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“Um, maybe a week or so ago?” Willa answers as she throws her leg over my bike to stand.

I follow her, as the rest of the MC line up along the edge of her grass. The path is blown to shit, and there are small missing patches of lawn and clumps of dirt littered around the front yard.

“A week?” Nitro asks, surveying the damage. “How the hell did you not hurt yourself?” he asks my woman.

She throws her arms up, equally baffled. “No idea! I’ve been up and down that path to get the mail every day. I’ve even been on the lawn picking weeds out.”

We all stare between her front yard and Diesel who seems to have passed out. Hopefully.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Pops chuckles under his breath. “Whatever you fuckers do, don’t move. Willa and the women are safe.”

“Huh?”

“Holy shit,” Grind says. “It’s weight triggered.” He turns to look at the MC. “How old are these kids?”

“Eight.” Blanche answers, making her way up the path, followed by Nat, Ana, Vi and Willa.

Grind coughs in shock, but recovers fast. “So, what’s the plan? We all want a piece of that asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your pound of flesh. Let us deal with it and your fat asses stay out of our way.” Pops waves a dismissive hand in Grind’s direction.

“You know, I’ve killed men who spoke to me like that.”

“Ohh, I’m shaking in my boots,” Pops taunts. “Come over here and get me.”

“Not worth it, Grind,” Marx says. “You shoot at him, his mouth would run ten times worse.”

“And you’d have my Ol Lady to answer to,” Rhodie adds.

Grind shudders. That’s good, the kid has a healthy respect for scary bastards. Maybe he did grow up and learn something up there in BC.

There’s some groaning and then a thud as Pops cuts Diesel down from where he’s hanging. He lands heavily on his shoulder.

“Damn, that sounded like a dislocation,” Rider says.

“Sure did,” I agree.

I hope there's more where that came from. Willa hasn't said much about life with Diesel, but it’s not fucking hard to guess. If I’m honest, I don’t want to know. That’s Willa’s past. The woman I know, the one I claimed, she’s not the woman that Diesel knew. My woman is a fucking powerhouse. She knows her mind. She knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to go out there and get it. And by the look on her face, what she wants is blood. Diesel’s.

“What do you wanna do, sweetheart?” Pops asks, as he shoves Diesel off the porch into the yard, not even flinching when a small explosion goes off under Diesel’s body.

“Damn,” Tank mutters.

Willa looks around her, at the Ol Ladies at her back, at Pops, at the MC men standing at the edge of her lawn, her gaze finally landing on me. Her gaze searches mine for a moment, and her plump lips tip up.

“I want him in the Rev Room, trussed up. We’re gonna have a little chat and then he’s yours.” She waves at Marx who dips his chin.

“How do you want us to help?” Tav calls. “He’s too heavy for any of you to carry.”

Pops looks down at Diesel, then looks at the women. A shiver rolls down my spine when they all grin at the same time.

“Don’t you worry about us.”

They all stand in a line, shoulder to shoulder, my Willa in the center. Each place a foot on Diesel and shove, essentially kicking and rolling him over little land mine after little land mine until after five minutes and no less than six mini explosions, Diesel is lying on the sidewalk smelling like burnt fucking hair, open wounds oozing on the concrete.

“Load him up boys!” Pops demands before muttering to the women that the smell of burnt flesh is making him hungry for bacon.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Grind mumbles, looking like a deer caught in headlights.