Chapter Fifteen
Janelle
T ank is on the phone with Wolf and the atmosphere has changed in the car. The kids are chattering in the backseat, their voices are a mix of excitement and sibling bickering, but Tank’s sharp tone silences them. Abel, ever the observant twelve-year-old, frowns and lean forward slightly. “Is everything okay?” he asks, his voice tentative.
Tank glances at him through the rearview mirror, his jaw tight. “Yeah, kiddo. Everything’s fine.” He doesn’t sound convincing, even to me.
I turn in my seat to look at the boys and Chloe, who clutches her stuffed bunny like a lifeline. Her big eyes lock onto mine, silently asking a thousand questions I can’t answer. My stomach twists in knots.
“Tank,” I say quietly, keeping my voice steady for their sake. “What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer right away, his attention glued to the road ahead. His hands tighten around the steering wheel as he mutters something under his breath that sound suspiciously like a string of curses. Finally, he sighs and glances at me, his eyes flicking between the road and my face.
"There's another car," he tells me, his voice low but urgent. "Might be trouble. It could be nothing but it’s better to safe than sorry. Wolf thinks it’s heading our way."
My breath catches, panic threatening to rise. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
“The bad kind,” he’s not sugarcoating it. “Could be your ex’s guys. Could be someone else. I don’t know yet.” His jaw tightens again, and he adds, “But I promised Wolf I’d keep you and the kids safe. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay calm for the kids’ sake. Abel is still staring at Tank, his brows furrowed in that way that reminded me too much of his father—minus the malice. Dillon looked confused but didn’t say anything, and Chloe clutching her bunny so tightly I worry its ears might pop off. I reach back and gently place a hand on her knee, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” I murmur.
Tank’s eyes flick to me again, and he jerks his head in the direction of the backseat, “Keep them calm.” The car feels too small, the air too thick with unspoken fears. My hands itch for something to do, something to hold onto other than the rising terror curling in my chest.
“Why would someone be following us?” Abel’s voice breaks the tense silence. He sounds older than his twelve years, like he’s already figured out it isn’t good but needs to hear someone else confirm it.
Tank doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a sharp turn onto a smaller road, making Chloe squeal and clutch at her bunny even tighter. I look back and see the car behind us and catching up. I twist back around, my heart hammering in my chest. "Tank," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "They're right behind us."
Tank grunts, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. "I see 'em."
Abel leans forward again. "Is it...is it bad guys? Like in the movies?"
"Abel, sit back," my voice firm but not harsh. The last thing I need was for one of the kids to get hurt because they weren’t buckled in properly.
"But Mom—"
"Abel," Tank cut in, his voice like steel. "Listen to your mom. Sit back and keep an eye on your brother and sister."
That shut him up, though he looks like a million more questions were brewing in his head. He slumps back into his seat with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest.
The car jolts as Tank swerved again, and that’s when I feel it. The other car had hit us from behind. It throughs us forward, my hands instinctively flying out to brace myself against the dashboard. Chloe cries sharply, her little voice trembling as she clung to her bunny with all her might. Abel and Dillon both yelp, but thankfully their seatbelts hold them in place.
"Tank!" I shout, my voice cracking with fear.
"I'm on it," he barks back, his focus razor-sharp as he tightens his grip on the wheel. He sped up, but the car behind us was relentless, slamming into us again. The sound of metal against metal made my stomach churn.
Chloe starts sobbing softly from the backseat. "Mommy," she whimpers, her tears soaking into her bunny's fur.
I twist in my seat to face her, gently stroking her leg. "It’s okay, baby," I sooth, though my voice wavered. "We’re going to be okay. Just hold onto your bunny and stay buckled up, all right? Mommy's got you." My words feel hollow, but I can't let her see my fear.
Tank mutters under his breath again, something about needing a better car for this kind of heat. “All right, Janelle,” he says, his voice clipped but steady. “I need you to check the glovebox. There’s a little surprise in there.”
I blink at him, my heart still racing. “A surprise? Tank, this isn’t exactly the time—”
“Just do it!” he snaps, his eyes flicking toward me for half a second before returning to the road. The car jolts again as the one behind us rams into us harder this time. Chloe screams.
