"I hear you."
"Good."
The line goes dead.
The room is silent for a long moment.
Then Damon lets out a low whistle.
"Well. Looks like you got your reconciliation after all."
"He's still pissed," I say, stating the obvious.
"Yeah. But he's coming. That's what matters." Damon stands, looks around at his brothers. "Shotgun Saints and Reapers Rejects riding together tomorrow. This is gonna be one hell of a show."
Dixon grins, dark and dangerous. "Flint's fucked. He just doesn't know it yet."
Shiver's grinning too. "Told you, Shadow. Dad loves Grace more than he hates what you did."
Maybe.
Or maybe he just hates the Copperhead Kings more.
Or maybe he's a father first, Prez second.
Either way, tomorrow we ride together.
Shotgun Saints and Reapers Rejects.
Brothers from different clubs, united for one purpose.
Protecting Grace.
And Flint's not walking away from this.
None of them are.
That night, lying in the trailer with Grace in my arms, I stare at the ceiling.
The bandage on my ribs is uncomfortable, the fresh tattoo underneath tender and sore.
Grace shifts beside me, careful of her own fresh ink, and I pull her closer.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
Either I kill Flint and end this nightmare, or I die trying.
But Grace will be safe.
Phantom will make sure of it.
Even if he hates me, even if he never forgives me, even if I'm never allowed back in Shotgun Saints—he'll protect his daughter.
That's what matters.
"You scared?" Grace whispers into the darkness.
"No."
