Page 65

65

Raven

A sh, rubble, broken bricks and beams. That's all that used to be left of the bar, which served as one of my first happy places here. My sanctuary in the chaos that surrounded me. Now, the lot is empty, finally cleared away for the new structure to be built.

Miguel, Jesse, and I have been planning everything for the bar's revival. After the Bastards burned it down, I'm sure they felt they'd won after taking from us something so dear. Now, look where they are—ashes in the wind and a stain on tattered soil.

They tried to take from us, tried to break us down, but they failed. We overcame everything they threw at us with fervor. In the process, we showed every rival club around what happens when they mess with the Sons (and daughters) of Sorrow.

No matter what they do, we'll always bounce back. We'll always rise from the ashes stronger than before.

Miguel and the contractor are going over building plans when Dad rolls up on his Harley, and yeah, it's still weird as fuck thinking of him as Dad instead of Viper, but after everything that's happened, he's earned it. And that's not the strangest change that's happened lately. The warm body lingering at my back is still the most surprising.

Him. Reaper.

What he's become to me is the one thing I never saw coming. I thought for sure that my cold and stony heart was too closed off to feel anything like this, but he's proven me wrong. We haven't declared anything other than our claim on one another. That four-letter word has never escaped his mouth or mine in the time we've been together, but I feel it. I see it in his eyes and in the way he gravitates around me.

We're like two magnets drawn together by this invisible force we fought for so long. When I first got here, I hated him, or at least I thought I did. Maybe I just wanted to hate him so I could hate this place and the club as ferociously as I thought I should. I wanted to hate the Sons and the dad who'd abandoned us. I wanted to hate everything and everyone in this place, but I couldn't. Not in the end.

I somehow found my place here, and the club found a place inside my heart of stone. Nix and Mom were the only family I knew before. Now, that family has grown tenfold. The Sons somehow found a way to etch themselves deep within me and Nix, marking us as theirs and vice versa. They'd do anything to protect us; I know that now, and I'm more than grateful to have them on our side.

The gravel crunches under Dad's feet as he approaches, eyeing Reaper with every step. He still doesn't seem amused that his enforcer started shacking up with me, but he hasn't rallied against it either. Instead, he gives us curious but cautious once-overs from time to time, and the speech he gave Nix and Raptor when he found out they were together was shared with us too.

It was shorter and far more awkward, consisting of sharp glares and a quick message of "If you hurt her, the boys know where to bury your body." Reaper's grunt and glare of his own was his only response until I added that his corpse would be buried without a cock if he ever betrayed me. That earned me a tiny twitch of his lips and an eye roll but made Dad's face turn forty shades of purple and green.

I couldn't tell if he wanted to yell, puke, or punch Reaper in the dick for my caveat and all that it implied. To his credit, he did none of those things, instead opting to walk away, mumbling curses under his breath. Call me twisted, but I still enjoy riling him up like that. If he wants to comment on my personal life, he deserves to feel at least a little uncomfortable.

When Dad reaches us, he tips his chin to Reaper in acknowledgment before crossing his arms and asking Miguel how everything is coming with the bar. I listen in, feeling the excitement and anticipation growing inside me as he shares our plans for the new place. I can't wait until it's done.

Since my recovery, I've picked up a few shifts at the gym, teaching self-defense classes. It's been a nice change, and I may continue even after the bar is complete. After all, both places helped me feel like I belonged here. They were my happy places, my home away from home.

Huh, home . . .

Shit, that's what this place has become. My home. I've found a home and built a family—sure, it's one big, crazy, fucked up family, but it's mine—and I wouldn't have it any other way.

My neck starts to tingle with awareness as a car pulls up, and a man steps out, calling Dad over to him. My stomach starts to flip as I recognize his face, Sheriff Harding. Even out of uniform, I recognize him. His thick mustache, deep scowl, and penetrating gaze give him away.

Wariness creeps into my bones as I watch their exchange. The club hasn't been implicated in the mess with the Bastards so far, but that doesn't mean things will stay that way. It only takes one piece of evidence that screams Sons of Sorrow for everything to come crashing down. Even with the men Dad has on the inside, nothing is guaranteed. And the Sheriff has been gunning for this club for a long while now. I know he'd love to be the one to put them all behind bars.

I keep my face neutral as I strain my ears, hoping to catch wind of what they're discussing. I'm listening for the dreaded confirmation—the sign that my whole world is about to be turned upside down again.

"Don't know if you've heard or not," the Sheriff starts, "but your little gang problem has been dealt with."

