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I glance at Lawson, who stands across the room, talking to a couple of Grim’s guys. Max is with the nanny tonight so Lawson can be here with the club, and he’s actually socializing. His shoulders are relaxed as he scratches his jaw and smiles. It’s a glimpse of a side of him I’ve yet to see.

“Thanks for taking care of it.” I clear my throat.

It’s dry all of a sudden—tight.

In a matter of months, the clubhouse could be built. How long after that until Steel summons me back home?

“The contractor is hoping to touch base with you tomorrow afternoon,” Aiden says, not noticing my internal crisis.

“I’ll make it work. Anything else?”

“No snakes—of the reptile or Zander variety. It’s been pretty quiet around town. Not much worth noting.”

“I heard you got a call from Denver yesterday.”

“Lawson told you?” Aiden guesses.

“I asked him to keep me updated on anything I might need to know. What’s going on?”

“Prez is having issues redrawing territory lines after taking out some Reapers.” Aiden scratches the scruff on his jaw, never referring to his father as Dad—only Prez. “They lost a couple of guys in a raid. One was a friend.”

“If you need to take a trip to Colorado, the guys will understand. We can cover things here.”

I’m not naive to the fact that this isn’t yet home for any of us, even those planning on staying long term. Back at our original chapters we have friends—some have family—missions we’ve invested time, sweat, and blood into. Soon, this place will hopefully be the same, but for now, home is what we all left behind.

“Nah.” Aiden shakes his head. “Hammer was one of the few of us who had a family outside the club. They’re sending his body to be buried in Maine on his family’s plot, so he’s probably already gone.”

“Yeah. Still…” I eye Aiden. “I’m sorry shit went down like that. Especially if he had family.”

“Me too.” He takes a sip of his drink, lost in his thoughts for a moment before continuing, “What do you think is the worst way to die?”

My eyebrow lifts, and when I glance at Aiden, he’s staring off.

There’s plenty of terrible ways to die. I’ve been shot, stabbed, and tortured in a number of creative ways that were pretty fucking awful. Water in the lungs is especially painful.

Physically, there’s no shortage of ways to die that would hurt. But the worst?

“Probably at the hands of my enemy, no matter how they decide to do it. Because then that means I failed,” I say, and Aiden looks over at me. “Although, I guess if it saves someone else, maybe it was for the best.”

Aiden chuckles. “You really do have no sense of self-preservation.”

I shrug, my gaze drifting. It’s not necessarily that I walk into situations wanting to die, but I don’t have a family. No one’s going to miss me if I’m gone. Not like some other people.

“What about you?” I ask Aiden. “What do you think is the worst way to die?”

“Alone.” One word.

No pause.

He lifts his glass and takes a large sip, not bothering to explain.

“There you go, Shane.” He lifts off the counter, pointing across the room. “Proof of life. I’m going to check out what’s happening by the fire.”

Aiden walks away, and I glance at where he pointed, spotting Harloe walking through the bunkhouse door.

Her eyes scan the room, and when they find me, her gaze is a punch to the chest. God, she’s beautiful when she’s messy from working at the bar all day. Not a drop of makeup on her face. A smudge of dirt or ash stains her cheek, and she’s downright gorgeous.

She’s wearing those shorts that make me forget I should be a gentleman, and a T-shirt that is tied in a knot at one side, showing off a tease of her stomach. Her long dark hair is messy around her shoulders, and even if I’m exhausted and stressed and burned the fuck out, one look at her has my entire body humming.