I fumble with the glovebox, my hands shaking so badly it takes two tries to get it open. Inside was a small handgun and a single clip. My stomach drops.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper, staring at the weapon like it might bite me. My hands freeze mid-air, trembling. The weight of the moment hit me like a freight train. I’ve never held a gun in my life.
"Janelle!" Tank barks, his voice pulling me back to the chaos around us. "Load it. Now!"
"I—Tank, I don’t—" My voice cracks as panic surged through me.
"Janelle!" he bellows again, his tone brooking no argument. "You need to do this! For your kids!"
That snaps something inside me. I grab the gun and the clip with shaky hands, fumbling to fit them together. My fingers felt clumsy, like they belonged to someone else. Another jolt from behind nearly sent the gun tumbling from my grasp, but I clench my teeth and force myself to focus.
Before I’m able to get more than three bullets in, the car hit us again, but this time it sends us sideways. All I see in front of us was a tree, and the world seems to slow down. Tank yanks the wheel hard to the right, trying to regain control, but the car skids on the dirt and gravel. The sound of tires screeching fills my ears, mixed with Chloe’s terrified cries and Dillon’s panicked shouts.
"Hold on!" Tank yells, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip.
The impact comes fast and hard. The car slams into the tree with a sickening crunch, throwing us all forward. My forehead hits the dashboard, stars exploding in my vision as pain shoots through my skull. For a moment, everything went silent except for the ringing in my ears.
I blink rapidly, trying to shake off the disorientation. My heart pounding so loud it feels like it might burst out of my chest. My first thought is of the kids.
"Abel! Dillon! Chloe!" I croak, twisting around in my seat despite the sharp pain in my shoulder and ribs. "Are you okay? Talk to me!"
Abel groans, his face pale but his eyes open. "I’m... I’m okay, Mom," he says, though his voice was shaky. Dillon holding his arm, tears streaming down his face. "I think I hit my elbow," he sniffles, but he didn’t look hurt. Chloe sobbing uncontrollably, her little body trembling as she clutches her bunny like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
I look over to Tank, and there’s so much blood. He isn’t moving but before I could check; the door whips open. The cold night air rushes into the car as someone stands in the open door, and I instinctively raise the gun, though my hands are still trembling. A tall figure looms over me, silhouetted by the car's headlights. My heart may explode.
Coming into view, it’s my ex-husband, Jack, and his face twists into that all-too-familiar sneer. His greasy hair clings to his forehead, and his eyes glint with anger and satisfaction. My stomach churns at seeing him, my fear momentarily replaced by a wave of white-hot rage.
"Hello, Janelle," he drawls, leaning casually against the door frame as if he hadn’t forced us off the road. "Miss me?"
"Get away from us," I say through gritted teeth, tightening my grip on the gun despite my trembling hands. My voice steady, even though every fiber screamed to grab the kids and run.
Jack's eyes flick to the gun in my hands, and he chuckles darkly. "You? With a gun? That’s cute." He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "We both know you don’t have it in you."
"You don’t know anything about what I have in me," I snap, louder than I intended. My finger twitches on the trigger, though I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or anger. Probably both.
Jack smirks, the kind of smirk that makes my blood run cold. "Oh, but I do, sweetheart," he sneers. "I know you’re just a scared little girl playing pretend. You wouldn't dare."
In that moment, something inside me shifts. Maybe it’s the way Chloe’s sobs cut through the night air like a knife. Maybe it’s the sight of Abel clutching Dillon protectively in the backseat. Or maybe it’s the years of being told I wasn’t strong enough, brave enough, good enough. Whatever it was, it lit a fire in me.
"Get away from this car," I say again, with a steeliness that surprised even me. The gun feels heavier in my hands now, not because of its weight but because of its responsibility. I wasn’t just holding a weapon—I was having the safety of my children, the promise of their tomorrow. My finger tightens on the trigger.
Jack’s smirk doesn’t falter, but I see it—the briefest flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He isn’t expecting this. He isn’t expecting me to stand my ground.
“Janelle,” he tsks, his tone dripping with condescension, “put the gun down before you hurt yourself.”
“No,” I simply say. The word feels like a declaration, a line drawn in the sand. “You’ve done enough hurting for one lifetime.”
