Page 1 of Fallen Dove (Fallen Lords MC 2nd Gen #1)

Adley

Mom and Dad’s basement was spotless. Finished with recessed lighting, a big flat-screen TV on the wall, and carpet soft enough that my toes sank into it. Even the pullout couch I was lying on was new, with a memory foam mattress that didn’t stab me with rogue springs. It was nice. Comfortable. More than I deserved.

And that was the problem.

Thirty-one years old, back under my parents’ roof and sleeping on a pullout like I was a kid crashing home after a bad breakup. Except this wasn’t a breakup. This was fourteen years of trying to make it in Chicago and realizing the city had eaten me alive.

I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head. Maybe the darkness would erase the past fourteen years.

It didn’t.

All I could think about was how hard I’d worked at that marketing firm. How many late nights I’d stayed to polish presentations, and how man.

“great ideas”

I’d pitched that ended up in somebody else’s slide deck. I wasn’t bad at the job. I was good, actually. But I was always stuck in the middle. Never the big shot. Never the creative director, and never the one in the corner office with a view of the lake.

I thought the grind would pay off. I thought being steady and dependable meant someone would finally notice. But promotions always went to somebody else’s nephew, or the company woul.

“restructure”

and cut off the rung I was climbing. I stayed stuck in place. I worked just to keep my head above water while Chicago kept raising the tide.

Rent hikes. Grocery bills that made you choose between fruit and electricity. Gas prices that felt like theft. And the tickets. Jesus, the tickets. Street cleaning, snow emergencies, red light cameras. There was always something tucked under my windshield wiper, like the city was sending me hate mail.

And don’t get me started on the tolls. That I-PASS beep still rang in my ears. Every drive was like a pay-per-view nightmare. Wisconsin, at least, let you use the damn roads without charging rent.

In the end, it came down to food or rent. Some weeks, I wasn’t sure I had chosen right.

So, I knew I had to go home. I texted Mom with shaky fingers and my pride shoved so far down my throat it burned. Can I come back? Just for a while? She’d called me back within minutes. “Always,”

she said.

“Drive safe. Do you need gas money?”

Not once did she make me feel like I was a failure. Dad didn’t either. The basement was waiting ready with its cozy couch and private bathroom. They gave me space without question.

Not even two days after I had gotten here, I had gone off on a crazy summer vacation with the ol’ ladies of not only the Fallen Lords, but also the Devil’s Knights. That had been a trip and a half.

Now I was back here, lying with the blanket pulled to my chin, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the other reason I’d left Weston in the first place. Mason.

I’d been eighteen and too sure of myself. Convinced that if I wanted something badly enough, the world would bend to give it to me. Mason was thirty then. Broad shoulders and a voice that rumbled when he spoke. He’d been a prospect in the club and was hopeful to be a full member. All the while as I got older, so did my crush on him. I didn’t really notice I was head over heels for him until I turned eighteen. Something had clicked, and I decided he was going to be mine. I might have been a little too confident.

I remembered cornering him by the soda machine with my heart racing harder than the bass from the jukebox. I kissed him, bold and trembling, sure he’d kiss me back.

He did, but only for a second.

Then he’d pulled away with his eyes soft but firm.

“We can’t.”

I’d demanded to know why. He told me I was Slayer’s daughter, and that meant something. Respect. Loyalty. Club first. He said I was too young, and that it wasn’t right.

I’d called bullshit. I was an adult. So was he. But he wouldn’t budge.

So I left. Chicago had always been the school plan, but now it was my escape from the embarrassment of throwing myself at Mason.

That rejection still echoed fourteen years later.

The basement door creaked open.

“You decent?”

Mom’s voice floated down, warm and teasing.

“Fully clothed,”

I called back.

She laughed as she came down the stairs, while balancing a tray with two mugs and a plate stacked with cinnamon toast. She set it on the ottoman and sank onto the bed beside me.

“Morning, basement goblin.”

I pushed myself upright, and my hair fell in my face.

“Mystical basement goblin. Get it right.”

“Noted.”

She handed me a mug. Tea, not coffee. She always remembered.

I took a sip and nearly sighed.

“This is why I came home. For this tea. Not for the rising cost of just living.”

She smiled softly.

“We’re glad you did. Both reasons.”

Her eyes searched mine, gentle but probing.

“How are you, honey?”

The automatic “fine”

rose in my throat, but I caught it.

“Tired. A little embarrassed. But glad to be here.”

“Coming home isn’t failure,”

she said firmly.

“You lasted fourteen years in one of the toughest cities in the country. That’s not nothing.”

“Doesn’t feel like much,”

I admitted.

