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The Pearly Gates cult fans out across the front lawn of Paradise Falls like some backwoods holy militia.

Robes flappin’, crosses raised, eyes blank as river rock.

Some of ‘em got weapons tucked beneath their holy books, like the good Lord himself gave ‘em permission to swing bats and machetes at anyone who don’t kneel.

My club rides in on stallions.

Ain’t no Harleys hummin’ today, just horses with muscle and bikers with hellfire in their blood.

Royal’s already got blood on his blade before we hit the ground. Rye throws a haymaker into some dumb bastard in a linen robe shoutin’ about damnation.

But most folks have laid their weapons down because you fight family with fists, not lead. The sound of fists meetin’ flesh is a kind of hymn all its own.

Me?

I know there ain’t a member of the Kings or resident in Paradise County, for that matter who doesn’t share a family tree branch with someone in this crazy cult. Which means, I have to end this now before more blood is shed.

I ride straight through their lines like a goddamn freight train on four legs, leap off Ribbons and tackle Becki Crowley to the ground right in front of her daddy.

She screams, claws, kicks, fury and betrayal burnin’ in her eyes. I get my hand around the nap of her neck since I can’t grab her hair, and drag her up, press my piece under her chin.

The Reverend goes pale as a corpse. “Legend. Please…”

“You brought this to my door,” I snarl, yankin’ her closer. “You sent those threats to Sophie. You tried to take what’s hers. And she’s mine. This is on you.”

He drops his Bible. “Don’t hurt her. Please. I’ll call them off. I’ll leave Paradise Falls. The church will withdraw, just let her go.”

I tighten my grip and meet Becki’s eyes. She’s breathin’ hard. Not afraid. Not like I expected.

“No,” she says, chest heaving. “I’m not goin’ back to the church.”

The Reverend staggers. “Becki, girl…”

“Daddy, you used me. Lied to me. Tried to break Sophie. Tried to break Legend. I won’t let you do it to anyone else. Not the club. They’re my family now.”

Silence. Just the wind stirrin’ the trees and the horses snortin’ behind me.

Becki is lying through her fuckin’ teeth.

The Reverend’s voice cracks. “Maybe so…”

My head goes sideways. “Maybe fuckin’ so?” I echo his words.

“Yeah, I’m a sinner. I used you Becki, girl. I’ve lied. I threatened to sic Sherrif Dix on Legend if you didn’t obey, but God forgives me. I hope you will, too, my child.”

“I won’t fall for any more shit, Becki,” I say. “You’re as guilty as sin.”

“Let Becki come home, Legend. She’s no good. Send her to me. I’ll set her right with the Lord.”

“I won’t go back there. Legend. Daddy said if I didn’t help him, he’d make me go back there. He has the goods on the Kings and said he’d spill it…. I won’t go back. You know how it is there. Don’t you dare condemn me to that fate.”

Damn. I did know. And fuck, all the talk of him having blackmail against us lines up too good with what Sophie said.

I make a quick decision. “She’s not going back. But…” I start to say she ain’t staying at the King’s.

But the Reverend belts, “Then someone needs to take responsibility for her.”

I growl, “I ain’t takin’ on shit for you.”

“She can’t be left unclaimed. Not with the things she knows. Not with the blood she’s spilled.”

I growl. Fuck. He’s right. Becki has enemies cause of the Kings. Cause of me.

That’s when Royal, smug bastard, leans off his saddle and drawls, “I’ll take her.”

I turn my head slow, give him a look. “You fuckin’ serious?”

He shrugs. “She’s wild, but I like ‘em mean. Besides, you already broke her in and broke her heart. I like to play with broken things.”

Becki looks stunned. Blinks once. Then smirks. “Fine by me.”

I shove her toward him. “She’s your problem now.” I lock eyes with her. “Girl, you ain’t free. You’re a prisoner, and Royal’s your guard until I say different.”

Royal grabs her by the waist, lifts her onto the back of his horse like she weighs nothin’. She don’t fight it. Just looks back at me one last time, eyes dead cold.

It sends a shiver down my spine, but I spit on the ground and address the church. “Get off my damn lawn.”

The Reverend nods once. “This isn’t over.”

“It is,” I say. “You just lost.”

The Pearly Gates fold retreats like fog, robes flutterin’, heads down. They scatter like cockroaches back to their precious compound.

Me? I light a cigarette, hands still shakin’ from rage and bloodlust.

The lawn’s wrecked. But the farm still stands.

And Sophie’s still mine.