Page 17

But I understand now why Mace and Riot are so determined to fix this. I want desperately for Dayna to be a part of this side of my life. I want her to be with me in the clubhouse, drinking, laughing, and to have the support of my club family.

Cleaning house isn’t about the present. It’s about fighting for a future that should be ours.

I always assumed I’d die young because of the club. But Dayna changes that. She changes everything.

I want to be better, do better, live.

By the time I guide my bike into a space in front of the clubhouse, my muscles are bunched under the skin.

I’m already in fight mode when I step into the bar, but the room is quiet. There are a few patched members at the tables, and Riley is cleaning glasses behind the bar, but there’s no sign of Grub or Crank.

Their absence only feeds the paranoia and concern that beats in my chest every time I walk through these doors.

It’s always the same fucking question.

What the fuck are they doing and where the fuck are they?

More importantly, what kind of damage control will we need to do?

I stride over to the bar, burying my unease behind the easy smile I give Riley. Never show weakness. Not here.

I study Riley for the brief moment it takes him to put down the towel and glass and walk over.

I don’t know what to make of the prospect. The kid is quiet, solid, dependable, but I don’t know where his alliances lie.

“You want a drink?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Sun’s barely up.”

He shrugs. “That doesn’t usually matter around here.”

He’s not wrong. Drinking, partying, it’s a way of life most brothers embrace.

I glance over my shoulder at the almost empty room. “Where is everyone?” I keep my voice casual, light.

“Sun’s barely up,” he repeats my words back to me.

It’s a fair point, but time is a fluid concept in the club. Sunrise could be early morning or just going to bed after a heavy night.

But Crank is an early bird.

He is usually here in the morning, plotting new ways to screw over our chapter.

I lace my fingers on top of the bar, wishing I was back in Dayna’s flat. She would be snuggled against me, in my clothes, my smell on her.

My head is so full of this woman that I don’t feel or hear him come up behind me until his hand is on my shoulder.

I flinch, reaching under my kutte instinctively for the blade I keep there until I realise it’s Mace.

“Fuck, make noise next time,” I grumble, shaking my hands out to release some of the adrenaline.

His brow raises. “Do you want me to bring a fuckin’ tambourine?”

“Sarcastic prick,” I mutter, scraping a hand over my face.

I wonder if she made it to work okay.

Mace slides onto the stool next to me. “Something happen?”

Other than falling for a girl I’ve known for five fucking minutes?

I shake my head. “Nope.” I lift my eyes. Riley’s moved to the far end of the bar, but I keep my voice low anyway. “You know where the hell everyone is?”

“Should I?”

Did she get the door locked ? If it was sticky, she’ll be late and she’ll be pissed.

“Where’s your brother?” I ask.

“Rough night with Seren. He’ll be here later.”

Riot’s adapted to being a parent like he’s raised a whole team of kids already. He’s good with Ivy’s daughter.

Mace stiffens. It’s barely noticeable, but I follow his line of sight.

Blade is on the other side of the room with King.

King says something and laughs—too light, too easy. My skin fucking crawls. He hands something to Blade, who tucks it away before I can see what it is.

“Well, that’s… interesting,” Mace mutters.

Doubt claws at my gut, betrayal tasting bitter on my tongue, even though I have zero proof of anything. King could be loyal to the patch. Blade too, for all I know.

“I fucking hate this,” I mutter.

Mace sighs, and I hear the exhaustion threading through it. I can’t imagine the constant fear he has about bringing a kid into this.

“How you do it?” I ask, because curiosity is a fucking bitch.

“Do what?”

“Balance this shitshow and Maylie being pregnant. How do you protect your family?”

If shit hits the fan, there’s every chance Crank’ll use Dayna against me.

And I’ll tear this entire city apart if they touch her.

He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “It ain’t easy. Every time I walk into this building, I wonder if I’m coming back out again,” he admits. “But what drives me is knowing that doing nothing is far worse.” He stares at me for a beat then asks, “You worried about Dayna? Ivy said you two are dating.”

Dating is such an impotent word for what we are.

“You guys are fucking gossips,” I grumble.

Mace holds his hands up defensively. “I’m just repeating what I heard.”

I spot Diesel across the room. Perfect fucking timing. I slip off my stool. “You want to read my diary next?” I quip. “Talk about our feelings?”

He flips me off as I walk away, and I grin. It feels good to be normal, even if it’s only for a moment.

