Cornelius doesn’t say a word as he drives. But he doesn’t have to. He’s always known when to talk and when to stay quiet. When to wait for the storm inside me to calm before asking me to steer it. He’s the only adult I’ve ever met who never tried to fix me. Just stood still long enough for me to steady myself.
We pull off the main road, winding through back streets I know by heart. Not because I grew up here, but because I escaped here. Every time my father broke something in the house, or in me, this was where I came. To the club. To Cornelius.
When the car finally stops, it’s in front of the back entrance to the clubhouse. Not the main gate. Not where outsiders come and go. This is the family door.
Cornelius kills the engine and turns in his seat. His gaze sweeps over me, then the kids, then back again. There’s no softness in his face, but there’s something stronger. Steady. Unshakable.
“You three don’t ever go back there,” he says quietly. “Understand?”
I nod. My throat feels like sandpaper.
“What about—” I glance toward the road, not able to finish the sentence. The house. The bodies. The mess.
Cornelius holds my gaze. “It’s being taken care of.”
I know what that means. Not in the way most people might. But in the way someone who’s grown up too close to the MC world does. There’ll be no police reports, no drawn-out trials. No headlines. Just silence.
Maybe that’s wrong. Maybe some part of me should care about justice. About rules. About doing things “the right way”, but right now, all I care about is that Amelia’s safe. That Jared isn’t alone. That we’re together. And Cornelius made that happen.
“You remember what I told you when you were fifteen?” he asks, his voice low, rough with grit.
I nod again. “You said I wasn’t him.”
He leans closer, resting his arm on the back of the seat. “That’s right. You have his blood, but you’re not his shadow. And don’t you ever forget that.”
Something tight and aching blooms in my chest. My father raised me with fists. Cornelius raised me with words. Not often. Not soft. But real.
“I should’ve been there,” I whisper. “I could’ve—”
“No,” he cuts in, firm. “This isn’t your fault, Malachi. None of this is.”
His hand lands on my shoulder again, anchoring something in me I didn’t realize was drifting. His grip is strong. Unshakeable. The kind that could hold the world together if it ever split in two.
“You’ve done more to protect those kids than most grown men could. You understand what that means?”
I swallow hard. “It means I don’t get to fall apart.”
“No, son,” he says, gentler now. “It means you already proved you won’t.”
I look down at Jared, asleep now against my side. At Amelia’s small hand wrapped around my thumb. I don’t feel strong. I feel broken. But maybe, just maybe, that’s what makes me dangerous to anyone who tries to hurt them again.
Cornelius opens the door. “Come on. Let’s get them inside.”
I shift the weight of Amelia in my arms, feeling Jared stir as I nudge him. We step into the night air together. Not just as a group of survivors, but something closer to a family.
It’s not the one we were born with. But it’s the one we’ve got now. And I’ll burn the whole damn world down before I let anyone take it from me.
Chapter 2
Malachi
26 Years Old
Thepatchonthetable doesn’t move. It sits in front of me as if it has a heartbeat, daring me to touch it. Black leather. Bold stitch. PRESIDENT. The same as it always looks. But tonight, it isn’t Cornelius’ anymore.
It’s mine.
The air in the meeting room is heavy with silence. Not empty. Just still. As if everyone inside the clubhouse has inhaled at once and forgotten how to let go. The weight of expectation presses against my shoulders, a silent gravity dragging down my spine.
