That wasn’t business. That waspersonal.
Andthatis the kind of man Gabriella had at her back. Kind of father.
Elijah commanded hundreds of men. My club? Not even a hundred. Sure, we’ve got chapters. Allies. But we don’t move like him. We don’tstrikelike him. The fact that we’re still standing? That Talon is still breathing? That says more aboutherthan it does about us.
Which tells me one thing—Gabriella had a hell of a lot more sway with her father than anyone realized. She could’ve let him off the leash. Instead, she kept him leashed, probably at her own expense. Even after Talon turned his back on her—after she was left to raise two boys in silence—she still protectedhislegacy.
That’s loyalty.
That’s power.
And that’s exactly why I look Axel dead in the eye and tell him,“You need to ease the fuck up.”
But I can see it—he’s not going to. Not yet. His eyes are dark, full of fire and hurt and pride. He’s ready to give that girl hell; nothing I say right now will change that. Axel loves his brother. I get it. He’s my son—loyal to the bone. But he’s also hot-headed, and that’s a liability right now.
We can’t afford to poke the wrong bear. Not with the Barones. Not withher.This isn’t about pride or old wounds anymore. This is about survival. About keeping this club intact. I’m not so arrogant to think we’re untouchable. So I’ll do what I’ve always done—what I’vehadto do.
I’ll step in. Step up. Reclaim the space I stepped away from and keep my boys from getting us all killed. Because if Axel goes off the rails, if Talon wakes up and lets guilt turn to pride, if any of these brothers let emotion lead?
We’ll be knee-deep in a war we won’t win.
And I’m not about to let my legacy die because my sons couldn’t see the bigger picture.
No…
Shit’s about to get a lot harder before it gets better.
And I will not blink.
Not this time.
Thirteen
Not my monkeys, not my circus. Well, apparently, they are, and it is.
My old man—always the thinker—starts breaking down the history between us and the Barones. Shit, neither Talon nor I really knew the full extent of. Doesn’t change a damn thing for me. I still don’t trusther,or why the hell she’s here now. So yeah, I’ll keep my eye on her—and those boys riding her coattails. That’s a promise.
Guilty until proven innocent in my book. Nobody fucks with my family and walks away. I told Pop straight—If find out she’s behind any of this. I’ll put a bullet in her head myself. I don’t care who she used to be to Talon. Does that make me the asshole? Maybe. Do I give a shit? Fuck no.
Emotions are already running high when we roll up to the hospital. Everyone piles out and heads toward the reception desk. Ma, Heather, and Luna’s eyes are all red, their faces stained with tears. Ma’s trying to keep it together. She’s been theOG old lady of this club long enough to know how shit goes. But I see the shake in her hands and the tightness around her mouth. She's barely holding on, and it makes something inside me snap.
Someone’s going to pay. And they’ll pay in blood for putting that look on my mother’s face.
Heather’s clinging to Pop like she’s afraid her knees might give out. She opens her mouth, trying to speak, but nothing comes out. Pop takes over, calm and collected, even with grief shadowing his face as we reach the desk.
“Yes, my son Brian Masterson was brought in. We were told he was in surgery. We just arrived—we’d like an update.”
That’s when Heather breaks again, lets out another gut-wrenching sob. I step in, pull her against me as she shakes. I hold her close, grounding her, even if I’ve got my own storm to deal with. She’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s loyal. Loves my brother down bad. Even if he hasn’t always returned the feeling.
I glance over. Nitro’s holding Ma and Luna close, eyes glassy, jaw locked tight. He meets my gaze. I nod. He nods back. No words needed—we both know what time it is. Somebody’s going in the fucking ground for this.
The nurse behind the desk looks like she’s about to piss herself. Her eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of twenty-plus leather-wearing bikers storming her lobby. Brothers. Men are ready to ride or die for our president. For our brother. She freezes, blinking like a deer in headlights.
I wave the crew back a bit. Don’t want to scare her into a panic attack. Pop clears his throat, and she jumps like she’s been shocked. Eyes back on her screen, hands trembling as she types.Poor girl’s green—has to be. We’ve been through these doors more than once, so she’s definitely new around here. She peeks up at Pop through her lashes, cheeks flushed.
She finally scribbles something down, hands it over. Pop thanks her and walks off toward the elevators without saying a word to anyone. We follow, silent, tense, ready to kill or pray depending on what we hear next.
At the elevators, Pop's back is still to us. His shoulders are stiff, but I see the weight crushing him. He breathes deep, then turns.
