“You have books?” Carolina asks, breathless with wonder. “Do they have glitter too?”
“They have glitter, stickers, and lots of colorful ribbons,” I promise, realizing I finally have a use for the craft supplies I’ve kept tucked away. I look at Boston, who is watching us with a protective yet soft smile. Slayer was right about his brother—he loves with a depth that is staggering.
“We can do it together,” I suggest, the idea taking root. “We’ll set up a big table, and every Sunday, we’ll work on our books. Wecan document everything... the walks we take, the new snacks we try, and every milestone for the baby.”
“Sunday is a good day,” Boston agrees, nodding his head with a serious expression. “It’s a quiet day.”
In this small, sunlit room, I feel the walls around my own heart start to give way. The realization of our reality hits me like a sledgehammer—I’m not just their teacher or their guardian, I’m their friend. As we sit there on the floor, surrounded by the remnants of their old life and the promise of their new one, I know that no matter what turmoil reigns outside these gates, we’re going to be just fine.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Slayer
Church has broken,and now I’m just left to prep for my own personal judgment day. That heavy stone of a club correction is sitting deep in my gut, a constant reminder that this life I’ve carved out for myself comes with a hell of a price tag. Before the storm truly breaks over my head, I find my boots taking me toward Jersey’s trailer. I’m desperate to spend these last few minutes standing on my own two feet with the three people who’ve become my absolute lifeline. No matter what kind of darkness or violence is waiting for me in the wings, they’re the only ones who can coax a real smile out of me.
The walk across that gravel lot feels like it’s miles long, every step toward her porch feeling like a temporary stay of execution. I can see her through the glass, her silhouette bathed in the soft morning light as she moves through her space, probably already mapping out that routine she promised for Boston and Carolina. The knowledge that they’re tucked away safe inside, shielded by her quiet brand of strength, is the only thing keeping my kneesfrom hitting the dirt under the pressure of the hell I’m walking into tomorrow.
I stop at the bottom of the steps, pulling in a deep, shaky breath of the humid Texas air. The heat is already radiating off the gravel, a thick weight that perfectly mirrors the leaden feeling in my chest. Reaching up, I rub my jaw that is still screaming from Riptide’s punch last night. The man’s got a right hook with the strength of a freight train, and it’s just a physical precursor to the systematic beating waiting for me at the clubhouse. That blow was just the opening act, a lethal warning shot from a president who puts the brotherhood above everything else.
I know my brothers won’t hold back—they can’t. Showing mercy now would be like taking a mallet to the very foundation of the Kings. Every man sitting at that table, from Indiana down to Nova, voted me guilty. They’re my family, the men I’ve bled for, but tomorrow they’re the ones who’ll be doling out the pain. The weight of what I’ve done is a constant, gnawing pressure that’s got my stomach turning in knots.
If this were any other brother standing in my boots, I wouldn’t be the one in the center of the ring, I’d be on the outside, waiting to dish out punishment and reinforce the loyalty and respect we demand from each other. But for these next few minutes, I’m not Slayer, the Vice President or the rule-breaker who turned his back on his brothers. I’m not the man who had to be brought in by a tactical team or judged by a jury of my peers. Right now, I’m just a brother and a man looking for one last shred of peace, staring at the warm light in Jersey’s window and knowing Boston and Carolina are safe. I need this silence to anchor me before the world tries to snap me in half tomorrow.
The choice I made is a constant, suffocating pressure in my chest. I try to shake off these catastrophic thoughts, but it’s alosing battle, my mind is stuck on an endless loop of my own failures. Every time I blink, I see the disappointment etched into Riptide’s face and hear that unanimous “guilty” verdict ringing through the smoke-filled room.
I can’t help it, though, I’m deeply ashamed of what I did and the way I handled it. I was the one who fought for that rule to keep my brothers alive while those Dragon assholes are out there hunting us, yet I was the first one to toss it aside when my own blood was on the line. It was a massive lapse in judgment that could’ve cost this club everything, and the shame of it is almost enough to bring me to my knees.
I’ll never regret hauling ass to help Boston, but I should’ve kept my head on straight before jumping the gun. My brother is the most important thing in this world to me, but I have a duty to my club and to my brothers that I completely ignored in my panic. I could’ve called any one of them, Indiana, Nova, or even Icer, and they would’ve been at my back in a heartbeat. Instead, I let my fear for Boston drown out my common sense.
“Get your shit together, Slayer,” I growl at myself as I reach out and knock on the door. I pull in a shallow breath, trying to smooth out the jagged edges of my nerves before they see me. The internal weight of that church session is still sitting heavy in my gut. Then I hear the whimsical sound of Carolina’s giggling and Boston’s over-the-top shouts coming from inside, and a genuine smile finally breaks across my face. When Jersey swings the door open, the sight of her gives me a momentary reprieve from my own head, her blinding smile cutting through my dark thoughts like a blade.
