Echoes of Secrets (Obsidian MC #7)

Chapter One

Mitchell

Sitting in the corner of the room, I quietly watch Sophie as tears of happiness stream down her face.

“Even if those are happy tears, I still don’t like ‘em,” Venom mutters, his voice gruff as usual.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie says, a radiant smile breaking through as she holds up her phone. Her excitement is contagious. “I’m just so happy. The shelter just received a one-hundred-thousand-dollar donation. Do you know what we can do with that much money? I’m already picturing an expansion; more beds, more space for the people who need it.”

Sophie is the heart and soul behind UNITY, the local homeless shelter. The name stands for Unite, Nurture, Inspire, Transform, and Yield to change. It’s more than just a name. It’s a mission. One she carries on with pride. Her parents started the shelter years ago, and Sophie has taken their legacy to new heights, helping countless people in the process.

If anyone deserves this kind of donation, it’s her.

“We can stock up on supplies to hand out for Christmas,” she says. “Blankets. Socks. Hats. Gloves. Food. I can’t believe someone did this. I wish I could hug them until they pop.”

The room full of bikers and their families all congratulate her. When everyone seems to settle down, I walk over and take her into my arms.

“I’m so happy for you, Soph,” I tell her. “I just know that you’re going to bless many more people with this donation.”

“Thanks, Mitchell. I can’t believe this happened. I was so worried about how to get the funds to stock up on winter items.”

“It came at just the right time,” I reply, stepping back as Pops pulls her into a bear hug.

I retreat to my seat at the back of the room, content to watch the people I call family. Raven, Steel and Blaze’s woman, catches my eye and gives me a warm smile. I smile back, appreciating the easy kindness in her expression. Those men are damn lucky to have a woman like her. I make a mental note to grab her some fresh strawberries the next time I’m at the market.

I love my family. I’d do anything for them. But I don’t fit in here. Not really. I never have.

Not a single person here knows the real me.

Knox glances my way, his eyes meeting mine with a quiet understanding. He smiles and gives a small shake of his head, almost imperceptible.

Okay, fine. One person knows the real me. Knox. And I trust him with my life to keep it silent. I have to. Because if anyone else finds out who I am…who I really am…every single person in this room would be in danger.

So, my name is Ryan Mitchell. I’m thirty-nine years old. Born December 10, 1985, in Bakersville, West Virginia. My parents are Angel and Dan Mitchell, who died when I was thirteen. I was adopted one year later. And I hate chocolate.

Only two of those things are actually true.

I am thirty-nine years old.

And I really do hate chocolate.

As the room hums with conversations and laughter, I ease out of my seat and head toward the door. No one even glances my way. Not surprising. I’ve always been good at blending into the background.

The sound of Sophie’s laugh carries over the noise, warm and full of life. She deserves this moment, surrounded by people who love her, celebrating the incredible work she’s done.

They don’t need me here. They never really do.

I step out into the cool night air, the faint hum of the gathering fading behind me as the door clicks shut. The silence outside is almost a relief. It’s easier to breathe out here, away from the noise and the weight of their trust.

Tugging my cut tighter against the chill, I start toward my bike. The streetlights cast long shadows across the lot, but I don’t mind the darkness. I’ve lived in it long enough to know it well.

Knox will notice I’m gone. He always does. But he won’t say anything. He understands why I keep my distance, even when I’m here.

Sliding onto the seat of my bike, I let the engine roar to life. It’s time to go. I’m not sure where I’m headed tonight, but anywhere is better than staying long enough for someone to look too closely.

My phone buzzes with a security check from my bank asking if I’d approved the transfer of one-hundred grand to a charity in Harborbrook, Ohio.

Smiling, I insert my security information and hit submit. They’ll call me tomorrow to confirm my confirmation and then ask me to come in with my ID. But that’s okay. My friend is able to do what she wishes to do for Christmas. As long as she never finds out it was me, I’ll deal with as many security checks as it takes.