“They won’t stop,” I reply.
“No,” Legend agrees. “They won’t.”
Royal leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes cutting between us like he’s already three steps ahead. He don’t talk unless it matters.
Legend folds his arms. “Big Daddy wants eyes on this. National.”
My jaw locks.
“And?” I ask, even though I already know it’s coming.
“And you’re leading a run to Anarchy,” Legend says. “You go see him. You tell him what’s happening here. You make sure this don’t turn into open war without sanction.”
Anarchy, California. Big Daddy. National business. That ain’t a ride. That’s an exile with paperwork.
“And Brittany?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Legend’s gaze sharpens. “She ain’t yours.”
I don’t answer because if I do, I’ll say something true, and truth gets people killed.
He steps closer, voice low. “You go west. You cool your head. You let things settle here.”
Settle. Like that’s possible.
“When I get back?” I ask.
Legend’s mouth tightens. “We’ll see what’s left.”
After midnight I sit on my bike outside Brittany’s house where the road turns dark and the trees crowd in like they’re listening. Porch light on. Curtains drawn. Her silhouette crosses the front room once, quick, like she’s pacing.
I don’t go to the door. I don’t leave a note. I don’t line up boots like I’m some kind of gentleman.
I just watch the porch light flicker and I wonder if she’ll be safer with me gone.
The answer feels like no.
But orders are orders, and the club don’t survive on what I want.
I leave anyway, engine roaring, westbound toward Anarchy and Big Daddy and the kind of war that doesn’t wait for permission.
Back in Hell, Kentucky, Brittany will think she pushed me away.
She doesn’t know she just made it harder for me to stay.
Chapter 13
Brittany
The first thing I notice about Oaks being gone is the quiet.
It ain’t peaceful, and it sure as hell ain’t relief. It’s the kind of quiet that hums under your skin like a live wire you can’t see, but you know better than to touch. The Lockup still rattles on Friday nights. Slice of Paradise still fills with gossip and grease and judgment. Hell still breathes the same humid, watchful air. But something has shifted, and I feel it every time I step outside and realize I’m not listening for the sound of a Harley like it’s a warning siren.
He left without saying goodbye. That should make it easier. Instead it feels like something unfinished got ripped out by the root and left a hole that keeps catching on everything.
Elijah fills the space like he’s been waiting for it.
He picks me up for dinner in his truck with the cracked dashboard and a pine-tree air freshener swinging from the mirror. He opens doors. He texts good morning. He asks about my classes and actually listens to the answer like it matters. When he touches me, it’s careful and deliberate, like he understands hands can bruise even when they don’t mean to.