Dad feigns surprise and confusion. "Whaddya mean?"

The Sheriff scoffs, "The Desert Bastards. You know, the fuckers who shot up your house and set fire to your bar—they're dead and gone."

"That so?"

Harding eyes Dad with suspicion as he continues. "Yep, seems someone decided to kill the whole lot of 'em." His gaze narrows on the Sons' president.

Dad shakes his head as his eyes shoot to his forehead. "Well, ain't that somethin'. Guess that bitch, Karma really does come around."

I see the Sheriff's jaw tense as he appraises my father. "Yeah, guess so. Seems the Bastards' VP was vying for a promotion. He reached out to my office a while back spewing some story that his club president was going off the rails. Said Scar was getting his boys into shady shit and taking things down a road none of them wanted.

"Said he had evidence to put his Prez behind bars for life. Claimed he and the others never wanted any part of it, but Scar forced them into a world of crime. We figured he was just trying to use our office to take out the boss so he could step in to lead the gang."

What the fuck?

His eyes study the man before him, looking for any reaction. When he doesn't get it he adds, "Also mentioned you and Scar used to be good buddies. Ran in the same crowds, got locked up together a time or two. Care to enlighten me, Prez ?"

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Who knew what the hell Dom told the cops. What evidence he had that could put the Sons behind bars. What the Sheriff could now use against them . . .

My stomach sinks, but Dad keeps his cool. I watch in astonishment as the Sons' leader gives nothing away.

With a shrug, he tells the Sheriff, "Scar and I grew up together. Used to be friends. Joined the Sons around the same time. Got into a few scuffles along the way. We had a falling out years ago, though. He thought the club was going to be some cool criminal enterprise that would earn him clout and get him laid. He fucked off and made his own club when he found out the Sons were just a bunch of guys who liked Harleys and beer a little more than the average Joe."

He chuckles as he tapers off his response, delivering the lie so well that I almost believe him. Harding doesn't seem as impressed as he huffs out a breathy laugh of his own. "So, you claim the Sons are squeaky clean then?"

Dad's mouth twitches as he replies, "Well, not quite."

My heart rate doubles as I listen. Fear starts seeping in. What the fuck is he doing?

"It's awful hard to stay squeaky clean with motor oil on your hands and under your nails," Dad says with a broad grin.

He’s toying with the Sheriff and making my anxiety spike. Cheeky fucker . Harding is less than amused, and everyone can see his scowl deepen. Dad won't slip up; we all know it, the Sheriff included. So, after several beats of silence, he nods a few times and continues.

"Funny how Dom's little mutiny turned out. Got into a shootout with Scar's boys in a lot surrounded by old gas and propane tanks. Blew everyone to kingdom come."

"No one ever accused Dom of being very smart," Dad replies.

"'Spose not. Starting a firefight in a lot filled with explosives isn't exactly brilliant work for someone looking to take over a club. Almost like he didn't plan it at all."

Dad smirks at the Sheriff. "Is it protocol to discuss the details of an active investigation with civilians? Or are you trying to butter me up for somethin'?"

He nods to the car sitting a few meters away. "The cruiser need engine work or an oil change? Is that why you're here? Tryin' to exchange case details for a free tune-up?"

A grumble escapes Harding's lips as he sneers at Viper. "Just delivering a friendly message."

"And that is?"

"Your club doesn't have to worry about the Desert Bastards anymore. But the next time I catch wind that a motorcycle gang is disturbing the peace in my city, I know right where to find you, Viper ."

Somehow, Dad's face gives nothing away as he meets the Sheriff's eye. "Message received."

The men continue their staring contest until the Sheriff finally walks to his car. He stops short after opening the door and calls out once again. "Keep your boys in line, Elias! If any of them puts so much as one toe out of line, I'll come down on you with everything I've got."

Dad brings two fingers to the side of his forehead in a mock salute. "10-4, officer."

With one last glare, Harding hops in his cruiser and tears off, leaving us reeling. "He gonna be a problem?" Miguel asks.

"No. Just spread the message that we all need to lay lower than usual. Gotta be on our best behavior until this mess with the Bastards blows over. I'll contact our boys inside and make sure they double down on clean-up. Nothing from that warehouse will lead back to us."

I hope he's right. The Sheriff is gunning for the Sons; that much is clear. He'd take great pleasure in locking every last one of them up and throwing away the key. The thought fills me with dread. They're not the most law-abiding citizens, for sure, but they're my family.

The one I never asked for.

The one I thought I could live without.

The one I never want to give up.