Bronc raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Because every time I saw one of you find your mate, or make a life, it felt like getting a bullet in the gut.” I let the words hang there. “I didn’t trust it. I thought it was a weakness. I thought it would get us all killed.”
Bronc set his mug down, leaned forward. “That what you still think?”
“No,” I said. It came out harsh, almost a bark. “Not anymore.”
He let out a long, slow breath, as if he’d been holding it for years. “You know what I think, Arsenal?”
I shook my head.
“I think you’re scared. I think you always have been. Not of dying, but of being left behind.” Bronc’s voice didn’t soften, but it lost some of the edge. “You lost your brother when you were just a kid. Then you lost your mate before you ever got to claim her. That shit leaves scars.”
I felt my jaw flex. “He was the good son,” I said, almost under my breath. “He was the one who made Dad proud.”
Bronc snorted. “Your old man is a mean old son of a bitch, from what I hear.”
“Yeah,” I said. “After Ben died, he barely looked at me. I was just a hired hand who worked for free. Didn’t talk unless it was an order. Never asked if I was hurting.”
“That’s why you signed up?”
“Yeah. I knew a lot of wolves did. Seemed easier to take orders from someone who didn’t have to pretend to give a shit.”
Bronc nodded, like he’d heard it a hundred times before. Maybe he had.
He picked up his mug and took another slow sip. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
I didn’t have an answer. I looked at the wall, at the framed pictures of every Iron Valor patch since the club was founded, every face caught in that moment of pride. There were men on that wall who’d died for the pack, some I’d served with, others who’d bled out before I was born. I thought about what it meant to have a family, to be worth something to anyone.
“Maybe start with an apology,” I said, the words tasting like vinegar.
Bronc grinned, just a flicker at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a start.”
He leaned back, legs sprawled wide, taking up as much space as possible. “You know, when I took this job, I had no idea what I was doing. None of us did. We were kids with guns and motorcycles, thinking we could fix the world by force of will. Truth is, we fuck up just like everyone else. I saw my dad do it for years. Thought when he died I’d slide right in and become him.”
He looked at me, a real warmth in his face now. “Didn’t quite go that way. I’ve fucked up. But then I try again. That’s the difference.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Bronc stood, stretched, and clapped me on the shoulder with a hand that could have snapped my collarbone if he wanted. “I depend on you, Jess. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t.”
He held my gaze for a second, then looked at the clock on the wall. “We got twenty before the rest of the idiots roll in. Want to run through the briefing?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice steadying. “Let’s do it.”
We walked to the war room together, side by side, the silence not awkward anymore but comfortable. I realized, maybe for the first time in my life; that I belonged.
When the time came, I’d stand up and face my brothers. I’d take my lumps. I’d own the past.
And with Bronc’s hand on my shoulder, I knew I could do it.
The war room had filled with the six men who’d made Iron Valor more than just a club: Bronc at the head of the table, Wrecker to his left, then Doc, wearing a lab coat and stethoscope instead of his cut. Big Papa was to his right, then my chair, then Gunner, and Menace’s face filled one of the new big screens on the wall, his white-blond hair catching the light like a ghost. He sat in his fancy office already dressed in a navy suit complete with black tie. Looked like he belonged on the cover of fucking GQ magazine. I’d asked for him to join us for this part of our meeting.
I sat at the table, hands locked together so tight my knuckles went white. I’d spent the last ten minutes rehearsing my speech in my head, but it still came out raw.
Bronc started, thanking Menace for joining us. Told him to bear with us as he went through the basics—status updates, shipments, Wrecker’s quarterly numbers, which he delivered in three words: “We’re still solvent.” They saved my part for last. When the silence came, all eyes locked on me. Even Menace seemed to lean in.
