Back inside, the guys are playing pool and laughing, beers half-full, the jukebox crackling in the corner. It’s not clean, it’s not perfect. But it’s ours, leather cuts, scraped knuckles, and all. That’s what makes it worth protecting.
Later that night, we’re tucked in the corner booth in the garage loft. She’s cross-legged on the cushion, textbook on her lap, and I’m flipping through due process chapters with half a mind still on the blood in the alley.
“This system is rigged,” I mutter.
Aria glances up. “Then we un-rig it. Or burn it down. Together.”
It’s the first time I look at her and thinkmaybe this isn’t just friendship anymore.
Later in the week, Dad takes me out for a ride. Just the two of us. I’m not old enough for a cycle endorsement, but that doesn’t mean I don’t do it or know how to ride. We hit the back roads where the air smells like dust and pine, and no one asks questions.
We pull off onto a dirt driveway, put out kickstands down and turn off our bikes, watching nature pass before us. A deer and her fawn come strolling on by like it’s another day in search of food and survival, not paying us any attention.
“You’re not me, son,” Dad says after a long stretch of silence. “You’ve got more options than I ever did.”
“But this,” I gesture behind us, toward the clubhouse miles back. “This feels like home.”
“It is. It’ll always be. But you need to understand something…” He looks over. “A cut’s not just something youwear. It’s something you pay for. You sure you’re ready to bleed for it?”
I don’t answer right away. My hands tighten on the grips. The silence stretches long enough to say everything I can’t. I let the wind rip the doubt from my throat.
Eight months later,I stand in the back of the courtroom, part of a school trip. Gilchrist is arguing a case like he’s on stage, all charm and polish, but I see the cracks. I see the bluff in his smile and the sleaze in his tone.
Aria leans over and whispers, “He’s full of shit.”
“Yeah.”
“I bet we could beat him someday.”
I don’t say it out loud, but I already know we will.
He doesn’t see me, but I seehim.I see how fake that smile is. How easily truth bends when the power is in the hands of men like him. I don’t just want to challenge him, I want to undo him.
I know one day, I’ll face him. Not with fists and not with a gun.
But withknowledge.Strategy. Power on my own terms.
I’m alone in the garage, hours after the school trip, the duffel bag open beside me. One side holds the letterhead stamped with Vanderbilt’s seal. The other holds a black cut folded tightly, the Saints Outlaws logo stitched like a vow across the back.
I light a cigarette I’m not supposed to have, let the smoke curl around the moment like a promise.
My phone buzzes.
Aria: You choose yet?
Me: I’m choosing both.
Law and loyalty. My way.
And maybe hers too.
SIX
SHADOWS OF EMPIRE
THE GENERAL
Some men build empires with gold. Others with bullets and bones. Steel Saint built his with both, and gave me the map when he rode off into legend.
