“They didn’t ask questions,” he says. “They knew what it meant. By abducting a club president’s old lady, that rival club crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.”
“What did they do?” I ask.
He doesn’t soften the answer. “They took the club apart. Piece by piece. They got my mom out before the bastards got a chance to move her again. My old man carried her out himself.”
The atmosphere in the room grows a few degrees colder, as I try to wrap my head around what happened.
“I didn’t know any of this,” I admit. “I grew up around you. Around your family. I knew there were fights, trouble sometimes. But I never even thought about the possibility of someone going after an old lady to get even with one of the brothers.”
Onyx nods. “That almost never happens. Going after a patched brother’s family means it’s open season on your own family because clubs retaliate. My old man decided to go after their club because he didn’t feel right about going after their women. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that sometimes violence is the only language that works. We don’t look for it. But we don’t shy away from it either.”
I glance down at the cut resting across my shoulders. “So, this is more than just for show,” I say, touching the leather lightly. “My grandfather was right about what it represents.”
“It does,” he says. “It tells people you’re under protection. It tells them hurting you means consequences they won’t want to deal with.”
I sit back in my chair, the weight of this family’s history slowly seeping into the dark recesses of my mind. This club has survived death, kidnappings, wars, internal fractures, and outside pressure. Rock intentionally built it to endure anything life throws at them.
I look back at the files in front of me, seeing them differently now. These aren’t just club records. They’re proof that these people made impossible choices and are living with them, all in the name of survival.
When I return to work, my hands are steadier. I understand several things I didn’t before. Namely, these records are a kind of autobiography that deserves to be preserved. I also understand why Onyx carries himself the way he does. Why discipline, dedication, and loyalty matter so much to this family. I also now understand that in wearing his cut, I’ve stepped into something far bigger than a job.
***
At the end of the day, Onyx leads me out of the office up a set of stairs that I haven’t been on yet. The noise of the clubhouse fades the farther we go, replaced by the quiet tap of our own footsteps. He stops in front of a plain door at the end of the hall and opens it without ceremony, stepping aside to let me go in first.
His suite is smaller than I expected, but it’s sparkling clean. The furniture is all black leather. There is a couch and a chair, and a low table in front of them with nothing on it. The walls are bare and there are no personal touches beyond what’s necessary to live. It looks less like someone’s home and more like a place people hang out when they’re away from home.
“This is it,” he says simply. “I don’t need much, so I took the smallest suite.”
I walk in slowly, taking it all in. The bedroom door is visible from the main area. The layout is one bedroom, one bathroom, and no extras.
“You never decorated,” I say, not accusing.
He shrugs slightly. “Never seemed important.”
I nod, understanding what he’s saying. This space reflects the generous way he lives. All his time and energy are focused outward. He spends his time taking care of his family, his club, his brothers, and he doesn’t waste a lot of time sprucing up his private room.
“It works,” I say quietly.
He watches me for a moment, like he’s trying to gauge my reaction. “It’s always been enough for me.”
I look into his eyes and tell him, “If it’s enough for you, it’s enough for me.”
“And Frisky,” he adds.
I smile at him thinking about my cat. “I need to go and pick him up. I put out extra water and food this morning. I probably should go fetch him.”
“You relax,” he tells me. “I’ll go get him.”
“What? I can go. It won’t take a minute.”
He makes an imperious slashing motion with one hand. “No. You take it easy, you’ve had a long day.”
“I need to at least get my suitcases. They’re packed and ready.” When Queenie made me the offer, I packed everything up. Not that I had a lot of clothes. Being hidden away in the cabin most of the time means my wardrobe is pretty basic.
Before I can decide what to say, he is heading for the door. “I’ll do that. Look, I’ll be right back. Sit tight and enjoy yourself.”
I glance back at the leather couch, the empty walls, the open bedroom door. It feels cozy and intimate rather than uncomfortably cramped. And standing here, wearing his cut, in his private space for the first time, I smile to myself as I realize this is who he is when no one’s watching.
