He backs off, hands raised. "Just asking, brother."
Before anyone else can interrogate me, King calls us into the chapel. I take my usual seat at the table. For the next hour, I can focus on something other than the fact that I'm suddenly a father to a two-year-old boy.
King raps his knuckles on the table, calling the meeting to order. "First order of business: we've got reports of Iron Eagles activity near Riverton."
The room tenses. It's been quiet since Vulture fled with his tail between his legs, but we've all been waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"What kind of activity?" Tank asks.
"Recruitment," King says. "They're trying to build numbers again. Approaching smaller clubs, independent riders."
"Makes sense," Rage offers. "They lost a lot of men in the last confrontation."
"We need to keep eyes on this," King continues. "No direct action yet, but I want to know if they're moving toward our territory again."
We spend the next half hour discussing surveillance rotations and intelligence gathering. I volunteer for a shift, then immediately wonder if I should have. I have a kid now. A kid who might need me.
Christ, when did I become this person?
"Next item," King says, moving the meeting along. "The security contract for the Founders Day Festival next month. Mayor's office reached out specifically requesting us."
This is good news. The more legitimate business we secure, the less we need to rely on other revenue streams. King assigns roles. Tank will handle overall security planning, Beast and Rage will coordinate with local police, Steel and I will manage perimeter security.
"That's all for official business," King says finally. "Any other matters to discuss?"
There's a moment of silence, then Steel speaks up. "Yeah, I think we all want to know about Torch's surprise visitor yesterday."
All eyes turn to me, and I resist the urge to tell Steel exactly where he can shove his curiosity.
"Not club business," I say tersely.
"Come on, brother," Beast says. "Kid shows up at the clubhouse, claims he's yours. That affects all of us."
I know he's right, in a way. The club is family. What happens to one brother concerns everyone.
King stares at me. "The boy is definitely yours?"
I nod. "Yeah. No doubt about it."
"And the mother? What's her story?"
I shift in my chair, uncomfortable with discussing Sidney like she's a potential threat. "We had a thing three years ago. One night. I was... in a bad place. Drinking a lot. Moving around. She tried to find me when she got pregnant, but I'd changed numbers, moved."
"And she just happens to find you now?" Rage asks, skeptical. "After three years?"
"She found an article about the club," I explain. "She lost her job, got evicted. Had nowhere else to go."
"So, what's the plan?" Tank asks, cutting to the chase as always. "They staying with you permanently?"
"I don't know yet," I admit. "For now, yeah. She needs to find work, get back on her feet. The kid needs stability."
"And you're okay with that?" King presses. "Taking on this responsibility?"
Am I? I barely know how to take care of myself some days, let alone a child. But when I think about Max's green eyes—my eyes—and his trusting smile, I know there's only one answer.
"He's my son," I say simply. "Whatever that means, whatever it takes, I'll figure it out."
King nods, seemingly satisfied. "The club stands behind you. Whatever you need."