His jaw twitches, and I can tell he isn’t used to being denied. “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” he warns, though his voice lacks the usual venom. Maybe he’s starting to understand that I’m the same woman he used to control.
“I won’t regret protecting my kids, asshole!”
Jack’s face twists, his smirk finally faltering. “You think you’re some kind of hero now? You think you can just erase everything I’ve taught you?” His voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a jagged blade.
I don’t flinch. Not this time. “No,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “But I can end it.”
The sound of gravel crunching under boots draw my attention for a split second. My heart leaps into my throat as another figure emerges from the darkness, their shadow long and imposing under the flickering headlights. For a terrifying moment, I think Jack brought backup.
But then I see her.
Onyx.
Her leather cut catches the light, and her blue eyes lock onto mine like a lifeline. Relief floods through me so forcefully I almost drop the gun. She looks furious—her usual calm, sarcastic demeanor replaced by something colder, sharper.
"Step away from the car," Onyx demands, her voice low and deadly. She doesn’t shout—she didn’t have to. The authority in her tone is enough to make even Jack hesitate.
Jack’s sneer falters briefly before he straightens, trying to puff himself up like some kind of alpha male. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?" he spits, his words dripping with disdain.
Onyx doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her boots crunching on the gravel like a warning drumbeat. When she speaks again, her voice ice-cold. "The woman who’s about to shove your face into the dirt if you don’t back off."
I almost laugh at that. Almost. But I can’t quite manage it with my heart still racing and my hands still gripping the gun like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
Jack scoffs, but I catch the way his eyes dart nervously toward Onyx, weighing his options. He’s a predator, sure, but Onyx? She was the wolf in this scenario, and he knows it.
"You don’t scare me bitch," he tries to act tough, though his voice trembles just enough to betray him. His eyes dart toward Onyx’s hands—scarred knuckles flexing at her sides like they were itching to introduce themselves to his face. “Oh, I get it,” he says with a sneer, though his voice wavers slightly. “You’re her knight in shining leather, huh? What are you gonna do? Save the damsel in distress?”
Onyx tilts her head, a dangerous smile creeping onto her lips. “Something like that,” her tone as smooth and deadly as a freshly honed blade. “But see, the thing is…” She takes another step closer, forcing Jack to instinctively back up a step. “This damsel? She doesn’t need saving. She’s doing just fine holding her own.”
Her eyes flick to me briefly, and that one glance make my chest tighten for some reason. I can still feel the weight of the gun in my hands, but it isn’t as suffocating now. Onyx has a way of doing that—making the unbearable feel just a little less heavy.
“Now,” she continues, her gaze snapping back to Jack like a predator zeroing in on its prey, “here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna turn your sorry ass around, walk away, and never come near them again. Because if you don’t…” Her voice drops, and suddenly, all you could hear were the sounds of many bikes in the background.
The rumble of engines grows louder, the unmistakable roar of motorcycles cutting through the tense silence like a war cry. Jack’s bravado falters further, his sneer freezing mid-formation as he glances over his shoulder. At least half a dozen bike headlights cut through the night, their beams bouncing off the gravel and illuminating his paling face.
One by one, they roll in—big, burly figures with leather cuts and hard stares. The Wild Jester's MC. My breath catches as they form a semi-circle behind Onyx, their presence a silent but deafening statement. Each one looks like they’d been dragged out of some gritty action movie, all tattoos, scars, and tough-as-nails attitudes.
Jack visibly swallows. “What is this?” he barks, his voice cracking slightly despite his attempt at authority. “You brought your little biker gang? What, you couldn’t handle me on your own?”
Onyx doesn’t even blink. “No,” she replies coolly, her gaze steady on him. “I could handle you just fine. But see, I like to share.” She nods over her shoulder at the group of bikers now dismounting their rides, each one moving with a deliberate calm that sent a clear message: you don’t mess with family.
Jack takes a shaky step back, and I can’t help but notice how much smaller he seems now. His chest isn’t puffed out anymore, and his sneer long gone, replaced by something suspiciously like fear.
Just then, Hatchet steps forward. “This the guy causing trouble for Janelle?” he rumbles, his voice deeper than a canyon. He doesn’t even glance at me—he looks at Onyx like she was the only one who needed to answer.
