I glance back at Aiden. He’s staring at a city official like he wants to set the man on fire just to watch how fast the lie burns off his suit.
“Let him take notes,” Isaiah suggests. “Give him a role. Something real.”
I nod once. “You’re thinking long game.”
He smiles. “Just doing what you taught me.”
The truth is, I don’t say much after that because Isaiah’s right. The world’s changing. And the club needs more than fists and guns these days. It needs monsters that think. Minds that don’t blink when they see how deep the rot goes.
And as I watch Crusher drive a nail clean through that busted chair in one strike, no hesitation, and Aiden snap his notebook shut like it’s a guillotine, I realize something else.
The next generation just walked through my door.
And if we play it right, they’ll burn down the whole damn empire and rebuild it in our name.
Isaiah moves like he’s been giving orders since birth. Calm voice. Sharp eyes. No wasted breath. Makes me wonder if Steel’s ghost didn’t just move on but took root in my boy instead.
Steel Saint didn’t believe in sons. Said they made you weak. Said they were the first thing a man like us would burn when the war came home.
But I look at Isaiah now. His spine is straight, jaw tight, pulling Crusher and City into orbit without even trying, and I think… maybe Steel was wrong about that. Maybe sons aren’t a weakness.
Maybe they’re the only damn legacy that survives the fire.
Isaiah doesn’t know it, but he holds himself like Steel did in that bar all those years ago. Same gravity. Same silence-before-the-storm weight in his eyes.
The difference is, Isaiah’s gotmyblood too.
It’s strange, watching your empire shift while you’re still breathing. The patches stay the same, but the faces change. The rules, the streets, and the stakes all evolve.
Steel Saint gave me this charter because he trusted I could hold the line. I’ve done that. Bled for it. Killed for it. Built something worth more than its parts.
But I look at Isaiah now, older, sharper, with a storm in his eyes, and I know.
One day soon, the torch will pass. And when it does, I just hope the fire still burns hot enough to scare the devil himself.
SEVEN
SONS & SHIELDS
ISAIAH (STEEL)
5 years later
The clubhouse is tucked behind chain-link fencing and guarded by security systems, and worse, men who never blink. From the outside, it looks like a forgotten machine shop. Gray, industrial, lifeless. But inside, it's loud with memory.
You can smell the steel before you ever see it. The new Clubhouse looms like a beast at the edge of the world, gray, caged behind a chain-link fence and razor wire, crouched low and wide like it’s waiting for the next war. My boots crunch gravel as I step out of the truck, staring up at the faded machine shop sign half-buried in rust.
“You sure this is it?” I ask, squinting.
Dad, Tama,The General, just grunts from the driver’s seat. “It’ll bleed if you cut it. That makes it home.”
But it’s not just him with me today. Aria leans against the hood of her silver Charger, arms crossed, blue eyes cutting through the haze like truth itself. She’s in tight black jeans and a leather jacket that somehow looks both corporate and rebellious.Her dark hair’s twisted up, but I know how it falls, soft and wild when she lets it.
“This place smells like testosterone and liability,” she says dryly, smirking.
I grin. “So… basically, home?”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch at the corners. “You’re impossible.”
