The truth is, the thought of the Diablos cutting ties is a gut punch. The Royal Bastards is life, but without the deals, without the alliances…
Can we keep what we have?
Can we protect our own?
“Let’s roll out,” Creed commands, and we move as one, disappearing into the night.
As the roar of Harleys fills the void, my thoughts circle back to Lyric. I have to keep her safe—keep them all safe. If the Diablosare out, we’re in for a hell of a ride. And I’ll be damned if I let anything touch what’s ours.
***
The roar of my Harley cuts through the quiet neighborhood as I pull up to Lyric’s home. Gravel spits under the tires, scattering with a satisfying crunch. My heart hammers in my chest. This isn’t a social call.
“Pack a bag,” I bark the moment she opens the door. “You, too,” I say to her father. “Clubhouse. Now.”
Lyric’s eyes flash with a mix of fear and excitement, but it’s her dad who gets in my face. “Who the hell do you think—”
“It’s dangerous for you and Lyric to be out here alone,” I cut him off.
His gaze goes to Lyric, not Gwen. Not anymore.
It’s the name that ties her to us, to me. To the Royal Bastards MC. His fight deflates, and his shoulders slump. He knows he’s lost her to the life, to the chaos… to me.
“Five minutes,” he grumbles, defeated.
“As fast as you can,” I counter, the urgency clawing at my insides.
They hustle. Bags zip. Doors slam. The night is full of danger.
Lyric emerges, bag slung over her shoulder, looking like sin and salvation. She swings her leg over the back of my bike, pressing tight against me. Her arms snake around my waist, her grip steady. My heart kicks against my ribs. Yeah, this is right.
“Ready?” I ask, revving the engine.
“Yes,” she whispers against my back, sending shivers down my spine.
I gun it down the road, leaving dust and normalcy behind. Her father closely follows us in his Mercedes. The wind howls, blending with the bike’s growl. It’s us against the world now. Maybe, just maybe, we can carve out our own piece of forever—awild, untamed, ride-or-die life.
Creed and Devil and Reaper and Lucy found their way through the fire. Maybe it’s our turn now. As Lyric holds onto me, something fierce and tender wraps itself around my chest.
Yeah, we could be that unit. Solid. Unbreakable.
Against the rush of the night air and the pulse of the engine beneath us, I let myself believe we can make it.
The clubhouse looms ahead, a fortress against the encroaching darkness. The lot is crowded with bikes, chrome glinting under the security lights. Engines purr and rumble in a chorus that speaks of unity and power.
“Stay close,” I mutter to Lyric as we dismount. Her nod, tight-lipped and determined, tells me she’s all in. This is her world now too.
We push through the heavy door, the noise inside slamming into us like a physical force—laughter and shouts, the clinking of bottles. Life in the face of death. Creed has called church, and the room hums with anticipation. Everyone is here, bracing for whatever hell is about to break loose.
I scan the room. There are brothers with their arms around their women or their kids, making sure they’ve got a place to crash. Tension threads through the camaraderie. Eyes meet mine, and nods are exchanged. This is family. When shit hits the fan, it’s the Royal Bastards who stand shoulder to shoulder.
“Food’s on,” a voice hollers from the kitchen, where club women are dishing out strength and comfort by the plateful. The smell of meat and spices fills the air, battling back the stink of fear.
Then she’s there, Lucy, slicing through the crowd, her eyes locked on Lyric. Their sisterly bond is almost a lifeline I can literally see. She grabs Lyric’s hand, and a silent conversation passes between them. They move toward the stairs. Her father follows, his face etched with worry and resignation. He looksback once, our eyes meeting. There’s no blame there, just an unspoken understanding. He’s entrusting me with another piece of his heart.
“Highway, I’m going to get Dad settled in the room across from yours and Lyric’s,” Lucy throws over her shoulder, not slowing down. They vanish upstairs, leaving me stranded in the storm.
“Fuck!” I exhale, watching them go. My room. Our room. A sanctuary for Lyric in this madhouse. She’s under my skin, her name etched into my soul alongside the ink.
