Page 10

The Fire Pit ain’t just a bar. It’s our damn stronghold. We built it separate from the clubhouse, so business stays business, and the blood don't hit the floors we drink on.

It’s in one of those old brick buildings folks used to say was cursed. We just cursed it harder. Now it pulls in tourists, outlaws, racers, and runaways from Lexington to Louisville. Our biggest moneymaker, and more important, it’s neutral ground.

Or it’s supposed to be.

But the Kings don’t follow any rules. Anarchy is king in this club. I’m just the asshole charged with sorting out the aftermath of the shitstorm my boys bring.

Oaks and Royal walk in with me, shoulders squared, eyes sharp. Bullet’s already at the bar, arms crossed, that look on his face like he’s just beggin’ for somebody to be stupid. My Enforcer, he went in first. Derby and Rye fan out into the shadows, ears open, hands close to steel.

Then I see him.

Knuckles.

Cocky motherfucker from the Depraved Sinners MC. Same greasy mullet, same shit-eating grin. He’s not wearin’ his cut. He knows better, but he don’t have to. Everyone in here can smell a rat even if it’s bathed in cologne.

“Holy hell,” Oaks mutters. “That bastard still stuck in the ‘80s?”

“Looks like Bon Jovi had a baby with roadkill,” I mutter back. “Let’s see what he’s sniffin’ around for.”

I move through the crowd, slow and mean. When I stop in front of him, his chair squeaks like it’s got regrets.

“Knuckles,” I say real cold. “Didn’t know they weren’t taken the trash out tonight.”

He grins, full of rotten teeth. “Legend. You chasin’ that monster? I thought you learned your lesson last time.”

That laugh in his throat’s about half a second from gettin’ knocked clean out of his windpipe.

I step closer, boots scraping the old wooden floor. “Careful what you say, Knuckles. You’re about to find out how much of your face is optional.”

He stands up fast, knocking his chair back. “Maybe I just wanna see if the son fights like the daddy.”

I stare him down, fire already burnin’ through my blood. “You wanna dance with a man who walked outta the woods covered in blood and holdin’ a knife while something goddamn primal screamed behind him? Go ahead. I don’t flinch.”

He scoffs. “You still peddlin’ that Bigfoot bullshit? You didn’t fight nothin’ but a bottle and your own shadow.”

Before I can answer, Royal steps up behind me, voice like smoke and death.

“Wasn’t bigfoot. Prez fought off a creature that ripped a thousand-pound thoroughbred clean in two.

You ever seen a man come back from that?

He did. Alone. Since that night, he’s never lost a fight.

Not in the ring. Not on the road. Not in this life. ”

The whole bar goes still. Knuckles blinks. His bravado’s drainin’ faster than cheap liquor.

Spitting on the floor, he says, “Next time, Legend.”

I nod once. “Yeah. Next time. Run back to Swagger.”

He backs off, tail tucked under all that denim.

Oaks leans in low. “You think they’re the ones behind the threats?”

“Maybe. Or maybe they’re just sniffin’ for weakness,” I mutter. They’ve been eyeing our territory for a while. “Either way, they’ll find steel.”

Cornbread ambles out of the bar, arms thick as tree trunks, carrying two beers like they’re juice boxes. He’s built like a damn refrigerator. He sets one down in front of me and eases into the chair beside mine like gravity’s got a vendetta against him.

“You hear anyone threatening the Montgomerys?” I ask him point blank. Got to be clear with him. It’s not that he’s slow, exactly. He’s just big and words take a minute to get from his ears to his brain.

He leans forward, elbows on knees. “About Paradise Falls?”

I nod, eyes on the fire. “See anything suspicious?”

Cornbread shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

I grunt. “Somethin’s off. Sophie’s wouldn’t call unless it’s dire.”

He eyes me sideways. “You always been that protective over that girl?” Cornbread doesn’t have a filter.

I don’t answer.

Instead, I tip back the bottle, let it sit on my tongue like the truth I ain’t speakin’.

Cornbread sighs. “Look, I told you, before, I’ve been helpin’ out at the Falls now and then. Fixin’ fences. Muckin’ stalls. Haulin’ hay. Ain’t exactly on the books, but they let me stick around so long as I don’t wear my cut.”

“Montgomery’s still got that ‘no bikers’ rule?”

“Yeah,” he says, grimacing. “Old man’s stubborn, even from his deathbed. We ain’t exactly known for peace and quiet.”

I lean back, let my boots stretch out toward the fire. “You like it there?”

He nods. “They’re good people, Legend. Especially Sophie. Got that grit, most rich girls fake. And Mr. Montgomery’s tough as rawhide. Lost his wife and never once dropped the reins.”

“Yeah, well…” I let the bottle hang between my fingers. “Good people still get enemies. Especially when they got money, land, and legacy.”

Cornbread frowns. “You thinkin’ someone’s targeting them?”

“I know someone is.”

He shifts. “Sam’s been sniffin’ around, again, you know. Sophie’s little clean-cut friend.”

That gets my attention. No, I don’t know shit.

“Sam?”

“Yeah. Real white collar, buttoned-up type. Used to take her out to all her fancy events.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Oaks leans in like a know it all. “Family’s got political roots. Daddy was a state senator. Cousin’s got pull in the zoning commission. Old money. The kind that smiles while they rob you blind.”