Onyx nods once. “That’s him.”
“Figures,” the man mutters, cracking his knuckles like a warm-up before a particularly satisfying workout. “He looks like the type.”
Jack’s eyes dart between the growing wall of leather-clad bikers and Onyx, who hasn’t shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You’re all insane,” he spits, though his voice had lost its earlier venom. It sounds hollow now, defensive. “You think I’m scared of a bunch of criminals?”
As he steps closer to Onyx’s side, Hatchet chuckles, low and menacing. “Criminals?” He glances at Onyx with a smirk. “That what we are now?”
Onyx shrugs, unimpressed by Jack’s attempt to insult them. “I’ve been called worse.”
Before anyone could say or do anything else, the lights and sirens of police cars come up the road. The flashing red and blue lights slice through the darkness, painting everyone in an eerie, shifting glow. For a moment, the only sound is the wail of sirens and the quiet rumble of the bikes still idling.
Jack’s face morphs from fear to something resembling smugness. He steps back, squaring his shoulders as if he’d just been handed a lifeline. “Oh, looks like your little gang’s fun is over,” he sneers, though his voice still wavers at the edges. “You’re all about to get exactly what you deserve.”
Onyx doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even turn to look at the approaching squad cars. Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head at him, her lips curving into a slow, almost amused smile. “You are going to be surprised,” her voice so casual.
The cops pull up, two cars screeching to a halt with their lights still blazing, and two officers get out. Onyx and Hatchet acknowledge one of the officers, “Hello, Officer Hastings.”
Hastings tips his hat slightly, his eyes flicking from Onyx to the rest of the MC crew before finally landing on Jack. He doesn’t look surprised—if anything, he looks mildly irritated, like a dad showing up to break up a fight between unruly teenagers.
"Evening, Dawson," Hastings says in his gravelly voice. His hand rests casually on his belt, inches away from his holstered gun, but his stance has no tension. He looks over at Hatchet and gives him a nod. "Hatchet."
Jack blinks, his smugness faltering as he realizes there was no immediate rush to cuff anyone. "Wait a second," he stammers, pointing accusingly at Onyx and the others. "You're just going to stand there? They're threatening me! This is a gang!"
Hastings raises an unimpressed eyebrow and turns to Onyx. "You threatening people again, Dawson?"
Onyx smirks and shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Threatening? Nah. Just having a friendly chat. Jack here was just leaving, weren’t you, Jack?” Her tone drips with a mock sweetness, making me bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Like hell I was!” Jack bluster, but the crack in his voice betraying him yet again. He points at Onyx, Hatchet, and me like he can’t decide who to blame first. “She’s got a gun! And these thugs—”
“Careful,” Hatchet cut in smoothly, his voice calm but carrying a weight that silenced Jack mid-sentence. “Choose your next words wisely.”
Hastings sighs deeply, clearly exhausted by whatever shenanigans led him to this moment. He pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters something under his breath before leveling his gaze at Jack. “You’re on thin ice already, Jack,” his tone flat. “We know about the assault charges, and now it seems like a violation of a restraining order. Am I right?”
Jack’s face turns beet red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “That’s… that’s not what this is!” he stammers. “I wasn’t violating anything! I was just—”
“Just?” Hastings cuts him off sharply, his tone sharp enough to slice through Jack’s weak excuses. “You’ve already got a record longer than a CVS receipt, and you think anyone here is buying your story?” He gestures toward me and the others, his gaze hardening. “You’re harassing a woman who has a restraining order against you, Jack. That’s plenty for me to bring you in tonight.”
“I didn’t—” Jack starts again, but Hastings held up a hand.
“Save it,” Hastings barks. He pulls out his handcuffs and takes a step toward Jack, who immediately takes several panicked steps back.
“No, wait!” Jack nearly trips over himself in desperation. “You’ve got it all wrong! I was just trying to talk to her!" His voice cracks, his bravado crumbling faster than wet tissue paper. He points a shaking finger in my direction. "She’s making this out to be worse than it is!”