“Hi,” she whispers, stepping back to let me in. She looks so soft in the warm glow of the trailer, her presence acting as a grounding force that makes the violence of my world feel like it’sa lifetime away. “We just finished unpacking their boxes.” She gestures toward the hallway, pride shining in her eyes as she talks about the progress they’ve made. Her breathy voice and the gentle way she moves have my hands itching to pull her close, to find some sanctuary in her arms before the club takes its toll tomorrow. Standing here, watching her, I realize that no matter how much blood I have to spill in the ring, keeping this little piece of paradise intact for my brother and Carolina is worth every single hit I’m going to take.
The scent of a home-cooked breakfast is still hanging in the air, mixing with that soft, flowery perfume that follows Jersey everywhere she goes. It’s a sharp contrast to the heavy smell of motor oil and copper that usually defines my life. I let out a breath I feel like I’ve been holding since the moment I saw Boston huddled in that facility’s welcome room. This small, cluttered trailer isn’t exactly a palace, but with the way Jersey has taken them in, it feels like the safest fortress on the planet.
“Wow, you’ve been busy,” I say, stepping inside and kicking the door shut with my heel. I scan the room, seeing the way the hallway’s been cleared of the cardboard boxes and luggage. A real sense of permanence is starting to settle into the corners of the room. Boston is sitting at the table, his face bright and full of energy, while Carolina is carefully stacking those colorful scrapbooks. They look... normal. Not like patients or liabilities, but like people with an actual future. “What’s on the agenda for the day?” I ask, wanting nothing more than to join them in whatever they’ve got planned.
“We’re going for a walk,” Boston announces, his voice full of that infectious energy that always manages to pull me out of the gutter.
“We get to learn about our surroundings. We’ll know where we can go and where we can’t,” Carolina states, looking and sounding proud of that fact. She holds a small, hand-drawn map Jersey must have helped her start, her fingers tracing the ink lines with absolute focus. To anyone else, it might just be a stroll around a dusty compound, but to them, it’s a mission. They aren’t just exploring, they’re claiming this place as their own, learning the boundaries that signify safety rather than imprisonment.
A smile breaches my face as I pat my brother on his shoulder. “Did Jersey tell you about the wildlife that lives on the property?” I ask, knowing that if nothing else, it’ll garner my brother’s attention. He loves animals, of all kinds. I watch his eyes widen as the question registers, his mind already racing with the possibility of finding hidden creatures tucked away in the brush of the compound.
“Animals? Real ones?” Boston asks, his voice rising in that unfiltered way that tells me I’ve hit the jackpot. He looks over at Carolina, who has stopped tracing her map to listen, her expression mirroring his excitement. It’s a small detail, but in this world of hard choices, seeing them light up over the idea of a few stray deer or a family of raccoons makes the weight on my shoulders feel a fraction lighter. I need them to see this place as more than just another stop in a series of stops, I need them to see it as a home where they can breathe easily.
“Rabbits too?” Carolina innocently asks, her eyes wide with a childlike wonder that tugs at the frayed edges of my heart.
“Yes,” I answer, softening my gravelly voice as much as I can. “Birds too. All kinds of them. If you’re quiet enough, you can see them nesting in the oaks near the edge of the woods.”
“I love birds,” she squeals, the high-pitched sound bouncing off the trailer walls and causing Jersey to let out a genuine, melodic chuckle. When I look up, our eyes clash, and for a second, the bustling room fades into the background. The air between us thickens, charged with the electric memories of this morning—the lingering heat where our fingers brushed, the shared breath in that moment we almost crossed the line, and the near kiss that has been running rampant in my mind ever since.
She must be having the same thoughts as me if her pinkening cheeks are any indication. The air in the trailer feels thinner, heavy with the weight of the words we haven’t said and the physical pull that’s becoming impossible to ignore. Every time she looks at me with that mixture of vulnerability and dawning trust, it’s like a physical blow to my solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of me and leaving me reeling in the wake of her soft presence. This morning on the porch wasn’t just a fleeting moment, it was a shift of my world, moving me toward a future I hadn’t dared to imagine until she stepped into it.
I watch the way she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her movements slightly jerky as she tries to refocus on the kids. She’s putting on a brave face for them, but I can see the flicker of the same fire that’s currently consuming me blazing in her eyes. It’s a dangerous distraction, but I can’t help but want to stretch this moment out, to let the heat of her gaze steady me before I have to face the cold reality of life. If she’s feeling even a fraction of the current humming through my veins, then we’re both in deep shit, and I find myself hoping that we are. The silence in the trailer is thick, vibrating with the unspoken admission that passed between us on the porch this morning. I can still feel the ghost of her fingers laced with mine, a grounding heat.
Clearing her throat, Jersey suggests, “This is the perfect time for our outing. The birds are more active during this time of the day and are always chirping. If you want to see them in action, we need to get a move on.”
