“You heard the lady,” I announce, clapping my hands to break the spell. Boston and Carolina jump into action, their excitement acting as a buffer against the tension between Jersey and me. As they scramble for their shoes, I catch Jersey’s eye one last time, a silent promise that no matter how hard the hits are tomorrow, I’m coming back to her—to them, my family.
As we breach the small hill and head into the thickness of the trees, I notice two figures heading our way. Icer, always Elodie’s shadow, has little man strapped to his chest which always causes me to laugh. The sight of the club’s most lethal enforcer wearing a baby carrier like a tactical vest is a contradiction that never gets old. Elodie, for her part, looks perfectly content, her tiny hands occasionally batting at Icer’s while he maintains a vigilant, stone-faced watch over his surroundings. Beside me, I feel Jersey stiffen, her steps faltering just a fraction as they approach.
“He hates me,” Jersey whispers, her voice barely audible over the crunch of dry leaves under our feet. She shifts slightly, putting a little more distance between herself and the approaching mountain of a man. Her shoulders are hunched, that old habit of trying to make herself invisible resurfacing the moment Icer’s cold, blue gaze tracks in our direction.
“He doesn’t hate you,” I contradict, reaching out to gently squeeze her arm, wanting to ground her before she retreatsentirely into her own head. “He just doesn’t know what to do about you.” Icer is a man of few words and even fewer social graces, the presence of someone as soft and jumpy as Jersey seems to short-circuit his usual survival instincts, leaving him in a state of perpetual, silent observation.
“Why is that?” she questions, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. She watches as Icer stops a few yards away, nodding once to me before adjusting the straps on the carrier with a tenderness that most people would never guess he possessed. “I know he doesn’t like being followed, but back then, he was my solace, my silent protector.” The irony isn’t lost on me—the man who once stood between her and the shadows of her past is now the one she’s most afraid to face in the light of day. It’s a complicated dance of shared history and current hesitation, and I can only hope that they both find a way to navigate it before the pressure of the compound snaps the fragile peace we’ve built.
“Have you told him that?” I ask, watching the trio as they bend over and examine something on the ground.
My eyes drift to Icer again. He’s crouched low, pointing out a cluster of wildflowers to Boston and Carolina who have abandoned us and joined them. The lethal enforcer, a man who usually carries the weight of the club’s darkest deeds on his shoulders, is currently a study in patience. It’s a jarring sight, seeing him operate in the same orbit as people who possess such unfiltered innocence. He’s careful, his movements deliberate so as not to spook them, yet the wall he’s built around himself remains impenetrable to Jersey.
“Can’t talk to someone when they scowl at you and step around you at any given opportunity,” she sighs, her voice thin and laced with a long-standing hurt.
She looks away, focusing on a distant line of trees, her fingers worrying the hem of her sleeve. It’s a nervous tic I’ve come to recognize, a sign that she’s retreating into that internal crawlspace she built for herself years ago. To her, Icer’s silence isn’t just a personality trait, it’s a dismissal. She’s spent her life being a nuisance to the people who should have loved her, and Icer’s inability to find common ground with her feels like a confirmation of that old, toxic narrative.
“Jersey, the man is an enforcer. He lives in the grit and the shadows,” I remind her, trying to bridge the gap. “He sees you, and I think he sees something he doesn’t want to break. He isn’t stepping around you because you’re a problem, he’s doing it because he doesn’t know how to exist in the same space as someone so... soft.”
She doesn’t look convinced. The history between them is a tangled mess of gratitude and fear, and I can tell that until Icer finds a way to lower his guard, Jersey will keep hers firmly in place. We stand there in the humid Texas air, a silent audience to a trio that represents the very future I’m determined to protect.
CHAPTER
NINE
Jersey
I watchIcer out of my peripheral vision, wishing he’d give me a second of his time so I could explain to him why I latched onto him the way I did back then. The silence between us is a jagged, uncomfortable thing, a far cry from the quiet strength I used to draw from his presence when the world outside my hiding spots felt too loud. He’s so focused on the kids, his movements with Elodie and the baby carrier surprisingly gentle. I want to tell him that his silence wasn’t a burden to me back then, it was soothing. Comfortable.
Every time he steps around me or fixes me with that cold, blue, icy gaze, it feels like a dismissal of the girl who once saw him as her only source of relief. I want to explain that I didn't mean to be a nuisance, that I was just a child looking for a white knight who wouldn’t weave lies like my parents did. But the words get stuck in my throat, crowded out by the fear that he only sees the jumpy, broken version of me that still wants to scramble into a dark abyss of nothingness. I need him to know that I’m tryingto be brave, but it's hard when my history feels like a constant reminder of how bad caregivers can be.
Watching him with Boston and Carolina, I see the protector I once knew, but now that protection isn’t aimed at me. Not that it ever really was considering we weren’t friends. It hurts more than I’m willing to admit, feeling like an interloper in a family dynamic I’m supposed to be helping build. I wish I could bridge the gap, to show him that the soft woman standing here today is the same one who once trusted him with her life, whether he knew that or not. But for now, I’m just an observer to his patience, praying that one day he’ll stop looking through me and start seeing me so we can have an adult conversation and clear the air.
