“Basics are all here,” Knuckles said, remaining by the door.Giving me room.“The girls brought linens and shit, so you’ve got bedding and towels.There’s probably a box of toiletries in the bathroom.”He motioned to a set of doors next to each other on one end of the room.“Bedroom and bathroom.”He pointed in the other direction.“Spare room for whatever the fuck you want to do with it.”
I moved farther into the space, checking the place out.Clean surfaces.No dust.The faint scent of something lemon.Someone had prepared this place recently, anticipating my arrival.The thought was unsettling in its kindness.
“Bathroom’s got everything you need,” Knuckles continued.“Hot water takes about thirty seconds to kick in.Pressure’s good and the shower is large.There’s also a bathtub.Anything else you need, just say the word.”He paused, watching me carefully.“When the old ladies come by to bring you more food, let them in, please.”
My head snapped up, surprised by his insight.I’d been calculating how long I could go without opening that door, how to minimize contact until I’d found my bearings.
Knuckles gave me a knowing look.“They mean well.And trust me, you don’t want to be on their bad side.”
A faint smile tugged at my lips again before I could suppress it.“Noted.”
“I’ll leave you to get settled,” Knuckles said, stepping back into the hallway.“Club meeting tomorrow at noon if you want to join.No pressure.Just know you’re welcome.When or if you’re ready to take an active role in the club, we would all welcome you to find your place with us.”He gave me another grin.“Welcome home, brother.”
He closed the door behind him with a softclick, and I was alone.Truly alone for the first time in years outside of AdSeg -- what most people call solitary confinement, or Administrative Segregation.Whatever you call it, AdSeg was the only time I didn’t have a cellmate breathing in the bunk below.No guards passing by at regular intervals.No constant background noise of men living in forced proximity.
Just silence.
I stood motionless in the center of the room.The space felt impossibly large after my cell, the silence deafening after years of constant noise.
I moved to the window, drawn by the natural light.Below, club members moved about their business.Two men working on a Harley.A woman carrying what looked like groceries toward another building.Normal life continuing in its rhythm.
My reflection stared back at me from the glass, superimposed over the scene below.A man caught between worlds, belonging to neither.The prison had released my body but kept pieces of my soul.The club had offered shelter but couldn’t give me back what I’d lost to them before.I thought I should move on, put this chapter of my life behind me, but the thought made my insides twist.Knuckles was right.Though the compound had moved location, the spirit of the club I’d first joined was within this fenced-off land.I could feel the energy all around me and it felt like home.
I placed my palm against the cool glass, watching my breath fog a small circle.Outside, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the compound.The stranger in the glass looked back at me, equally lost in a world he no longer understood.
Chapter Two
Ada
I pulled my Taurus through the gates of Kiss of Death’s compound, the contrast between my practical Ford and the row of gleaming Harleys making me smile.The guard at the gate nodded once, recognizing me as Knight’s sister.Granted, I hadn’t been here much, but these guys didn’t miss anything.Likely how they all survived on the inside.
The compound sprawled before me, a grid of repurposed warehouses connected by paths covered with camouflage netting that cast dappled shadows on the gravel below.No matter how many times I visited, the transition from Nashville’s normal world to this secretive, insular community of “outlaws” always felt like crossing into another dimension.I used the term outlaws as one of endearment.None of the guys here were evil.In fact, I’d argue my last breath every single one of them were saints.While they’d all committed various forms of crimes -- some of them violent or deadly -- there had always been an underlying but very good reason.And no one killed innocents or hurt women or children.These guys were always polite.More than that, the kids at the shelter they supported and guarded like zealots loved the big guys to pieces.
I parked in front of the main warehouse, gathering my purse and the manila folder from the passenger seat.The folder felt heavier than it should, weighted with the potential consequences of what it contained.Three ancestry DNA website logins printed on crisp white paper.Three windows into a past my brother might not be ready to face.Funny how shit that seemed so light could weigh a ton when it concerned someone you loved.
I walked with purpose, head high, back straight.Not because I felt uncomfortable here, but because I knew appearances mattered in this place.The men who called this compound home respected confidence.My brother had taught me that.Besides, I didn’t think I could consider myself a true, red-blooded woman if I didn’t notice the appreciative looks some of the guys gave me.The more confidence I showed, the better they enjoyed the chase.None of them would ever make a move on me, but I couldn’t deny I enjoyed the light flirting and banter.Did wonders for my ego.Even though I had my fair share of men chasing me, none of them were quite like these guys.I think it was because they showed genuine respect.Even the club girls were more coddled than anything else.These guys simply loved female company in any form and knew to get it they had to be decent guys.
Inside, the air hung thick with both cigarette and pot smoke, motor oil, and whiskey, the unofficial cologne of the Kiss of Death MC.Several patched members lounged around, some playing pool, others clustered around a bar at the far end.Conversations quieted momentarily as I entered, before several men smiled and raised a hand at me before returning to their activities.
I settled onto a worn leather couch, adjusting the folder on my lap.The clubhouse walls displayed framed photos of bikes, the club’s insignia painted larger than life on one entire wall -- which was relatively new -- and a collection of vintage motorcycle parts displayed like museum pieces.A massive TV mounted on the wall played some action movie with the sound low, largely ignored by the room’s occupants.
“Can I get you anything, Ada?”A prospect approached me with a nervous smile.Kid couldn’t be but barely out of his teens.Probably a juvenile offender they’d managed to get paroled and under the club’s care.I’d have thought being in a known MC would have violated some kind of parole law or something, but Kiss of Death worked closely with a lawyer named Lana Thompson who frequently helped the shelter.She also helped with light legal stuff.The kid must not be too bad if he was allowed to prospect here.Knuckles didn’t tolerate dipshit bullies.
“Just water, thanks.Is my brother still in his meeting with Knuckles?”
“Yes, ma’am.Shouldn’t be too much longer.”
I nodded my thanks and settled back.The clubhouse door swung open with enough force to bang against the wall.Two men entered, and the atmosphere in the room shifted immediately.Conversations dropped to murmurs, men straightened in their seats, others offered subtle nods of acknowledgment.The bigger of the two I recognized as Tiny, the club road captain.His presence always commanded respect by virtue of his sheer size.The guy was nearly seven feet tall and solid, bulky muscle.Wouldn’t surprise me if the guy could bench press a car.He’d also become a favorite with the children at Haven, the women’s shelter the club protected.Today, though, it wasn’t Tiny who caught my attention.
The other man who entered beside him moved with contained power, like he was on edge and anyone thinking to approach him should think twice.His gaze swept the room in what I recognized as a threat assessment.He wasn’t comfortable with this place at all.
His expression revealed nothing, blank as a concrete wall, but his eyes missed nothing.Prison-pale skin contrasted sharply with dark tattoos that climbed his neck.This had to be Jagger Kross, the man Knight had mentioned was being released after thirty-seven years inside.
The door behind the bar opened, and Knight emerged.My brother looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than when I’d seen him last week.His eyes lit up when he spotted me, though, and he crossed the room with long strides.
“Ada.”I stood and Knight wrapped me in a bear hug that lifted me slightly off my feet.“Wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Hence the surprise part of surprise visits,” I said, returning his embrace.When he set me down, I held up the folder.“We need to talk.”
