“I think you underestimate yourself, darlin’. You’re the kind of woman men would walk through burning coals for.”
***
We take the road to Cedar Falls after five hours of driving. For the better part of the journey, Christina has been quiet in the passenger seat. Her daughter is a happy little thing. She plays with her toys, sings, and asks questions occasionally. I’m no good with kids’ ages. I’m guessing she’s around two, maybetwo and a half, though she speaks real good. She eventually falls asleep watching cartoons on her mom’s cell phone. The kid is downright adorable—kinda like her mom.
“Where are we headed?” she asks finally, voice soft from fatigue.
“Cedar Falls,” I tell her. “It’s a small town off the I-80. My club’s home base.”
She glances over. “I didn’t even know there was a Cedar Falls.”
“Most people don’t. Population’s about twenty-two thousand. We’re located just outside Vacaville, not far from Napa. Folks from the city come through for shopping, hiking, wine tasting. Keeps the town alive. The locals rely on that weekend money.”
Her gaze returns to the window, watching hills roll past. “It sounds peaceful.”
“It’s your typical small town. Nice and friendly. We want to keep all the riffraff out, so it stays that way.”
She nods, fingers tightening on the fabric of her jeans. “And your club runs out of there?”
“Yeah. Sons of Rage MC. We’ve been around longer than half the buildings in that town. Like I told you already, my old man founded the club. We keep the peace and run legitimate businesses. We keep our noses clean. If trouble comes, it’s handled in-house.”
She doesn’t say anything after that. The quiet stretches comfortably for a few miles, only broken by the low hum of the truck and the kid’s slow, steady breathing behind us.
When the first houses come into view, she leans forward slightly. Cedar Falls looks small and contained. Downtown is a handful of blocks built around a square. There are storefronts, including a hardware store, a bakery, a diner, and a few other shops. Beyond that, there’s lots of open land—farms, vineyards, trees, and low hills.
We turn off the main road onto a wide gravel drive flanked by heavy pines. The wall surrounding our compound appears before the building does. It’s a seven-foot wall of solid cinderblock topped with smooth stucco. White paint, clean lines, no graffiti. The gates are steel, thick enough to stop a truck.
Her breath catches. “That’s your clubhouse?”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing at her.
“It’s huge.”
“Needs to be.” I slow the truck and the gates swing open. “There are three levels. Basement’s storage and bunk space for the brothers. First floor’s living areas, office, club bar, kitchen. Top floor is family suites. My old man built it to last, and me and my brothers helped finish it.”
She stares as the building comes into full view. “It’s more fortress than house.”
“That’s the point, darlin’.”
The truck rolls through the gates and into the yard. The main building rises out of the ground, pale stucco catching thesunlight. We used stucco to keep the exterior clean. It also makes the compound look less industrial. “It’s big enough to hold five families,” I tell her. “And every square inch is currently in use. The garage bays line one side, the main hall on the other. I’ll show you around when we’re settled.”
She whispers, half to herself, “I didn’t expect this. It’s beautiful in its own way.”
I smile before I can stop it. “Not what people think when they hear cinderblock, huh?”
“No. It’s sleek, clean, and…” she hesitates before adding, “safe.”
“The stucco is a new addition. We wanted to upgrade the exterior. This is our home, after all.”
I park near the front steps and cut the engine. The sound fades, replaced by the noise of conversation from the open bay doors. A few brothers step out to see who’s arrived. Jinx gives them a nod, and they step back—curious but respectful.
The kid wakes up the moment we open the doors. She rubs her eyes, and Christina pulls her out of the car. The sight does something strange to my chest, but I shake it off and open my door.
“Come on, darlin’. You’re home for now.”
She steps out slowly, still holding the cut, her eyes sweeping the compound as if she’s trying to take it all in at once. I watch her looking at what my family built—this big, loud, guarded life. For the first time, I wonder what it looks like through her eyes of someone who’s been running too long and just found a place with walls thick enough to keep trouble out.
The prospects swing the gates closed behind us, the second the convoy rolls into the yard.
