Page 40 of Malachi (Outsiders MC #1)

Malachi

I line up my next shot, but my eyes drift. Again. She’s behind the bar, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp, lips pulled into that tight, focused line she does when she’s trying not to let on she’s nervous. Candace.

Kyle’s showing her the ropes, walking her through the chaos of a Friday night at the clubhouse. Loud music, louder laughter, bodies moving in and out in a tide of denim, leather, and smoke. There she is in the middle of it all, cool as hell. Fierce. Holding her own.

She fits. She doesn’t know it yet, but she does.

Nash breaks, clean and brutal, then sinks two stripes with focus that says he’s been waiting to show off. I don’t even react; barely notice, really. My cue hangs forgotten in my hand.

Then Frankie walks in. She always notices more than she lets on. One glance at me, one glance at Candace, and I already know what’s coming.

She heads to the bar, leans on the counter like she’s home, orders a drink, opens a tab.

She and Candace talk for a few minutes. I can’t hear what they’re saying over the bass line and laughter, but Candace is smiling.

Not just polite-smiling either. The real kind.

The one that tightens something in my chest.

Frankie strolls over, takes a slow sip of her drink, and eyes me over the rim. “You finally got her to agree to work here.”

Nash snorts as he lines up another shot.

“I didn’t do anything,” I say, voice low, eyes still drifting back toward the bar. “She told me she was done with that country club job. Hated it. I just reminded her we still had a spot open. She made the call.”

“She’s doing great,” Nash adds, casual but not careless.

Frankie hums. “East said Kyle’s patching in soon?”

Nash takes the shot and drops another ball as if it’s nothing.

“Vote’s Monday,” I say, jaw ticking as I realize I’m already down by three. “Can you tattoo him that night?”

“Yep,” she says simply, sipping her drink again.

Prospects can’t get the ink until they’re voted in.

It’s a rule. Tradition. Earned, not given.

The patch is always on the left side of the chest. Same place the heart beats.

The emblem depicts a lone, battle-scarred wolf howling toward a crescent moon, its posture both proud and haunted.

Smoke and fire swirl around it, creating a chaotic yet powerful backdrop that frames the wolf in defiant isolation.

One of its eyes glows a fierce red, while its face bears visible scars.

Each mark a story of survival. Beneath the scene, a weathered banner curls around the flames, etched with the words: “For the Forgotten, By the Forsaken.”

Rendered in stark black and crimson ink, the design balances rage and resilience. A symbol of those who walk alone not by choice, but by necessity. It’s not just a tattoo. It’s a declaration. A vow. A warning.

I look at Nash’s chest, the edge of his tattoo peeking out from his shirt collar. Then I look back at Candace.

She’s laughing now at something Kyle said, maybe. The sound cuts through the noise, sharp and sudden, flaring bright in the dark.

I wonder how that ink would look on her. Just the banner. Not the wolf, Old Ladies don’t get the full emblem, but still. For the Forgotten, By the Forsaken.

Would she want it? Would she let me take her there to that place of permanence, of claiming, of belonging?

I don’t know. But I’m going to ask. Eventually. When she’s ready. When I am.

“We think a family karaoke night’s the move,” Kyle says, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s pitching something dangerous instead of a cookout and a few off-key duets. “Low-key. Easy to plan.”

East lights up brighter than a damn Christmas tree. “Oh, hell yes! I’m singing Achy Breaky Heart.”

I snort into my drink. “God help us all.”

“No one wants to hear that,” Nash mutters, not even glancing up from his phone. The tone is so dry it could crack concrete.

East clutches his chest, staggering a step as though he’s been shot. “You wound me, brother. That song raised me.”

“Explains a lot,” Knox murmurs, earning a few chuckles.

This is one of our full club meetings. We hold them once a month, every patched member present unless they’re dead or bleeding. We handle business and vote. Every once in a while, someone throws out a wild idea that actually sticks.

I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Get the girls to help plan it. We’ll close the clubhouse Thursday night. Throw something casual together. Grill out, desserts, bring the kids. Keep it easy.”

“Why close the club?” James asks. “Let the neighborhood come too. Could be good for us. Show people we’re not just patched leather and loud engines. Might be nice to make it a regular thing. Once a month or every other.”

I nod slowly, arms folding across my chest. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s time we showed them the good we do. Make some memories.”

“That a vote?” Knox asks.

“Feels like one,” I say.

“Unanimous,” James says, lifting a hand. “Yay.”

“Yay,” Knox echoes.

“Yay,” Nash mumbles.

“Hell yes,” East throws in. “As long as I get a duet with Maggie.”