My jaw tightens. “You think he’s dirty?”

Cornbread shrugs.

Oaks answers, “I think he ain’t wearin’ a patch, but he’s part of a different kind of gang. The kind with judges on payroll and cops on speed dial.”

I stare into the fire, see shadows twistin’ in the flames. “Figures. That farm’s not just land, it’s power. Blood-soaked legacy wrapped in white fences and rose bushes.”

Cornbread snorts. “Still can’t believe anyone’d wanna hurt that family. They treat us all real good. Never hurt a fly.”

I glance at him then. Real slow. “They didn’t?”

He shuts up. Knows what I mean.

Ran my old man outta this town. I got locked up. Our names blackened while the Montgomerys turned their backs. Like we never mattered.

Cornbread nods, reading the heat in my eyes. “I’ll keep my ears open. People talk too much when they drink hard.”

“You hear anything, you come straight to me.”

He tips his bottle in my direction. “You got it, Prez.”

Later, I’m leanin’ up against the side of the mansion, outta sight, smokin’ and listenin’ to the brothers shoot the shit on the porch.

“You really think she knows what she’s walkin’ into, hiring outlaws?” Oaks asks.

Royal exhales slow. “She grew up on racehorses and champagne. She ain’t built for MC blood and war. Things could get ugly fast.”

Then I hear it. A voice that doesn’t know when to shut the hell up. Critter, one of the greener prospects, shootin’ his mouth off like he ain’t got two brain cells to rub together.

“All I’m sayin’ is, she walks around here like she’s untouchable, wearin’ that tight-ass shit and actin’ like her daddy owns the county. Girl like that’s beggin’ to be bent over somethin’. Hell, I’d pay good money to see her takin’ it against that railing, screamin’ in that stuck-up voice of hers.”

My boots hit the porch like thunder.

They all spin.

Royal lifts his eyes slow. Oaks doesn’t even blink, just downs his beer like it’s the last he’ll ever have.

My hand shakes, not from fear, but from how fuckin’ hard I’m holdin’ in the storm.

Next thing I know, Critter’s on the ground, blood gushin’ from his nose, and my fist still clenched from where I dropped him.

I’m on top of him before he can breathe, grabbin’ the front of his cut and draggin’ his scrawny ass up by the collar.

“You think that’s funny?” I snarl. “You think talkin’ like that about Sophie fuckin’ Montgomery is gonna make your balls drop?”

“I didn’t mean nothin’, just talkin’ shit.”

Wrong answer.

“You so damn horny, you gotta talk about a woman like that?” I hiss in his face. “You like runnin’ your mouth about someone under my fuckin’ protection?”

His lip’s busted now, teeth red, eyes wide like he’s just realized I ain’t bluffin’.

“She’s not just some piece of ass walkin’ around the club,” I growl, shaking him. “If I ever hear you, or anyone of y’all speak her name like that again, you won’t be wearin’ your cuts. You’ll be wearin’ a fuckin’ toe tag… You read me, boy?”

Critter nods fast, blood trickling from his nose, lips movin’ but no words makin’ it out.

Oaks lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Prez. Remind me never to talk shit ‘bout your girl.”

I glare at him.

“She ain’t my girl,” I mutter. “She’s under my protection,” I say, blowing out steam. “Our protection. And if I hear one more of you sons of bitches talk about Sophie like she’s some kinda clubhouse treat, I’ll make damn sure you can’t piss without cryin’ for your momma.”

“Legend…” Royal starts, hands raised.

“Save it,” I growl. “I don’t care what y’all meant. I care what I heard. She’s off-limits. End of fuckin’ discussion.”

Silence.

I leave them with their tongues bitten, bloody.

Moonlight spills across the porch like a spotlight when she steps out. Sophie. Arms wrapped around herself, chin lifted but eyes tight. Vulnerable, yeah, but tryin’ like hell not to show it.

“You alright?” I ask, voice comin’ out rougher than I want it to.

She turns her head slowly. “More trouble?”

“Always,” I say, stepping closer, until we’re so close I can feel the heat rollin’ off her. “But you’re not facin’ it alone.”

Her brow arches, lips twitchin’ with something like disbelief. “You make promises like you’re handin’ out candy, Legend.”

“Nah, darlin’. I make promises like a man who don’t break ‘em.”

“Why?” she asks.

I raise my hand and brush a thumb over her cheek. “Because you’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.”

Her breath catches, the weight of those words slammin’ into her.

“You know that’s dangerous,” she whispers.

I lean in, just enough for her to feel the rumble of my voice. “Good. So am I.”

And for a long, still second under that Kentucky sky, we don’t say another word. We just stand there, me and her and all the trouble in the world. But for once, it don’t feel like we’re runnin’ from it.

It feels like we’re ready to burn it down.

Then Sophie steps away. “You’re not reeling me in again, Hudson,” she says, throwing cold water on me. “I’m not that eighteen-year-old girl anymore.”

“Your mine whether you want it or not.”

“Yours?” she laughs. “I don’t think so. I’m not someone you can toss back in when you’re finished playing.”

Then she’s gone, disappearing into the house.

I’m more confused than anything.