Page 42

Danny

The behemoth SUV, a black monolith, swallowed Dante whole, before it peeled away from the compound. The air itself seemed to crackle as King roared, his voice a raw, guttural command that ripped through the stillness.

“Lockdown the clubhouse. Now!” The word lockdown echoed, bouncing off the stucco walls like a hammer blow to my heart. Brothers scattered, shadows thrown into the stark darkness of chaos, each man a knot of coiled tension. King gripped Jingles’ arm in a vise, his knuckles bone-white against the younger man’s skin. I saw it in King’s eyes—the raw, primal terror, the agonizing awareness of his own failure, a gaping wound bleeding into his soul.

It mirrored my own. My lungs seized.

The image of my daughter’s face, her trusting smile, threatened to consume me. I couldn’t breathe, wouldn’t allow myself the luxury of air until Dante was safe.

Jingles, a man etched with a thousand untold stories, a lifetime of violence mirrored in the cold steel glint of his eyes, met King’s gaze. His voice, low and gravelly, cut through the suffocating noise. “Got it, brother. I won’t come back without her,” he rasped, the words a promise stained with the blood of a thousand battles fought and won. The click of his gun’s hammer, sharp and brutal, was a punctuation mark to the vow.

Then he was gone, a phantom vanishing into the encroaching night.

I did this. I brought this hell to the Silver Shadows because I didn’t give Sinclair what he wanted most. The whereabouts of Thena Hartley. The weight of my failure pressed down on me, a physical ache in my chest. It wasn’t just the terrified screams of innocents I failed; it was the betrayal, the gut-wrenching knowledge that I’d sacrificed everything—my principles, my honor, even my life with Dante—for a chance to end the war.

To kill Jane Craven.

Dante’s warning echoed in my mind, a cold, bitter truth I foolishly ignored. He’d seen it, the ruthlessness that simmered beneath Sinclair’s charming facade. He’d begged me not to trust him, to avoid the inevitable reckoning. And I, blinded by my desperate need to protect him, dismissed his concerns for my own selfish needs.

I convinced myself it was the only way.

But was it?

My whole life, my dad instilled family above all. That, with my family, my brothers, the Golden Skulls behind me, I could do anything, accomplish anything. And for a long time, I believed that, trusted in that creed. It was a shield, a comforting weight against the gnawing uncertainty of the unsavory world I lived in. But that shield crumbled the moment fear seized me, cold and clammy, a serpent coiling around my heart.

My fear wasn’t just for Dante; it was the terrifying, visceral fear of failure, of proving my father wrong, of shattering the image of strength I’d so meticulously crafted. That fear, that insidious doubt, whispered promises of a shortcut, a way to avoid the inevitable losses of a prolonged war that started long before I was even born. It poisoned my judgment, twisted my loyalty into a grotesque parody. Dante’s safety became my obsession, eclipsing everything else—my brothers’ trust, my father’s legacy, even Amber’s well-being, though I told myself I was protecting her too. The deal I made with Sinclair felt like I swallowed poison, each drop a betrayal of everything I’d ever stood for. It was a choice born not of strength, but weakness; a desperate gamble fueled by terror and self-preservation. I rationalized, telling myself it was a necessary evil, a calculated risk. But the hollow ache in my gut, the chilling echo of my father’s teachings in my ears, screamed the truth: I’d broken my code.

Now Dante was in Sinclair’s clutches, a tangible symbol of my failure. And worse, Amber was more vulnerable than ever because of my desperate, selfish act. The weight of my decision crushed me. The comforting belief in family, the bedrock of my existence, had become a source of agonizing self-reproach. I saw my father’s disappointed face in every reflection, a ghost of the man I disappointed, the son I failed to be. The victory I craved had become my poisoned chalice.

I traded honor for a fragile, hollow hope, and the price might cost me everything.

“Let’s go, Sypher,” Ghost ordered, as Missy rushed over with Danika in her arms. “Princess, take Dani upstairs and keep her close. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Come on, Missy.” Haizley and Ellie walked over as Ellie added, “We’ve got all the kids upstairs. Dani will be safer up there with them.”

“Who was that man?” Missy asked.

“Not now, Princess,” Ghost firmly said as brothers rushed the women and children out of earshot. “Just take Dani upstairs, please.”

For once, Missy didn’t argue as she nodded and left with my daughter and the others.

“Ghost?” I whispered as I clenched my fist tightly.

“I know, Sypher. I know.” The man sighed as we headed for church.

Walking into church, the brothers said nothing as they each took their seat. Nav was already on his laptop, typing fast, doing what he could to help, but I knew he was missing one key element. Something I didn’t tell him. Something Cesar Vitale gave Reaper before he pledged his allegiance to help Reaper end this war. The truth behind Crispin Sinclair. A truth that gnawed at me, a bitter secret I’d kept buried at Reaper’s request. My silence felt like a betrayal, not just to Nav, but to the very ideals I claimed to uphold.