“You try to sing with my wife,” James warns, “I’ll show you what a broken heart really sounds like.”

The table bursts into laughter. Kyle nearly chokes on his water.

“Alright,” Knox says, still grinning. “That’s settled. But we do have one thing we actually do need to vote on.” He looks toward Kyle with a nod.

My smirk spreads slowly and deliberately. “Mm. I don’t know. Think he’s ready?”

Kyle stiffens the way someone does when they get called on in school. “Ready for what?”

Nash looks up then, one brow raised. “You’re sweating.”

“I’m not—” Kyle wipes his palms on his jeans. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Stop yanking the kid’s balls,” East says. “He’s practically vibrating.”

James chuckles, warm and proud. “Let’s vote.” He raises his hand. “Yay.”

“Yay,” Knox says.

One by one, we all follow. Kyle’s blinking, struggling to believe what just happened. I grab the gavel, give it a sharp knock. “It’s official.”

Kyle’s mouth opens, then shuts. “Damn.”

“Frankie’ll be by soon to do your tattoo,” I tell him.

“You’re getting inked, baby boy!” East whoops, yanking Kyle into a headlock. “You ready to cry?”

“Get off me!” Kyle laughs, shoving at him.

I nod to a prospect near the door. He throws it open to let the old ladies know the meeting’s over.

Candace is the first one through, hoodie sleeves shoved up, damp hair twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. She scans the room, eyes sharp, checking for threats. Still waiting for someone to tell her she doesn’t belong.

I don’t give her the chance. I reach out, catch her wrist, and pull her into my lap.

She stiffens, tense and straight-backed, ready to bolt. But when I wrap an arm around her waist and don’t let go, she doesn’t move away. Knox glances over, smirking, but says nothing.

“We were just voting,” I murmur near her ear. “You just missed the fun part.”

“East got verbally destroyed,” Nash adds helpfully.

Her eyes flick around, landing on East who is, predictably, sulking. Slowly, I feel her settle. Just an inch of weight easing into me. Then two. It’s enough to make something in my chest go still.

“You like karaoke?” Kyle asks, voice hopeful.

She shrugs, a little too quickly. “Not if East is singing.”

But her fingers tug at the edge of her hoodie sleeve, and her gaze flicks away for a second too long. There’s something behind the sarcasm. Nerves. A private truth she’s not ready to share. Maybe karaoke means more than a joke to her. Maybe it’s a secret she’s never said out loud.

“Oh come on!” East throws his head back. “Y’all act like I’m tone-deaf!”

“You are tone-deaf,” Ruby announces as she strolls in. “What’d I miss?”

“Kyle’s getting his patch inked,” Knox says.

Candace’s gaze shifts to Kyle. “Really?” He nods, ears red. “Welcome to the family,” she says, voice low but real. It lands harder than anything else tonight.

“I’m bringing cupcakes,” Ruby says. “But only if East promises not to sing Achy Breaky Heart.” Then, nudging Candace, “I’ll save you one of the good ones. Extra frosting.”

“I still think Malachi only offered me a job so I’d stop threatening to poison the country club’s espresso machine,” Ruby adds.

“You’re not wrong,” I mutter.

“I make no such promises,” East declares.

Frankie’s already unpacking her tattoo gear, glancing up just as Darla wanders over to her side.

Their arms brush, and Darla leans in close, whispering something that makes Frankie snort.

She passes Darla a soda without missing a beat.

Their heads tilt together, drawn as if gravity favors them that way.

Then Darla, almost shyly, looks toward East. “Maybe I’ll sing one with you.”

East’s eyes brighten, expression lit with joy saved for a loaded mic. “Hell yeah, you will.”

Something passes between them. It’s barely a flicker, but it sticks. I watch it settle in Darla’s eyes. That careful look of someone trying not to hope.

And I wonder, just for a second, does East know? Does he remember what happened months ago? That night with her and me, blurred by anger and bad decisions? If he does, he hides it well.

“You’re a menace,” Frankie mutters, already unpacking her tattoo gear.

Candace laughs—surprised and soft, the sound slipping out before she can stop it. It sinks into my chest, spreading warmth through iron.

Sloane’s not here, hospital shift, but Knox keeps glancing toward the door anyway. His hand brushes his phone. Doesn’t pick it up. Doesn’t have to.

Candace’s eyes drift to Frankie’s setup, lingering on the ink bottles like she’s imagining what that needle might feel like on her skin. She doesn’t ask. But I see the question bloom behind her eyes. The want. The fear. The thought of permanence.

She’s not all the way in. Not yet. But she’s here. For tonight, that’s enough.