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Jagger

A week had passed since Kyle woke up, and though she was stable and cleared for discharge, nothing else truly mattered until she was home. Security at the Compound had been reinforced—every weakness patched, every vulnerable spot fortified. We even had more men coming in, men we could trust.

Preacher was still dealing with Satan, the President of 412, who had his own share of problems, but none of it took priority over her. Kyle was the first move in a game that was about to shift, because everything had already changed.

And now? It was our turn to strike.

We had been prepared for the worst, bracing for the inevitable breakdown that the doctors and shrinks had warned us about. PTSD was aminefield—unpredictable and volatile. There was no straight line, noone-size-fits-allreaction with it either. But as the days passed, it became clear thatKyle wasn’t breaking, she was focusing.

Every detail she learned, every piece of evidence she compiled, every breadcrumb she passed onto Duke, it all pointed to one thing:retribution. I wasn’t a shrink, but maybethatwas the key for her.

Preacher had tried talking to her, easing in where he could, but she kept thingsstrictly business.He didn’t push, but hestayed—always nearby, always watching. And I had seen it, thoserare, fleeting momentswhen Kyle thought no one was looking, when her walls were down just long enough to see what was beneath.

Confusion. Hope. She wanted to trust him, she just didn’t know how.

I had stayed with her every night. I wasn’t taking chances, not withJared still out there.The bastard hadvanished into the wind, but Kyle had been right, he couldn’t hide forever. Duke had putfeelers out everywhere, and it turned out we weren’t the only ones who wanted him dead. There werepeople out there who owed the Ghosts, and they were looking.

Then, last night, the nightmares had come. She had screamed,thrashed, yelled names I didn’t recognize.

The doctor had rushed in, wanting to push asedative, but we had woken her up gently,and eased her back into reality. And that was when Igot my first real burst of hope because she had clung to me. Held ontight, and stayed asleep—calm, steady, unshaken for the rest of the night.

She wasn’t over it, she wouldn’t be for a long time. But she wasn’talonein it anymore.

KYLE

Returning to the Knights compound after being released from the hospital felt surreal. It had only been a few days, but time had blurred, folding in on itself. I couldn’t recall every second of what had happened, but I had pieced together enough.

Data had the evidence and the case against Jared was solid. Duke had been spreading the word among our contacts, but I had my own network to pull from—webs I had woven over the years. Jared had nowhere to run, and when I found him, I was going to make sure he paid for every drop of blood he had spilled.

I had lost five incredible men because of him. Worse, he had turned his back on his own country in the process. Death was too good for him.

Duke and I had talked—really talked—about everything that had happened. I wasn’t over it yet, but I was calmer. And for the first time, I understood. If Duke had forced the truth on me back then, if he had brought Preacher into my life before I was ready—before I had built any kind of foundation of safety—I probably would have run. I had spent years looking over my shoulder, so any shift in my reality back then would have sent me spiraling.

Even before everything went to hell, I had been working through my thoughts on Preacher, breaking them apart the way I had been taught. Analyzing, dissecting, trying to rebuild them into something that made sense. I had been a kid, a fucked-up, traumatized kid. My perception of him had been warped by the pain I carried, the lies Jill had fed me, and the desperate need I had for his attention. But now, I could see the truth in the spaces between my old thoughts.

Tommy had visited me last night, one of the old-timers from the club. I had asked him about my childhood, and he told me stories I had never heard before. Stories about Preacher, the man I thought hadn’t given a shit.

He had talked about my grades, my milestones, my achievements. How Preacher had always kept the MC updated about me. How he had refused to let me ride a bike when I was younger, terrified I’d get hurt—but when he saw how much I loved it, he had ordered a custom Harley for my eighteenth birthday.

It had never made it to me, Jill had made sure of that. But Preacher had kept it. Stored it away all these years.

Slowly, I was opening myself up to the idea of moving forward. The more I broke down my feelings, the more I could see past the pain, past the manipulation, past the fucking mess Jill had made of me. I hated her for what she had done. And yet, I didn’t regret who I had become. If I had never been broken, never been forced to rebuild myself, would I even be here now?

There was no point dwelling on the what ifs.

Preacher had asked for my help with the removal of the MC’s rat—the cliché motherfucker calling himself Satan. I remembered his daughter, Olivia, from when I was a kid. She had never fit in with the club because she’d been quiet, distant, and had carried herself with dignity despite being surrounded by a pack of drunken, reckless assholes.

Her own father had set her up to be sold to traffickers. That alone was enough to justify what we were about to do.

We had to get her out, and the plan was already in motion. Preacher would request that the quarterly meeting between the MCs be held at the 412’s club instead of neutral ground. It was a risky move, but we wouldn’t be going in blind. The Ghosts would be behind us, covering every angle. More importantly, it would make Satan feel powerful and lull him into a false sense of security. He’d think he had the upper hand which meant he’d slip up.

And when he did, Preacher would bring Olivia back here, where she’d be safe.

I wasn’t sure if he planned to tell her the truth about what her father had done. I didn’t know if she could handle it. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if I could. Maybe, in this case, ignorance was a mercy.

And then there was Jagger.

The moment I was wheeled off that plane, I knew I had already forgiven him. I had heard his voice when he told Preacher to tell me the truth. I had seen the pain in his face, the weight he had carried every second since. I couldn’t say what I would have done in his place, it had been Preacher’s secret to tell.

And when I really thought about it, he had been dropping hints for a while.

That first night in the hospital, when the nightmare hit, and I curled up against Jagger—when I let myself need him—I had known. We still needed to talk. But there was one thing I was certain of, I wasn’t living my life without him.

I just didn’t know how to tell him that yet.

JAGGER

“You wanna know how to get past this shit, man?” Gauge’s voice cut through the night, low and steady, as he walked up behind me.

I didn’t turn right away. My eyes stayed locked on the fields stretching beyond the clubhouse, the vast expanse now bordered by a wall that wrapped around every inch of Knights territory. It hadn’t always been like this. Before, there had only been a wire fence, a flimsy barrier meant to keep people out but nowhere near enough to stop what had happened. Now, Ghost-designed security systems were embedded across the land. Concealed cameras, motion detectors, and pressure-sensitive triggers. All of them were Data’s creations, ensuring no one got the drop on us again.

It didn’t mean we were untouchable, though. But the next son of a bitch who tried to come at us, we’d see them coming.

I exhaled and turned slightly, meeting Gauge’s gaze. He stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his cut, his usual calm, unreadable expression in place. He was our Sergeant at Arms, the trusted second to Preacher. The man who always knew when to step in and when to stay the fuck out.

“What shit?” I asked, keeping my voice even.

“Kyle.”

My stomach tightened, but I shrugged, keeping my face blank. “I’m not with you, man. What shit with Kyle?”

Gauge sighed, like he was talking to a goddamn idiot.

“She’s forgiven you, Jag.” Gauge let the words settle, giving them weight. “Anyone with half a brain can see that.” I clenched my jaw but stayed silent. “Don’t dwell on the shit.” His tone was firm, certain, like he was stating the simplest truth in the world. “Just show her the real you, the way she shows you her real.”

With that cryptic-as-fuck statement, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, more confused than I had been in my entire goddamn life.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Dragging a hand down my face, I exhaled sharply, frustration curling through me. Why did he have to talk in riddles? Shaking my head, I let my gaze drift back to where I’d been looking before Gauge decided to hit me with unsolicited wisdom.

The targets.

Still lined up in the field, in the same spot where Kyle had taken her shots from the roof that day.

And just like that, it hit me. I knew exactly what Gauge was saying.

And more than that—I knew exactly what I was going to do.