My loyalty to Reaper, a man I respected deeply, now felt like a suffocating weight. Over the years, I’d watched as Reaper used the truth to condemn those responsible for the destruction of so many lives. Waiting patiently to reveal the truth at the right moment in time for maximum damage. Reaper was good, but I was better. I was the keeper of secrets and now it was my turn to reveal what I knew.

Every keystroke Nav made echoed the agonizing choice I faced. Should I risk everything, reveal the truth and face Reaper’s wrath, knowing it could lead to the destruction of everything I’d worked for? Or should I remain silent, betraying my own conscience?

My hands trembled. I wanted to shout, to confess, to spill my poisonous secret, but the fear of the consequences and the potential harm to Dante paralyzed me. This wasn’t just a choice between right and wrong; it was a choice between two devastating evils. And I knew, with sickening certainty, that whichever path I chose, I would fail. I would fail Dante, fail Reaper, and most importantly, fail myself.

“Where are they going?”

“Nearest airport is in Albin, Wyoming. Thirty minutes away. There’s a small runway there that’s just big enough for a Learjet to take off,” Nav said, typing fast on his computer.

“Where is he taking Dante?” Cash asked.

“New York City,” I muttered, unable to move when a memory flashed in my head.

“You love him?”

I nodded, the unspoken words a heavy weight in my throat. But that wasn’t good enough for Reaper. The next instant, I was face-to-face with him, his cold, dead eyes boring into mine as a chilling growl ripped through the air. “Answer the fucking question.”

Gulping, I clearly said, “I’d burn the fucking world to protect him.”

Decision made, I looked at King and clearly said, “I need the drive I gave you.”

King stiffened.

“I know how to get Dante back.”

“You told me that drive was a last resort.” King slowly stood, placing his hands on the table. “You said the information on that drive would cause a war.”

“We’re already at war.”

“What drive?” Ryder asked, looking from me to King. “Is that the thing Ellie gave you, King?”

Ignoring his brother, King snarled, “Are you sure about this, Sypher?”

“Yes. It’s the only way.”

King slowly sat back down in his chair, took a deep breath and groaned, almost as if he were bracing himself for what was to come. “Fuck, I knew this would bite me in the ass. Ryder, would you please go get Ellie and have her bring Tabby in here?”

The club brother stiffened, looking around the table before he sneered, “What the fuck for?”

“I need to borrow Tabby’s teddy bear.”

“YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD!” Ryder’s roar shattered the strained silence, a guttural explosion that ripped through the air, thick with the scent of stale whiskey and fear. He launched himself from his chair, a coiled spring unleashed, his body a blur as he flew across the table, the polished surface splintering under his weight as Ryder slammed into King, a seismic impact that sent them both crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

The air crackled with the brothers’ collective intake of breath—a silent, feral audience.

No one dared intervene. Ryder’s fists, hard as granite, connected with King’s face, the sickening thud echoing in the sudden, suffocating stillness. Blood, warm and metallic, bloomed across King’s lip. Ryder’s rage, a volcanic eruption, was a physical manifestation, palpable in the room. Each punch was a hammer blow, fueled by simmering resentment, a desperate, primal scream given form.

“MY LITTLE GIRL! She’s been WALKING AROUND with that... that fucking DRIVE all this time!” Ryder’s voice was a raw, ragged thing, choked with fury and something else, something darker, something like heartbreak. His eyes blazed with a terrifying, incandescent light, bore into King’s soul. King, his face a mask of pain and something akin to... resignation, didn’t fight back. He let Ryder unleash his fury.

Cash and Ghost were the first to move, as they tried to pull Ryder off King. “You could have gotten my daughter killed!” Ryder spewed, hitting the man again.

“Ryder, come on, man.” Blade jumped in between the two men. “He’s not worth it.”

“She’s my baby,” Ryder said, looking at Blade.

“I know, brother, and he will get his soon enough,” Blade sneered, turning to look at King as Cash and Ghost helped him to his feet. “Go get Ellie and Tabby.”

Ryder said nothing as he stormed from the room.

Blade turned and glared at King. “I don’t know what the fuck you were thinking, Prez, but I’m standing with Ryder when he demands penance in the ring.”

“Me too,” Jackass growled, arms crossed over his chest.

Minutes crawled by, each tick of a clock a hammer blow against the suffocating silence. Then Ryder reappeared, his grim face a prelude to the scene unfolding. Ellie followed, a storm brewing behind her eyes, Tabby’s weight against her chest, the child’s eyes wide as she looked around the room.

The air itself seemed to hold its breath as Ellie, her movements precise and deliberate as a surgeon’s, set the small girl on her feet. The little girl walked toward King, a broken figure hunched over, his shoulders sagging with the weight of what he’d done.

The child’s small hand, clutching her worn, threadbare teddy bear, reached out.