I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow at his pathetic deflection. “Oh, please,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. “You showed up uninvited, again, leaving your creepy little ‘gifts.’ You were told to stay away, Jack. Restraining orders aren’t suggestions.”
Hastings doesn’t even pause. He reaches out and grabs Jack by the arm with all the ease of someone snatching a toddler mid-tantrum. “Yeah, yeah, they always are,” he mutters as he slapped the cuffs onto Jack’s wrists. “You can tell your sob story down at the station.”
“You think this is over?” his voice trembling more than he probably intended. “You think you’ve won?”
Onyx raises an eyebrow, her smirk growing wider. “Won? Honey, I haven’t even tried yet.”
Hatchet chuckles beside her, his deep laugh rumbling like thunder rolling in the distance. “You should quit while you’re behind, Jack,” he says, his voice carrying that dangerous edge of amusement. “Before you dig yourself an even deeper hole.”
Jack’s eyes dart between Hatchet and Onyx, but whatever fight he had left in him quickly drifts away. Hastings practically drags him toward the squad car as Jack continued his halfhearted protests.
“Unbelievable,” Hastings muttered, shaking his head as he opened the back door and shoved Jack inside. “I’ve had more pleasant evenings scraping roadkill off the highway.”
As the door slams shut, I let out a shaky breath. The tension around us melts away as the flashing lights paint Jack’s sulking face in hues of red and blue through the window.
Hatchet claps a hand on Onyx’s shoulder, his grin still firmly in place. “Well, that was entertaining,” he says, his tone light now that the drama and I decide I can slip out of the car.
“Do you know Officer Hastings?” I ask Onyx and Hatchet.
Onyx turns to me with a small smile, her arms still crossed over her chest. “Officer Hastings, we usually call him Eagle. He is a club brother.”
“A club brother?” I echo, my eyebrows shooting up. “You’re telling me he’s part of The Wild Jester’s MC?”
Hatchet chuckles, leaning casually against his bike. “Is your mind blown, Janelle?”
I blink, trying to process what Hatchet asks me. “Blown? More like mildly singed,” I retorted, crossing my arms. “So you’re telling me the guy dragging Jack’s sorry butt into a squad car is on your payroll?”
Onyx snorts, shaking her head. “Not quite payroll, sweetheart. Eagle’s one of ours, but he’s clean as a whistle regarding his badge. Keeps his club life and cop life separate.”
“Mostly,” Hatchet adds with a sly grin.
“Mostly?” I repeat, looking between them suspiciously. “That doesn’t exactly scream trustworthy to me.”
“Relax.” Onyx gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping closer, her voice drops just enough to make the moment feel more intimate. “Eagle’s solid. He’s been with us for years, and trust me, if anyone knows how to keep things above board when it counts, it’s him.”
I glance at Onyx when I hear Chloe say from the car, “Is that my Hatchet?”
Hatchet’s grin widens, and it almost throws me off. Noticing I was staring, he straightened up, looking toward the car. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite little lady.” His voice softens in a way I hadn’t expected.
Chloe’s tiny head pops out of the window, her curls bouncing as she waves both hands wildly. “Hatchet! Mommy said you were busy with bikes and stuff!”
“Bikes and stuff, huh?” Hatchet replies, walking over to the car with a swagger that screams “big bad biker,” but his tone was all marshmallows. “Well, I had to make time for my best girl, didn’t I?”
Onyx smirks at me, clearly enjoying the bewildered look on my face. “He’s got a soft spot for kids,” she explains.
I blink at her. “Hatchet? The guy who made Jack look like a deflated balloon has a ‘soft spot’?”
“He’s full of surprises,” Onyx shrugs, leaning against her bike with an air of nonchalance that only makes her look even cooler. She watches Hatchet as he crouches down to Chloe’s level, his broad, tattooed arms resting on his knees.
Chloe giggles, her eyes sparkling as she claps her hands. “Hatchet! Did you bring Mr. Rumble, or did he stay at the house? He’s so funny.”
The guys laugh and Rumble stands there with the biggest smile. “Hey Chloe girl, I am here waiting for you all.”
Chloe’s face lights up brighter than the neon lights outside the dive bar down the street. “Rumble! You’re here too?” she squeals, practically vibrating with excitement as she scrambles to open the car door. Abel and Dillion aren’t far behind, their heads popping out like meerkats as they grin at the sight of him.
