing his fork into his eggs, but he didn’t eat anything more.

“Poor kid,” Roxie whispered.

Guilt slid between my ribs like a knife. Crash wanted to follow in his brother’s footsteps, but that’s exactly why I couldn’t let him join. Because of my club, his brother was dead, and my marriage was destroyed.

Crash was young. He still had plenty of time to make something of himself. Slapping that Prospect patch on his chest would ruin him forever.

“I’m sorry for your loss, kid. But you shouldn’t be here. Get a regular job. Have a regular life. Get married. Have kids. You’ll live longer.”

He frowned and took a breath to fight me on it. But he broke off when the front door opened, and a cop entered the room.

Everyone went dead silent.

Cops and bikers like us weren’t exactly on friendly terms. On rare occasions, we could navigate a gray area that served as a truce, but it didn’t happen often, and only after a significant amount of trust had been developed.

The presence of a cop usually meant one of us was getting cuffed and put behind bars.

“Take it easy.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not here on duty. I’m looking for—”

Baby Doll stepped forward.