“I wanted to make it. I wanted… more. Instead, I got tolls, tickets, and ramen.”

“You got experience,”

she countered.

“And you got back here. That’s worth something.”

I smiled faintly, because I knew she meant it. Mom never tried to gloss over things. She just handed you the truth in a way you could hold onto.

She studied me again and tilted her head.

“Do you know what you want to do next?”

“Short term? Work. Save. Figure out what’s next. Long term…”

I shrugged.

“Something that feels like mine. Not just a treadmill I can’t get off.”

“The Social Club’s a good place to start,”

she said.

“Not forever. But steady.”

I groaned and threw myself back against the cushions.

“The Lord’s Social Club. Slinging beers, babysitting cornhole tournaments, and making sure no one throws an axe at the wrong target.”

She chuckled.

“Better than toll roads.”

“Barely.”

Her smile softened, and her hand brushed my arm.

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked. Slayer, no doubt, prowling the kitchen and pretending he wasn’t listening. She leaned closer and brushed a stray strand of hair out of my face.

“You’re going to be okay,”

she said.

“Not just fine-okay. The good kind of okay.”

I swallowed hard.

“I want that.”

“You’ll get it.”

Her certainty was like a blanket heavier than the one around my legs.

I leaned into her shoulder for just a moment, and the scent of cinnamon and laundry soap wrapped around me like it had when I was twelve and scared out of my skin. Back then, my aunt had marched me up the clubhouse steps, handed me off to a stunned Slayer, and told him I was his. I hadn’t known what to expect. A biker with calloused hands and a rough voice didn’t exactly screa.

“dad material.”

But Slayer had stayed, fumbling and trying, and then Wendy had appeared. Steady and soft, giving me space to figure out how to belong.

And now here I was, back again, not a scared kid this time, but a woman who needed to find her footing all over again.

“I’ll be fine,”

I whispered, more to myself than to her.

She pressed a kiss to my temple.

“You’ll be better than fine.”

And for the first time in a long while, I almost believed it.

I leaned against her for a moment longer, then straightened and pulled the blanket off my lap.

“Guess I should probably make myself presentable before Dad comes down here asking if I’m planning on moving in permanently.”

Mom grinned.

“You could. We’d take you.”

“I know.”

I smiled back, heart squeezing.

“But I need to get my feet under me. Working at the Social Club will help, even if I’d rather chew glass some days.”

“It’ll be good for you,”

she said.

“Busy place. No time to wallow.”

I drained the rest of my tea and set the mug back on the tray.

“Then I’d better not show up late on my first day.”

“Good plan.”

She patted my knee before standing.

“I’ll keep Slayer out of your hair so you can shower in peace.

If he gets in here, he’ll talk your ear off about how he used to run the pool table like a shark.”

I laughed as she climbed the stairs and her footsteps faded overhead.

The basement went quiet again, but not the lonely kind.

I padded into the bathroom and flipped on the light.

Bright, clean, and simple, like everything else down here.

I studied myself in the mirror.

My hair was a mess with blonde strands sticking out in every direction.

My eyes were tired, but not hopeless.

My reflection didn’t look like the hotshot I’d wanted to become in Chicago.

But it didn’t look broken, either.

Just… ready.

The shower hissed to life, and water pounded against tile.

I stepped in and let the heat beat against my skin.

Shampoo, conditioner, soap.

The normal routine, but it felt different here.

Like rinsing the slate clean.

By the time I stepped out and wrapped myself in one of Mom’s fluffy towels, I felt lighter.

I dried off and tugged on the clothes I’d set out the night before:

blue jeans, a fitted black tee with The Lords Social Club logo over the chest, and a cropped green sweater over top.

Sneakers instead of boots.

Hair pulled back into a ponytail that meant business.

Chapstick, not lipstick.

It wasn’t glamour, but it was me, and it was enough.

I gathered my things and stood at the foot of the stairs.

For a moment, I hesitated, with my hand on the banister.

Walking up these stairs meant the start of my life back in Weston.

Sure, I technically got back over a week ago, but now I'm starting life here.

With Mason.

My stomach tightened, and my nerves sparked low in my chest.

Fourteen years hadn’t erased the way he’d looked at me that night, or the way his rejection had driven me out of this town.

I had seen him every Thanksgiving and Christmas, but we had always kept our distance from each other.

I had tried to talk to him last Christmas to see what he thought about me moving back home, but he was not at all ready for that.

I was here now.

He managed the Social Club. And I was walking straight into his world, whether either of us liked it or not.

I took a deep breath and lifted my chin.

One step, then another.

The basement door waited at the top, and my first day was waiting on the other side.

And I climbed the stairs to meet it.