His grip is firm but careful, like he's worried about breaking me. Everyone treats me that way here—like I'm made of glass.
"There's actual food if you want it," Bullet says, opening the fridge. "Ruth made some casseroles. Or I can make you eggs?"
The offer catches me off guard. "You don't have to?—"
"It's no trouble." Bullet's already pulling out a carton. "How do you like them?"
"Scrambled is fine," I mumble, feeling awkward as I slide onto a stool at the counter. "Thanks."
Diesel pours himself coffee, leaning against the counter. "You settling in okay? Need anything?"
I shrug. "Everyone's been really nice. I just... I don't know why. You all barely know me."
Bullet cracks eggs into a bowl. "You're Viking's daughter. That's enough."
"But I'm not—I mean, I didn't even know him as Viking until a week ago."
Diesel's expression softens. "Doesn't matter. Your old man was family. That makes you family."
"We take care of our own," Bullet adds, stirring the eggs.
I stare into my coffee. "It's just weird. Everyone here seems to know more about my dad than I did."
"Different parts of him," Diesel says. "You got the best part."
I take a sip of coffee, trying to process Diesel's words. "The best part?"
Diesel nods, grabbing a piece of bread and stuffing half of it in his mouth. "The father part. Viking was a fuckin' legend in the club—hardest sonofabitch I ever rode with—but to you? He was just Dad." He swallows. "That's the shit that matters."
"Your old man went nomad for you. That says everything." Bullet’s voice is quiet but carries weight. "Not many brothers would leave the position as Prez to protect their kid. Loyalty like that’s rare, even in this world."
Diesel pours more coffee. "Viking was running this whole show before Havoc. Then shit went down, and he took the nomad rocker to keep you safe."
“Nomad rocker?” Sasha asks.
Diesel’s brow furrows, and he laughs. “Shit, I forget you’re completely clueless about club life.” He turns his back and points at the Wicked Sinners logo on his back. “Where mine saysTennessee, if a patched member goes nomad, that’s what it says. They don’t belong to a specific chapter.”
“Oh,” I mumble, feeling a bit stupid for not knowing. But then, how could I know when my dad kept me completely in the dark about all of this.
Bullet leans against the counter. "Brothers respected your dad’s choice."
"Vike had his reasons," Diesel adds. "Now those reasons are sitting in our clubhouse.”
“Forsaken bastards." Bullet practically spits the last words. "We're gonna smoke every last one of those assholes for what they did."
The casual way he talks about violence makes my stomach tighten. "You mean?—"
"Don't worry about club business," Diesel cuts in, shooting Bullet a look. "You just need to know you're protected here. Wicked Sinners take care of their own, and your old man's blood makes you family."
"President's orders," Bullet adds, nodding toward the hallway. "Havoc's got the whole club on lockdown for you."
"Brothers are on rotation," Diesel says. "Perimeter's tight. Nobody gets to you unless they go through us first."
Their talk of protection and violence makes my skin prickle. Bullet throws around words like smoke and blood with casual ease, like they're discussing the weather instead of killing people. People who apparently want me dead.
"The Forsaken Kings," I say carefully. "They're the ones who—who killed my dad?"
Diesel nods, his expression hardening. "And your mom, twelve years back."