Diesel doesn’t say a word to me as I approach. That’s not unusual for him, but he seems on edge this morning. That makes me wary. The guy is unpredictable at the best of times.

I cast sidelong glances at him as we head out to our bikes, waiting for him to detonate or do something.

He doesn’t.

“You okay?” I unlock my helmet from the bike.

“Fucking peachy,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t offer more, and I don’t push him.

I get on my bike and follow behind him.

I fucking hate collecting money, but today, it releases some of the tension inside me. Especially when two of our regulars come up with a bullshit reason why they don’t have what they owe us.

He folds like wet tissue when I hit him then magically finds a thousand pounds he didn’t have thirty seconds earlier.

Midway through the day, we stop for food, and while Diesel is ordering from a wide-eyed, terrified girl behind the counter, I pull my phone out and message Dayna.

How’s your day?

While I wait for my order, I’m watching my phone until it pings.

Dayna:

I’m three coffees deep and contemplating whether I can bury Margaret from production under the floorboards in the boardroom.

I almost choke on the Coke I’m sipping.

No matter how many times I’m on the receiving end of her sharp mind, she still fucking surprises me. I love that she keeps me on my toes.

Too obvious a place.

Dayna:

Bummer. How’s your day?

I glance over at Diesel, who is inspecting something on the counter like it’s offended him.

Slow. Only thing getting me through is knowing I’m seeing you later.

She starts typing, then the dots disappear. A few moments later, they’re back before they disappear again.

The girl calls for my order number and I grab the tray and join Diesel, who has stuffed himself behind the smallest table in the fucking room. He’s picking at his fries like they’re laced with arsenic.

Just as I sit, a message pings.

Dayna:

Is your dick feeling lonely?

I stare at the message. It’s a blatant deflection, a sign I’m getting too close, that I’m unsettling her. I won’t let her pull back. Not now.

That’s not why I’m looking forward to seeing you.

This time, there are no dots and no reply.

The silence hisses in my ears.

“You’re frowning.”

When I lift my gaze, Diesel is staring at me like I’m a puzzle to solve.

“Indigestion,” I lie. Dayna’s a secret I’m not sharing outside of those I trust.

He doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t say anything either. He doesn’t have to. Diesel can have a whole conversation without opening his fucking mouth.

“You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

I haven’t. “Who are you, my fucking mother?”

He shrugs as he pops the lid off his milkshake. Then he dips a few fries in it, laying them in the burger carton.

That shit is gross enough, but then he pulls out a little sachet of sriracha sauce from his kutte and drizzles it over the top of the milkshake-coated fries.

I’m pretty sure my jaw is unhinged, and my stomach is staging a rebellion.

“Brother, what the fuck? That is the nastiest shit I’ve ever seen.”

He wraps his mouth around the straw, sucking up a mouthful, his gaze lifting the mine as he does. “You’d disagree if you tried it.”

“That filth is not passing my lips.”

He shifts his shoulders while I chew my own fries slowly, questioning all my fucking life choices.

“You’ve been on edge all day,” Diesel says. “Is it me?”

Fuck. The guy might have weird eating habits, but this shit isn’t his fault.

“No, it’s not you. It’s just… people being complicated.”

He nods, his expression thoughtful as he dips another fry into his milkshake. “People can be… difficult , even when you’re doing what’s in their best interest.” He grumbles the last part, like he’s talking from experience.

“Isn’t that the truth?”

My instinct tells me he’s not on Crank’s side and that he is not working with Blade or Grub because Diesel does and has always existed in his own world.

He sits a little straighter, his fingers twitching, as if he doesn’t know whether to reach for another fry, grab his burger, or wrap his hands around something.

“What does it mean when they say…” He breaks off, his nose wrinkling.

But my body is alert. Is he about to spill some club secrets? Or admit something I shouldn’t hear?

“When they say what?” I ask slowly.

He scratches his jaw. “When they say they don’t feel important?”

I’m not sure what the fuck we’re talking about, so I’m careful with my answer. “It depends who said it and in what context.”

His nostrils flare, and his attention goes to the window. “Yeah… complicated,” he mutters.

He doesn’t say another word as we eat in silence, and the burger sits in my gut like a stone as I climb back on my bike.

