But I didn’t come here for war or nostalgia.
But it looks like it’s too late for that. Because... he explodes.
Three
It all comes down to this moment. Are you ready? Because I’m not.
Before the meeting
Why the hell is Don Barone sending his new lackey to meet with me today of all days? It doesn’t make sense. Short notice, vague explanation, and zero details. Supposedly, it’s so the new guy can “get familiar with how my club does things.” Yeah, right. Barone’s tone told me there was more to it. And no matter how hard I pushed, he wouldn’t say a word over the phone.
That tells me all I need to know—something’s not right, so I’ve got my guard up.
As Chapter President, I had to take this meeting or deal with the fallout. And while things are solid between us and the Barones, it doesn’t take much to knock a good thing off balance. Even if I didn’t want to—especiallysince today’s my baby girl’ssixteenth birthday cookout—I’m here. Because the last thing I want is a pissed-off Mafia Don.
So, yeah. I’ll sacrifice an hour or two to keep the peace. That’s the game we play.
The ol’ ladies, mine included, hate that club business always comes first. But they know what this life is. It feeds our families, pays for the roofs over their heads, the cars they drive, the plastic surgery, and designer bags. Even the ungrateful ones benefit. Every brother here knows his woman loves the lifestyle. So whining about how we run shit? That won’t ever go over well.
My girl Luna begged for a party at the clubhouse, and who the hell am I to say no? She’s a good kid—smart, respectful, doesn’t run her mother ragged. So I said fuck it, let’s do it. We shifted our upcoming family day and merged it with Luna’s birthday bash. Two birds, one stone. Club’s fed, I’m not hemorrhaging cash, and my ol’ lady can’t say shit about me not showing up.
I’ve been holding the gavel for about seven years now. My father, James “Brick Shithouse” Masterson, ran this chapter for over thirty. The man was a legend. Built this club into one of the West Coast's most feared, respected MCs. Satan’s Keepers are our only real rival on this side, and even they can’t touch the size or reach we’ve built. Still, those bastards stay crawling out of the woodwork. Quiet lately, though. Too quiet. Which has me thinking it would be good to have Dallas and Hound run a check. Silence in this life? It’s never a good sign. Quiet means plotting. Plotting means war. And I hate wars I didn’t start.
We’ve got over 80 patched members and a compound big enough to be its own town. Years ago, some hotel chain bought up all this farmland to build a resort. Halfway through construction, they went bankrupt. My Pop snatched the landand the half-built hotel for next to nothing, turned it into our clubhouse. Been home ever since.
After Pop left the service, he patched in with the mother chapter back in Maine. He talked Grandpop into handing over a chunk of his land to start this West Coast chapter. A few of the old guard came with him, and the rest is history. Now we’ve got brothers raising families here, expanding our reach. Some old-timer farmers sold us their land once they got tired. We help the rest when needed—they’re like family.
No, we’re not a legal club, but we don’t have problems with the law either. We’ve got hands in all kinds of pots—gun-running, protection for the Barones, and a couple dozen clean businesses that keep us legit on paper. As far as I know, everything’s running smooth. Doesn’t mean I get to relax. Shit always finds a way to slip through the cracks. I do my best to plug every one of them.
We’ve worked with the Barone family for over two decades. That deal was inked the day before the worst day of my goddamn life. I hate thinking about it. Hate thinking abouther. About how bad I fucked it all up. My pride. My ego. That one damn day blew a hole straight through my chest—and it’s never really closed. I shake myself out of my thoughts as I look down at my watch.
Almost time for the meeting.
I peel myself away from Heather—my ol’ lady—and scan the crowd for Luna. I spot her laughing, standing too close to Daniel, Bam’s son.Toodamn close.
I whistle, loud and sharp.
The whole yard freezes. Every head turns.
Daniel clocks me and wisely takes a few steps back from my daughter. Smart move, kid.
A few of my brothers chuckle. My ol’ lady and Luna both glare daggers, but I don’t give a fuck. Everyone knows how protective I am about my girl. Ain’t a damn thing subtle about it. She’s not dating till she’s old, gray, and preferably retired.
That’s a fact.
According to Heather—and damn near everyone else—I’m full of shit. But I’m dead fucking serious. I know what boys are like. Iwasthat boy. Hell, I was worse. Lying, cheating, and using girls without a second thought. Didn't even flinch untilher.
The pang hits hard. Sharp and sudden. Almost knocks the wind out of me. I rub my chest, shake my head, try to shove her ghost back in the dark. Today ain’t the day to be drowning in regrets. Today’s about Luna.
Once I’m sure that little shit Daniel is keeping his distance, I lean over to Heather and tell her I’ll be back after handling some club business. She glares. Huffing. Pissed like always. I already know I’m catching hell for this later. She should be used to it by now—the club comes first. Ithas to. This life is why she lives the way she does and swipes her card without ever checking the balance.
I walk away before she starts. The look in her eyes says she’s loaded and ready to unload. I don't give her the chance. I nod to my officers—our signal to head to the clubhouse.
Inside, I spot a few of the brothers who weren’t outside but were in on the meeting. Club girls scurry around the common room but freeze when they see me. Sultry looks were thrown myway. Useless. I haven’t responded to one of those in seventeen years. Don’t stop them from trying.
I hear the murmurs and chuckles. My brothers talking shit already.
“Heather looked pissed, brother,” Nitro says, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
