Maybe there’s a chance he’ll be reinstated. God, I hope so.
They stare at each other, and I'm caught between them, barely breathing.
The hostility is palpable.
Dad's hands curl into fists at his sides.
Shadow's jaw is tight, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes wary.
Finally, Dad speaks. "We'll talk. After this is done. After Flint's dead and my daughter's safe. Then you and me are gonna have words about what you did. About the lies. About marrying her without talking to me first. About all of it."
"I understand," Shadow says quietly.
"But for now?" Dad extends his hand, though his expression doesn't soften. "We ride together. For Grace."
Shadow takes it.
The handshake is brief, firm, and loaded with tension and anger.
Not forgiveness.
Not even close.
But a truce.
For me.
An hour later, I'm in the Reapers Rejects clubhouse feeling like I’m watching a war council.
Damon sits at the head of the table—Reapers Rejects President, commanding the room. Dad's beside him, equal presence.
Two Prezs, united for one purpose.
Dixon, Thunder, Shadow, Shiver, Blaze, Blight, Rogue, and a dozen other brothers fill the rest of the space.
Maps spread across the table. Phones showing the location Flint texted.
An abandoned lot on the outskirts of Vegas.
Industrial area, no witnesses.
"It's a trap," Thunder says, studying the map. "Has to be."
"Of course it's a trap." Shadow's voice is flat. "Flint's not stupid. But we're going anyway."
Damon nods. "We bring overwhelming force. Make it clear that coming after Grace was a mistake."
"How many brothers?" Phantom asks.
"Twenty from Reapers Rejects. Five from Shotgun Saints." Damon looks around the table. "That's twenty-five armed brothers against however many Copperhead Kings Flint brought."
"We go in prepared for a full crew," Dixon adds. "Assume the worst case scenario."
Dad's looking at the map, calculating. "What about Grace?"
Every eye in the room turns to me.
I straighten my spine, ready to argue. "I want to?—"