The rest of the day drags like a corpse behind me. Diesel doesn’t speak again, only to threaten or demand clients. By the time we head to the last business, my kutte is stuffed with cash envelopes and all I’m thinking about is that Dayna gets off work in an hour.

I can’t wait to kiss her, to wrap my arms around her and feel her heat.

Our last job of the day is one of those themed bars. It’s got an Irish name over the door, though I doubt the guy who owns it has ever left England.

He is bending down to get the money out of the safe behind the bar when it happens.

The noise punches through the quiet like a hammer blow.

Glass sprays everywhere as the front window obliterates and bullets spray into the bar.

Diesel drags me down, my knees barking as they hit the floor. My head bounces off the tile as he flattens beside me, covering his head.

My stomach pitches.

I’m not carrying. I have some blades on me, but nothing that can take down guns.

The attack feels like it takes an eternity to end, and when it does, the silence is louder than the shooting. My breaths are loud in my ears, adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

Diesel stands cautiously. Glass crunches under his feet as he moves to the window and peers out onto the street.

“Fuck,” he growls.

I lever myself up onto my hands and knees, blinking through my rolling vision. My head is throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

“He dead?” Blood drips into my left eye, and I wipe it away, wincing as my fingers brush over a cut just above my eyebrow. I don’t even remember getting hurt.

Diesel curses, not in English. I don’t have a fucking clue what language it is, but I know the tone. Pissed-off. We’re meant to protect our clients from this shit. It’s why they pay us.

“Fin,” he snaps the name, and after a moment, the guy emerges, wide-eyed.

“Were they shooting at us? Were they… oh, fuck . Why were they shooting?” he wails.

The hysteria in his tone sends his voice an octave higher and it’s like blades through my skull.

“Breathe,” Diesel mutters in a tone that suggests he doesn’t give a fuck if he breathes or not.

Fin waves a hand towards the blown window and the destruction around it. “You almost got me killed! Who’s going to clean this up? There’s glass and blood everywhere. I thought you were supposed to stop stuff like this from happening!”

He has a point. In the past, our protection meant something.

But now…

Our chapter has become a joke in our own territory. Every day, our enemies push the boundaries, test our limits, and this… this is a sign.

This is a middle finger to Crank and Grub. And what’s worse is we all know our president won’t respond.

If this had happened at any other chapter, blood would run in the streets.

“I don’t know why I pay you. The Sons clearly can’t protect me anymore.”

I should knock his teeth down his throat. I would, but my limbs feel like spaghetti and the headache blooming behind my eyes is hammering through my temple now.

I grip the nearest object—the edge of a table—intending to say something, but Diesel moves like a whip.

His hand wraps around Fin’s throat, and he slams him face-down on the bar. It’s another side of him, the one everyone expects to see, and fuck, he plays the role well. If I was Fin, I’d shit my pants. Diesel looks like he clawed his way out of hell even on a good day.

“Say that again.” His voice is low and terrifying. “I dare you.”

I grip the table edge harder, swaying a little.

Fin isn’t stupid. “I’m sorry.” He spits the words quickly, like ripping a plaster off.

Diesel releases him, but his stormy eyes stay locked. “Don’t disrespect my club again.”

I swipe at the blood again as it drips into my eyes, ignoring that wobble in my legs again.

“You’re bleeding.” Diesel’s words are sharp.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat.

I lean against the bar as Diesel moves through the room. Fuck, I need to sit down.

Diesel bends, picking something out of the debris of glass and wood. It’s a stone. There’s a piece of paper wrapped around it with elastic bands holding it in place.

He glances at me before he pulls it off.

I make my way over to him, ignoring the dizziness and the fact my head is throbbing.

The paper has a scrawled message on it.

THIS IS JUST THE START

I stare at it. The start of what?

“Everyone knows we protect this part of town.” Diesel turns the note over, looking for any other clues.

I open my mouth to reply but my vision splinters and he grabs my arm, steadying me.

“Shit.” I blink through the fog and heaviness.

“You might have a concussion,” he says, almost clinically.

“I didn’t pass out.”

Diesel stares at me for a beat, then says, “Did you know that the human brain can generate enough electricity to power a twenty-five-watt lightbulb?”

What the hell? “Maybe I do have a brain injury,” I mutter.

“We should go to the hospital, just in case. Concussions can be silent.”

“Yeah, maybe?—”

That’s all I get out before everything whirls around me and my knees buckle.

Then everything goes dark.