Icer tracks me with a side-eyed glare, his focus locked on the perimeter of the fortress he’s erected between us. That look is a physical barricade, a silent warning for me to keep my distance from the peace he’s found. Even as he radiates a jagged tenderness for the little ones in his care, those internal walls remain absolute. Slayer claims it’s just a lack of knowing how to navigate my world, but to me, his coldness is a sharp rejection of a history I carry alone. It’s a one-sided memory, mine and not his, that still lurks in the corners of my mind.
“You need to talk to Letti,” Slayer suggests, his voice pulling me back from the edge of my own dark thoughts. “She’s the only one that can get through to him.”
A soft smile tugs at my lips at the mention of Letti. That woman is a warrior in every sense of the word, her resilience after the horrific brutality she endured is a testament to her unbreakable spirit. She navigated a living nightmare and emerged with an internal fire that even Icer’s frozen exterior couldn’t extinguish. If anyone understands the crushing weight of a traumatichistory and the desperate need for a silent guardian to finally find his voice, it’s her. Maybe Slayer is right, maybe she’s the only bridge capable of spanning the chasm between the ghost of the girl I was and the woman I’m struggling to become within these gates. If there’s a single soul who can convince Icer to lower his guard and hear me out, it’s Letti. She’s his entire world, his absolute everything, and the only person capable of keeping him grounded and sane.
“I’ll talk to her the next time I see her,” I promise. I say the words with a conviction I don’t entirely feel, but seeing the way Slayer looks at me makes me want to be that version of myself—the one who doesn't shy away from the hard conversations. Maybe I should start with him, because he knows there’s a reason but he doesn’t know the why behind it.
“Good,” he says, giving me one of his blinding, encouraging smiles. It’s the kind of smile that makes me believe, if only for a second, that everything is going to be alright.
Carolina catches a flash of sapphire up in the branches and lets out a high-pitched squeal of delight, and before I know it, Icer is breaking down the history of the bird for the girls. He speaks in that gravelly, low rumble of his, a voice that commands every ounce of your attention without ever needing to bark. It’s a side of the club’s most lethal enforcer that only a lucky few ever get to witness—a deep well of quiet knowledge hidden behind a wall of stone and serrated scars.
As he explains the bird’s migratory patterns and its fierce, territorial streak, Boston leans in, his face a study in unfiltered wonder. Carolina’s exuberant noise settles into a captivated silence, her wide eyes tracking the vibrant blue feathers against the canopy of the landscape as she hangs on every single word Icer offers. In this small moment, the looming shadow of theDragons and the heavy weight of the club’s expectations seem to melt away, replaced by a simple lesson in nature from a man who understands more about protection and territory than any handbook could ever teach. I watch them from the corner of my eye, my heart swelling at the unexpected tenderness of it all, realizing that even in a world defined by brutality, there’s still room for a little bit of magic and a hell of a lot of heart.
Clearing my throat, I manage to snag Slayer’s attention, voicing the heavy question that’s been running rampant in my mind. It’s the one shadow that won’t quit, the persistent danger lurking just outside our gates. “The Dragons,” I whisper, my tone tight with nerves. “What’s the real story with those assholes, and is there any light at the end of the tunnel for finally putting an end to their threat?”
“We're working on it, babe. I can't tell you much, club business is sacred between the men. We don't share because it puts a target on our women's heads, but what I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty, is that they’ll never touch you... any of you,” he promises. He reaches out, his thumb tracing a soothing path over the back of my hand, a silent vow reinforcing his spoken one. “The Kings have a long reach and even longer memories. Those Dragon fuckers think they’re ghosts, but every ghost leaves a trail. We’re just waiting for them to trip over their own shadows.” His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, soften as they hold mine, offering a glimpse of the fierce protectiveness that defines him. “You, Boston, Carolina... you’re under the protection of the club now. That means you’re untouchable. I’ll burn this whole state to the ground before I let one of those low-life’s breathe the same air as you.”
“Wow,” I whisper, the weight of his words hitting me like none other have before. I look over at Boston and Carolina, who arestill captivated by the sapphire flash of the bird in the trees, blissfully unaware of the storm Slayer is promising to keep at bay. The intensity in his gaze makes me believe him—that he really would lay waste to everything to keep this small patch of peace intact. For someone who has spent her life looking for nooks and crannies to melt into, the idea of being “untouchable” because of a man's devotion is a concept that makes my heart flutter with a terrifying, beautiful hope.
“Trust me, trust us,” he pleads. “We’ve covered all of our bases, Jersey. If the war comes to us like we’re suspecting it will, we’ll be ready. You remember where all of the safe rooms are, right?”
I nod, the layout of the compound flashing through my mind like a tactical map. I’ve memorized every heavy-duty door and reinforced wall, not because I enjoy the thought of needing them, but because being prepared is the only way I can keep the panic from swallowing me whole. Seeing the way the brothers have turned this place into a fortress gives me a measure of peace, but it’s Slayer’s unwavering presence that truly makes me feel secure. He isn’t just giving me a place to stay, he's giving me a reason to stop looking over my shoulder.
“I do trust you,” I assure him, my voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I reach out, my fingers briefly brushing against the rough denim of his sleeve, reminding myself that he’s here with me.
