Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Shiver
I crack open my eyes, blinking away the last remnants of sleep as sunlight filters through the curtains.
For a moment, I'm disoriented, not recognizing the rustic wooden beams overhead or the faint scent of pine in the air.
Then it hits me—I'm in Montana, crashing at Kade's old place that the Billings charter now uses for guests.
Stretching languidly, I sink deeper into the ridiculously comfortable mattress.
"Damn," I mutter appreciatively, "I need to get me one of these bad boys for Vegas."
My own bed back home suddenly seems inadequate in comparison.
The National Charter sure knows how to treat their guests like family.
I roll onto my side, savoring the warmth of the thick down comforter.
Part of me wants to burrow back under the covers and hibernate, especially knowing there's more snow on the way.
But duty calls, and we've got business to attend to.
Propping myself up on one elbow, I survey the room.
It's simple but well-crafted, all warm wood tones and sturdy furniture.
Whoever built this clearly knew their shit when it came to construction.
I make a mental note to ask him about the craftsmanship later—might be worth looking into similar builds for some of our properties back in Nevada.
I’m a handy son of a bitch, and I’d like to try to help when I can.
With a groan, I force myself to sit up fully, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
The hardwood floor is freezing beneath my bare feet, a stark reminder that I'm a long way from the desert heat of Las Vegas.
I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the rough stubble that's accumulated overnight.
A thunderous knock rattles the door, jarring me from my peaceful slumber.
Cobra's booming voice follows, cutting through the morning silence like a chainsaw.
"Wakey wakey, sunshine! Get your mean mug up so we can go get some grub. I'm starvin', and you don't like me when I'm hungry."
I groan.
Fucking Cobra. Always chipper as hell in the morning.
It should be a crime.
I grunt back, my voice rough with sleep. "I'll be downstairs in ten."
As comfortable as this bed is, duty calls.
And by duty, I mean breakfast.
My muscles ache pleasantly from the last couple day’s long ride.
Nothing a hot shower and some food won't fix.
Making the bed doesn't take long—old habits from my time in the service die hard.
As I'm smoothing out the last wrinkle in the comforter, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I pick it up, expecting it to be one of the guys, but my heart skips a beat when I see it's from Grace.
My little sister's message lights up the screen.
Hope you're doing well. Haven't heard from you in a while. Can I come visit you in Vegas next month maybe? I have a week's vacation off work.
A smile tugs at my lips as I read her words.
It's been too long since I've seen her face-to-face.
The last time...
Christ, the last time was right after that bastard Bronco...
I clench my jaw, pushing away the rage that threatens to surface.
Bronco's dead. I made damn sure of that.
But the memory of what he did to Grace still makes my blood boil.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on the present.
On the possibility of seeing my sister again, of making some good memories to help overshadow the bad.
Sounds great, kiddo. Let me know the dates and I'll make sure I'm free. Miss you.
I hit send, then toss the phone on the bed.
It'll be good to see Grace, to see if she’s okay.
I can always tell if she’s bullshitting me straight to my face.
It’s kind of hard to do that through text, though.
I throw on my jeans and a fresh T-shirt, then shrug into my cut.
The familiar weight of the leather settles on my shoulders, a second skin that carries the loyalty I have to the club.
As I make my way downstairs, I can't help but continue to admire the craftsmanship of this place.
The wood paneling, the sturdy banisters, the attention to detail in every corner— it's a far cry from the cookie-cutter modulars back in Vegas.
I remember seeing a few houses like this last night on our ride in.
"Took you long enough, princess," Cobra's gruff voice greets me as I hit the bottom step.
He's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.
I flip him off casually. "Some of us like to smell nice in the morning, asshole."
Kade chuckles from his spot by the door. "So, what's for breakfast? I'm starving enough to eat a horse."
"Well, lucky for you," I drawl, "I don't think horse is on the menu. Though with Cobra's cooking, you never know."
Cobra aims a mock punch at my arm. "Watch it, smartass. I'll have you know my horse tartare is legendary."
Kade rolls his eyes, but there's a grin on his face. "Octavia and a couple of the ladies made a spread over at the clubhouse. Buffet style."
My stomach growls at the thought. "Now you're talkin’. Lead the way."
As we head out, I can't help but think how different this is from our usual mornings back in Vegas.
There's a sense of... I don't know, permanence here.
Like these people have put down roots deeper than we have.
I wonder if we'll ever have that back home.
Granted, the Montana charter has been around for a lot longer than Vegas and Mexico.
I’m sure in time things will change there too.
Right now, all I want is a plate piled high with whatever Octavia's cooked up.
And maybe to see if I can steal some of Cobra's bacon when he's not looking.
I love messing around with that fucker.
As we push through the clubhouse doors, I'm hit with a wall of noise and energy.
Kids are everywhere, their shrieks and laughter echoing off the walls.
It's like walking into a damn circus.
I wonder how many migraines are in this room right now, because I’ll guarantee I’m going to have one within the hour.
