"This could start a war between Reapers Rejects and Copperhead Kings."
"I know." I meet his eyes, hold his gaze. "And I'm asking you anyway. Grace is Shiver's sister. That makes her the Reapers’ family. I'm asking for your help to protect her. To end this."
Damon and Dixon exchange a long look.
Some kind of silent communication passes between them—the kind that comes from years of riding together, making hard decisions together.
Finally, Damon nods. "All right. We back the play, if our brothers support the motion. But we do it smart. No cowboy shit. We plan this out, we have contingencies, and we make sure our brothers come home."
Relief floods through me, so intense it's almost painful. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. This gets messy, we're all in it. Blood for blood, that's how this works." Damon stands, rolls his shoulders. "Let me talk to the brothers. See who's willing to ride for this. Some of them got families, kids. Can't ask them to risk everything."
"I understand."
"But I'm guessing enough will volunteer." Damon heads toward the back rooms where the brothers congregate. "Give me an hour."
As he walks away, Shiver approaches us.
Grace looks up at her brother, and I can see the gratitude in her eyes.
"Thank you," she says softly. "For all of this."
Shiver just shrugs. "You're my sister. That's what family does." Then he grins. "Besides, you know what you need to do now, right?"
Grace looks confused. "What?"
"Get the ink. You're an old lady now. It's tradition."
Grace's hand goes instinctively to her ribs, where I know the Shotgun Saints insignia sits—she got it when she turned eighteen, Phantom's way of marking her as club family. As his.
Now she needs my name there too.
"Add his name below the insignia?" Grace asks.
"Yeah." Shiver's grin widens. "Property of Shadow. Cattle brand style. Make it official."
Grace looks at me, and I see the question in her eyes. The uncertainty mixed with how much she wants it.
"Your choice, darlin'," I say, even though everything in me is screaming yes, mark yourself as mine, let everyone see. "But I want my name on you. Want everyone who sees that ink to know exactly who you belong to."
Her breath catches. "Okay. Let's do it." She stands, decisive now. "And you're getting mine too. We match."
Shiver laughs, genuine amusement. "Matching tattoos. You two really don't do anything halfway, do you?"
"Never have," I say, pulling Grace close. "Not starting now."
We're at Ink & Steel an hour later.
Shiver recommended the place—said Rook does good MC work, has done pieces for half the Reapers Rejects.
The shop is exactly what I expected: dark interior, walls covered in flash art, the buzz of tattoo guns in the back.
Rook comes out from behind the counter when we walk in.
He's covered in ink, gauged ears, the look of someone who's been in the business for years.
"MC work?" he asks, eyeing us.