“Teddy?” Her innocent voice, soft, cut through the oppressive stillness of the room like a shard of glass.

King’s head snapped up, his eyes, bloodshot and hollow, met hers. A tremor ran through his frame as he accepted the bear, its coarse fur a stark contrast to his trembling fingers. A choked, barely audible “Thank you, Tabby” was the only sound that escaped his lips.

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken regret.

Ryder, a man carved from granite, wasted no time. He scooped his daughter into the air, her small body disappearing into the protective embrace of his arms. The sound of their retreating footsteps was a merciful reprieve before Ellie turned, the rage radiating from her like heat from a furnace. Her eyes, glacial pools of fury, locked onto King’s.

“Look at me,” she commanded in a low growl.

King, his face etched with shame, flinched but obeyed.

Then, with a speed that belied her controlled fury, Ellie’s hand lashed out. The sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoed in the stunned silence. The scent of his own fear, sharp and acrid, filled his nostrils as King recoiled under the weight of her contempt.

She didn’t linger.

With her head held high, an image of quiet, seething power, Ellie strode out of the church, leaving behind a wreckage of shattered pride and broken trust. The silence that followed was absolute, a void deeper than any words could ever express only to be shattered by the sharp tongue of another pissed off woman.

I watched as King’s head snapped up right before he jumped to his feet as Jingles dragged Grace into church, kicking and screaming. “Get your fucking hands off me before I cut your fucking balls off!”

“Let her go,” King snarled, the low rumble vibrating from his chest like a tectonic shift that had brothers moving away from the man. We all watched as King moved with the predatory grace of a panther, a coiled spring of barely contained rage, towards the woman whose fury crackled in the air like static electricity. Her hand, a blur of motion, lashed out—a claw aimed at the president’s throat. But King was faster. His fingers, calloused and strong, clamped around her jaw, tilting her face up before his mouth descended. This wasn’t just any kiss; it was a conquest. A desperate, feverish claim, burning with the intensity of a thousand suns, stealing her breath, stealing her anger, leaving her trembling in his grasp.

“Pay up, you worms!” Jackass’ raspy chuckle, a sound like gravel grinding on bone, sliced through the air. The groans of the brothers, a symphony of reluctant compliance—vibrated through the dusty floorboards.

King, his face a mask of smug triumph, released the woman. His smile, a wicked twist of his lips, was a prelude to the explosion of agony that followed. The air crackled with anticipation, a tangible tension that prickled every skin.

Then Grace moved. A blur of fury, a whirlwind of righteous rage. The sharp crack of bone on bone echoed in the stunned silence, a sound that ripped through the sanctimonious hush of the church like a gunshot. The collective gasp of the men, a guttural wave of pain, was almost deafening. Their hands, desperate, scrambled to shield their own vulnerable flesh as the sheer force of Grace’s knee sent King sprawling.

He landed on his knees, a broken puppet at the foot of his own arrogance. Before he could even register the searing pain, Grace’s fist connected with his jaw, a brutal right hook that sent him reeling. The force of the blow resonated through the church, shaking the very foundations.

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” she shrieked, her voice raw with fury, each syllable a venomous barb. The fury in her eyes was as real as the searing pain in King’s broken body. Her rage was the fire that burned away any doubt that she ever wanted anything to do with him.

She spun on her heel, a whirlwind of righteous indignation, leaving King clutching at his balls, a picture of abject humiliation. A heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the ragged gasps for air from the men and King’s low, guttural groan that echoed through the stillness of the room.

“Damn it all to hell,” Jackass groaned, his voice laced with frustration as he gave back the brothers’ money he’d collected.

“I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“Princess.” Ghost quickly got to his feet. “Now is really not a good time.”

“I know, but this can’t wait.”

“What is it, Mellie?” Gunner asked as he and Cash helped King to his seat. I really felt for the man. He was batting two for two. It took a lot to piss off Ellie and apparently King pushed the right button with Grace. The level of anger in those two women was unprecedented, even considering my mom’s and Stella’s notoriously volatile dispositions.

Turning to face me, Melissa said, “You need to finish this, Danny.”

Confused, I looked at the woman. “I am trying to.”

Melissa shook her head. “No. I mean, end it for good. Dante needs Sypher now. You know I’m speaking the truth. It’s the only way.”

“He told me to stay with Danika.”

“She has her mother. But she needs you to save her father, and I need you to save my friend. I know I have no right asking this after the way I’ve behaved, but you have to go. Only Sypher can finish this war and bring Dante home.”

“She’s right,” Nav added. “I’m good, but you are the Sypher. We can only do so much from here. You know that.”

“They’re right, Sypher,” Ghost added. “You have to go.”

Groaning, King grimaced. “Mellie’s right. Go. Take Jingles with you.”

“And Ghost,” Melissa added as the man gaped at his old lady.

“Me? Why?”

“Because you will make sure they both come back home alive.”