“Of course I’m here,” Rumble announces loudly, spreading his arms wide like he was about to catch a flying tackle. “What kind of uncle would I be if I missed a chance to hang out with my favorite crew?”
The boys already out of the car, racing toward him like they haven’t just been sitting there terrified out of their minds five minutes ago. Chloe follows right behind, her little legs pumping as fast as they can go.
I watch in amazement as the kids swarm Rumble and Hatchet, their tough biker exteriors melting into something oddly wholesome. Rumble scoops Chloe up effortlessly, spinning her around until her joyful giggles fills the night air. Hatchet is busy ruffling the boys' hair, pretending to dodge their playful punches with exaggerated movements that have them laughing like maniacs.
Suddenly there’s a noise in the car. “Don’t worry motherfuckers; I’m not dying in here.” Oh my god Tank—I am a horrible person.
“Tank, are you okay?” I get out of the way so the other two guys can move around to the front of the vehicle to help Tank.
Tank groans as he pushes open the passenger door, one massive hand gripping the car frame for support. “Do I look okay?” he grumbles, his voice a mix of irritation and exhaustion. “Y’all left me in here like a damn sack of potatoes while you had your little family reunion.”
Hatchet chuckles, clapping Tank on the back as he steps around to help. “Relax, big guy. You’re too stubborn to die on us.”
Rumble snorts, adjusting Chloe on his hip as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, Tank. If you were dying, we’d at least have heard some dramatic last words about how you’re going out ‘like a warrior’ or something.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Tank shoots back, wincing as he eases himself out of the car. “I’ve got plenty of dramatic speeches lined up for occasions just like this.”
Onyx rolls her eyes, as she leans against her bike. “Tank, if you’re gonna die, at least do it quietly. We’ve got kids present.”
Chloe, still perched on Rumble’s hip, raises her hand like she was in school. “Mr. Tank, are you gonna say a speech now?” Her big eyes blink up at him with innocent curiosity.
Tank groans dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Oh, sweet Chloe,” he says, his voice dropping into a theatrical baritone. “If this is my end, then let it be known that I died surrounded by laughter, chaos, and the most annoying bikers I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”
Hatchet doubles over laughing, slapping his knee. “You’re ridiculous, man.”
Rumble shakes his head, trying to keep a straight face for Chloe’s sake but failing miserably. “You hear that, Chloe? He’s blaming us for his ‘tragic demise.’”
Chloe giggles and pats Tank’s arm with her tiny hand. “But you’re not really dying, right? Mommy says people only die if they eat too much candy or don’t wear their seatbelt.”
Tank straightens up, placing a hand solemnly over his heart. “Don’t worry, little one. I wore my seat belt and haven’t eaten nearly enough candy to be in danger.”
The kids erupt into laughter, their infectious giggles filling the air as Tank gives a mock bow. Onyx shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she watches the scene unfold. I can’t help but look at her, the way she seems so at ease amid the chaos, like she belongs here in some unshakable way that I envied.
“You’ve got quite the crew,” my voice soft enough so only she could hear.
Onyx glances at me, her blue eyes catching the dim light from the streetlamp above. “They’re not bad,” she admits with an almost shy shrug. “They’re family.”
I nod, suddenly feeling a lump in my throat. Family. It' a word that carried so much weight for me—so much pain and hope tangled together that sometimes it felt impossible to sort through it all. But watching Onyx with her crew and how she manages to keep them all grounded in their chaos while still being a part of it, I start to wonder if maybe family doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it’s just about showing up, about being there when it counted.
“Hey, you okay?” Onyx’s voice cut through my thoughts, gentle but direct. She tilts her head slightly, those sharp blue eyes studying me like she could see right through every wall I’d ever built.
I blink, forcing a smile that appears more awkward than I intended. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
“Dangerous pastime,” she teases, her lips curving into that cocky grin that somehow made my stomach flip every time.
Before I could respond—or try to come up with something clever—Chloe comes barreling back over, her little hand tugging at mine with all the urgency of a five-year-old on a mission. “Mommy! Mommy! Come see! Mr. Rumble said he can lift Tank! He’s gonna try right now!”
