“Yeah. He called the bar. Heather answered. She told him she was safe.”
I nod. “Good.”
As the door opens to the main room in the Black Crow, I hear an angel’s voice coming through the speakers. The same voice I used to hear singing around the garage when Oak would bring her around. Like a skylark’s song, she lifts my spirits, the weight on my shoulders lighter as I walk back into the bar and see her up at the front with the band just like last night, a huge smile on her face, mic in hand, a sway to her hips like she belongs there.
She was made to be worshipped and admired. The rest of us are mere mortals gazing up at the sun goddess herself.
Our eyes lock. Her smile widens as she sings into the mic, working the stage as if she’s done it a thousand times. I don’t know what she was going to do at uni, but it seems a shame to waste a voice like that.
Faith’s voice fades as the song ends and the bar erupts again—more whoops, more applause, the thud of glasses raised in toast. She gives a little curtsy, laughing breathlessly into the mic before letting Chloe take over for the next set.
I’m halfway across the room when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in years.
“Well, well, look who it is.”
Faith turns just as a shadow crosses the room. The smile drops from her face.
My boots are already moving.
“Nigel.” Her voice is quiet. Her sparkle gone.
He swaggers in like he owns the place, all puffed chest and bravado, his hand wrapped around a cheap leather belt at his waist. He’s wearing that same sneer he always wore when he used to show up sniffing around the club, trying to deal his shit.
“You ready to come home, girl?” he slurs, loud enough that half the bar turns. “Your mum’s been worried sick and all the time you’ve been shacked up here. You’ve had your fun. Time to pack up your toys and stop playing house with these bikers.”
I reach them in two strides, stepping between them before she has to say another word.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” I say, voice ice cold.
He laughs. “Oh, look who’s playing daddy now. What’s the matter, Wrath? Can’t get your own woman so you steal someone else’s little girl?”
A beat of silence falls over the bar.
Draven steps closer, followed by Prez.
Then every patched member in the room stands a little taller.
“Watch your mouth,” I growl, my hand curling into a fist. “You’ve got three seconds to leave.”
“She’s my responsibility. I’ve been feeding her. Housing her.”
“Sliming over her?” I bite. “Neglecting her while you drink away what little money her mum brings in?”
Nigel’s eyes dart, calculating, but he’s too far gone to back down clean. “I’ve never laid a hand on her. You don’t get to keep her. She’s barely eighteen, not your?—”
“But you have laid your eyes on her,” I say, stepping closer, chest to chest now. “I’ll die before I let you take her back to that hellhole.”
The silence snaps as Kane walks in from the pool room, clutching his cue as if it’s a weapon. Then Shane. He’s not in his police uniform, but everyone knows he’s a cop. “Nigel, you’re not welcome here. This is a private party.”
Nigel glares at the crowd, our patched members forming a human shield around Faith. “I’ll be back,” he hisses, retreating.
“You do that,” I say, my voice like steel. “And next time, bring a priest.”
He stumbles out, slamming the door behind him, the air in the bar crackling in the aftermath.
When I turn, Faith’s pale. But she’s standing tall.
I reach for her hand.