I arch an eyebrow at Kade. "Shouldn't these little hellions be in school?"
Kade shakes his head, a bemused smile on his face. "These ones are too young for school. The older kids are there, but with the amount of snow that's still comin'," He trails off, glancing out the window. "I doubt they'll be in class tomorrow. They're saying two to three feet."
"Shit," Cobra mutters, rubbing his jaw. "That's gonna make things interesting."
I can't help but smirk. "What's the matter, Cobra? Afraid of a little snow?"
He shoots me a look. "You try riding a bike in that shit, Shiver. It ain't exactly a walk in the park. More like a fuckin’ death sentence, so we’ll be on the quads or in trucks."
As we weave through the chaos toward the kitchen, I'm struck by how... normal it all feels.
Kids running around, the smell of coffee and bacon in the air.
The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, plates and utensils clattering as people serve themselves.
My mouth waters at the spread laid out before us—pancakes, French toast, eggs done every which way, and enough meat to feed a small army.
"Damn," I mutter, grabbing a plate. "You Montana boys know how to eat. Or wait, maybe they heard Cobra was comin’ so they made all this for him."
Kade grins, piling his plate high. "Wait till you see what we do for dinner."
Cobra jabs me in the side, “Shut up you little fucker.”
We load up our plates—I make sure to snag an extra piece of bacon when Cobra's not looking—and head out to a table where Zane and Blackjack are already seated.
Zane looks up as we approach, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living. How'd you boys sleep?"
"Like the dead," I reply, sliding into a seat. "Your guest beds are comfortable as hell."
Kade snorts. "After a ride like that, he could've slept on a rock and still thought it was the Ritz."
I flip him off good-naturedly, but there's truth to his words.
That ride was no joke, and my body's still feeling it.
I might be thirty-three, but I feel like I’m sixty-four today.
I waste no time digging into my breakfast.
Kade, Cobra, Blackjack, and Zane chat about the old days, not diving into anything too interesting until I’m halfway through my pancakes.
Kade casually drops the question we've all been waiting for. "So, Zane, any word on where they've spotted Boomer lately?"
The atmosphere at the table shifts instantly.
Zane's expression darkens as he sets down his fork, clearing his throat. "There's been sightings of that slick fuck all around the State, toting that English cunt along with him. What's he doing with her again anyway?"
I feel my jaw clench at the mention of Sally.
The memory of what she tried to do to our club, to our family, still burns hot in my gut.
Kade leans back in his chair, his face a mask of barely controlled anger. "Sally originally planned to go after the Vegas charter, but when she figured out Sera turned on her, she flipped the script. Now she's gunning for Billings, thinkin’ she'd still be successful in her endeavor."
I watch as understanding dawns on Zane's face.
He nods slowly, processing the information. "Sera... that's Turmoil's ol' lady, yeah?"
"Yep," Cobra chimes in, a rare smile crossing his face. "And they've got a baby on the way. Sally could’ve killed them both. We were lucky we got to Sera in time."
Zane shakes his head, “Fuck, and to think a mother would do that to her own daughter.”
I speak up, “That’s not the worst of it. Cunt popped Sera’s grandpop too.”
Zane's expression softens for a moment. "We’ll get her and Boomer too. On another note, it's good to see your charter is growing in numbers too." He pauses, a hint of concern crossing his features. "Mexico on the other hand, they're kind of stagnant, but I'm sure in time things will change down there."
As the conversation continues, I find myself lost in thought.
The idea of Sera, once our enemy, now carrying the child of one of our own, is a reminder of how quickly things can change.
It also makes me realize how dangerous it can be to underestimate anyone.
Cobra leans forward, his tattooed arms resting on the table. "How are things down at Amara's charter?" he asks, curiosity evident in his voice.
Zane chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Some days are boring as all hell, other days it's like they're in a damn telenovela."
We all burst out laughing, the tension in the room easing for a moment.
I can just picture the drama unfolding in Mexico, probably not too different from our own soap opera here in the States.
But Zane's expression quickly sobers, and I feel my muscles tense instinctively. "So, Damon told me he wants Sally more than Boomer," he says, his voice low and serious. "We have fish to fry with that son of a bitch, so I'm thinkin' we can get both of those miserable fucks if we play our cards right."
My heart rate picks up at his words.
That bitch has been a thorn in our side for far too long.
"That'd be great," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "A win for both charters."
Zane nods, his eyes meeting mine. "Exactly. I've got some scouts keeping their eyes open for both of them. Things have been quiet for a day or so... we're just waiting to hear back."
As the others continue discussing strategy, I find my mind wandering.
Images of Sally flash through my head—her smug face, the havoc she's wreaked on our club.
My fists clench involuntarily under the table.
God, I can't wait to get some action.
To make that bitch pay for everything she's done.
I know I'm not alone in my sentiment.
The entire Vegas charter is itching for revenge.
But I force myself to take a deep breath, to stay focused on the conversation at hand.
Patience, I remind myself.
We'll get our chance and when we do, Sally won't know what hit her.