I laugh, letting her drag me toward the chaos unfolding in front of the car. Tank stands there with his arms crossed, looking unimpressed, while Rumble flexes dramatically like a cartoon strongman.
“All right, all right,” Hatchet interjects, holding up his hands like a referee about to stop an impending disaster. “Before anyone breaks their back or ends up on YouTube for all the wrong reasons, let’s remember we’ve got kids here.”
“I can handle it,” Rumble insists, puffing out his chest. “Tank’s just all talk and hot air anyway.”
Tank raises an eyebrow, his slow grin full of mischief. “Oh, is that so? All right then, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The kids squeal in delight as Tank crouches down slightly, bracing himself like he was preparing to be hoisted into the air. Rumble, clearly committed to this ridiculous challenge, cracks his neck and wiggles his fingers dramatically before stepping forward.
“All right, folks,” Rumble begins, addressing the kids like a ringmaster at a circus. “Prepare to witness the most daring feat of strength ever attempted in Wild Jester territory!”
Abel and Dillion are practically bouncing on their toes, chanting, “Do it! Do it! Do it!” while Chloe claps her hands together like she’d just spotted a unicorn.
“Rumble,” Onyx warns, her tone laced with amusement but also a healthy dose of skepticism. “If you throw your back out trying to lift Tank, I’m not driving you to the ER again.”
“Hey, I’ve been working out,” Rumble shoots back with mock outrage as he positions himself beside Tank. Tank smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. "All right, Hercules, let’s see what all those protein shakes are doing for you."
Rumble huffs like a bull about to charge, planting his feet with unnecessary drama before wrapping his arms around Tank’s waist. The kids cheer louder, their excitement infectious.
“On three,” Rumble declares, glancing back at his tiny audience for effect. “One… two…” He grunts as he gives it all he has, veins practically popping out of his neck. Tank doesn’t move an inch. Not. One. Inch.
Chloe gasps loudly, covering her mouth with her hands as if she’s watching a suspenseful movie. Abel and Dillion start laughing so hard they could barely stand up straight.
“Need a hand there, buddy?” Hatchet chokes out between fits of laughter.
“I got this!” Rumble barks, clearly determined to salvage whatever shred of dignity he had left. He tries again, planting his feet wider this time and letting out a warrior-like roar. Tank, ever the showman, yawns dramatically, patting Rumble on the back like he was a toddler trying to lift a boulder.
“Don’t hurt yourself now,” Tank grins like the Cheshire cat.
Rumble’s face turns redder than a stop sign as he strains one last time before collapsing onto the ground in a heap of defeat. The kids erupt into wild cheers and laughter, clearly finding his failure more entertaining than any success would’ve been.
“I think the earth moved more than Tank did,” Abel wheezes, clutching his stomach as he leans on Dillion for support.
Chloe tugs on my sleeve again, her eyes wide with wonder. “Mommy, can you lift Mr. Tank?”
I laugh so hard I nearly snort. “Sweetheart, I think even superheroes would have trouble lifting Mr. Tank.”
Tank chuckles, puffing out his chest. “Damn right, I’m superhero material. Made of pure steel and stubbornness.”
Onyx groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Great, now his ego’s gonna need its own zip code.”
“Come on, Wolf,” Tank say, turning to Onyx with a sly grin. “You think you could take a shot? Show ‘em how it’s done?”
I swear the whole group turns to look at her at once, even the kids holding their breath like this was some Olympic-level event.
“Oh no,” Onyx says quickly, holding up her hands. “I’m not getting into this mess. I’ve got enough sense to know my limits.”
“But Wolf!” Chloe whines dramatically, her little lips forming an exaggerated pout. “You’re so strong! You can do it!”
Onyx looks down at Chloe like she had just been handed a live grenade—equal parts fear and disbelief dancing in her eyes. "Chloe, sweetie, I think you're giving me a little too much credit," she says, her voice gentle but firm.
"But you’re Wolf! Wolves are the strongest!" Chloe insists, her tiny fists on her hips like she was giving a motivational speech. Abel and Dillion agreed, their grins so wide I’m sure their faces will be sore later.
