CHAPTERONE
hades
The wrench slipsin my hand, scraping across my knuckles hard enough to draw blood.I curse under my breath, wiping the cut on my jeans as I lean back from the Harley's engine.The bike's been running rough for weeks; it needs to be tuned up and fixed.Anything to keep my hands busy.Anything to keep my mind from wandering to places it shouldn't go.
"Pass me that socket set," I tell Tempest, who's sprawled under his own bike nearby.Oil stains cover the concrete floor of the clubhouse garage, and the familiar scent of motor oil and grease fills my lungs.This is where I belong, where things make sense.
"You're gonna strip that bolt if you keep forcing it," Tempest says, sliding out from under his ride.His blond hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and there's a streak of grease across his cheek."What's got you so wound up today, brother?"
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes on the workbench.The screen lights up with an unknown number, and ice crawls up my spine.Unknown numbers never mean good news in our world.
"Ronan Blackwood?"The voice on the other end is professional, clipped.Official.
"Who's asking?"
"This is Detective Isaacs with Boston PD.I'm calling about Marcus and Calla Peterson.You're listed as their emergency contact."
The wrench clatters to the floor.Calla.My sister.Marcus.My brother-in-law.The only family I have left besides my club brothers.
"What happened?"My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"Sir, I'm sorry to inform you that Mr.and Mrs.Peterson were found deceased in their home early this morning.It appears to be a home invasion that went wrong."
It feels like someone’s reached in and ripped the air right out of me.Calla.My baby sister.The only person who ever looked at me like I was more than just Saint's Outlaws muscle.She's gone.
"Sir?Are you there?"
I clear my throat, forcing the words out."The kids.Where are the kids?"
"The five children were at a sleepover last night.They're safe and currently in protective custody.Social services will need to speak with you about custody arrangements, as you’re listed as their legal guardian along with the children’s aunt.”
My gut clenches.I remember signing the papers Calla gave me last year.She said she needed them for “just in case.”I didn’t ask questions; I just signed.Club lawyers had them notarized, tight and legal.
“You’ll still need to go through the family court process,” Isaacs adds.“But with guardianship papers on file, you’ll have temporary placement rights for now, along with their aunt, Evangeline.”
Good.I don’t trust the system to keep those kids safe.But the Outlaws?We have ways of making sure custody sticks.As for Evangeline, of course she's involved.She would be.She adores those kids and she adored her brother and my sister.
"I'll be there in an hour," I manage.
"Sir, the scene is still being processed.You won't be able to?—"
"I'll be there," I repeat, already reaching for my cut.
Tempest has gone still, his eyes locked on my face.He knows something's wrong.Hell, probably half the clubhouse heard my side of the conversation.
"Calla and Marcus are dead," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth."Home invasion."
"Fuck."Tempest scrambles to his feet, wiping his hands on a rag."The kids?"
"Safe.They were at a sleepover."I shrug into my cut, my hands moving on autopilot."I need to go."
"You don't need to handle this alone, brother," Tempest says, his voice steady."I'm coming with you."
I want to argue, to tell him I can handle it myself.But the truth is, I'm not sure I can.Not this.Not Calla.
"Let's go."
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