"Yeah, Wolf!" Abel calls out. "You can’t let Rumble be the only one who tried!"
"I’m not sure what’s more insulting," Onyx mutters under her breath, "the fact that they think I can lift Tank or that they’re lumping me in with Rumble's level of ridiculousness."
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "Well, you do have a reputation to uphold," I say innocently, batting my eyelashes at her.
She shoots me a look that could melt steel. "Not helping." That causes the whole group to start laughing even more.
Onyx sighs, raking a hand through her hair. "All right, fine," she relents, holding up a finger to silence the cheers that erupted instantly from the kids. "But if I end up in traction, all of you are chipping in for my medical bills."
"Deal!" Chloe squeals, clapping her hands like she’d just won the lottery.
Onyx rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide the small smile tugging at her lips. She steps up to Tank, who is now grinning ear to ear like the cat that just ate the canary.
"All right, big guy," Onyx says, pointing at Tank. "You better not sandbag this or I swear I’ll make you clean my bike for a month."
Tank smirks and crouches slightly again, his arms out like he’s welcoming a bear hug. "Bring it on, Wolf. Let’s see what you’ve got."
The kids fall into a hushed silence, their eyes wide as saucers as Onyx positions herself beside Tank. Even the adults seem to lean in a little closer, smirks tugging at their mouths as they wait for the show.
“You’ve got this, Wolf!” Abel shouts, pumping his fist in the air.
“You’re already cooler than Rumble!” Dillion adds with a laugh that makes Rumble groan from his spot on the ground.
“Gee, thanks, kid,” Rumble mumbles, but his slight grin betrayed his amusement.
With that, Onyx crouches in front of Tank, wrapping her arms around his waist like Rumble had. She glances up at him. "You ready?"
"As ready as I’ll ever be," Tank replies smugly.
"Okay, here goes nothing," she mutters.
Watching Wolf and seeing her muscles flex, is almost like foreplay. I quickly shake that thought out of my head, focusing instead on the spectacle unfolding before me. Onyx takes a deep breath and plant her feet firmly on the ground, her eyes narrowing in determination. The kids are utterly enraptured, their tiny faces filled with awe and hope as if they truly believe she might accomplish the impossible.
“Wait, Wolf, don’t hurt yourself, I can move out of here. I was messing with Rumble.” Tank is now laughing at the look of complete sabotage that crossed Rumble’s face.
“You are an asshole Tank.” Rumble shoots back and flips him off.
“Oh, Mr. Rumble, that is the spicy finger and we are not to ever use that,” Chloe scolds, which causes more laughter in the group.
Onyx paused mid-squat, her arms still wrapped around Tank as she bursts out laughing. "Spicy finger?" she chokes out, her grip loosening slightly. "Chloe, where did you even learn that?"
Chloe folds her arms, looking every bit the stern little teacher. "Mommy says it's a bad word finger, and we call it spicy instead."
I cover my face with my hand, clearly trying to stifle my laughter. "She's not wrong," I manage to say, my voice muffled.
"Well, thanks for the life lesson, kid," Rumble says, sitting up and giving Chloe a mock salute. "I’ll make sure to keep my spicy fingers in check from now on."
"You better," Chloe says with all the seriousness a five-year-old could muster.
"All right, all right," Onyx interrupts, straightening up and releasing Tank with an exaggerated groan. "This is turning into more of a circus than I signed up for. Let’s get you out of here big guy.”
Tank moves and stand up from the vehicle, and Wolf helps him limp over to the group. “Now how am I supposed to get home because I am not riding on the back of anyone’s bikes.”
“Well besides Tank, we have to get home too.” I look at Onyx.
“Don’t worry Janelle. Pres is on his way with a van to pick up our precious cargo.” Hatchet tells us.
Onyx tilts her head, a sly grin forming on her face. "Precious cargo, huh? Tank, you finally got yourself a nickname that fits."
Tank groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you start calling me 'Precious,' I swear I’m stealing your bike and painting it pink."
"Please," Onyx shoots back with a smirk. "Like you could reach the pedals."
The kids giggle uncontrollably, and even laugh softly beside her. Onyx’s laughter is like music to my ears; it’s been too long since I’d heard it without a trace of worry. I felt peace for once.