Chapter 18
Arsenal
Iwoke before sunrise, a habit I’d never managed to break, and rolled out of bed with Harper still curled against the pillow, her hair spilled in a golden snarl.
She barely stirred. I stood for a full minute just watching her chest rise and fall.
She looked better in sleep, the sharp lines of her face relaxed, her lips parted, her cheekbones less hollow.
Some of the tension had left her body, but not all.
Even in rest, she clung to the edge of the mattress, as if the world might tip her off any second.
I showered and dressed in the dark, pulling on jeans and a clean Iron Valor tee, careful not to make a sound.
I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror: my eyes were brighter than they’d been in years; my skin had life.
I pulled my hair up into a loose bun and brushed my teeth.
My mind kept flashing back to the way Harper had screamed my name when she came all over my cock last night over and over again.
I swear my mind was clearer this morning than it’s been in years.
She’s fucked life back into every facet of my being.
Our bond had connected more than her soul to mine.
It’s like it’s enhanced every part of me.
Shit. I looked in the mirror again. This is what happiness looked like.
I mentally replayed my apology a dozen times before I finished the mug.
It was simple enough: I’d acted like an asshole to my brothers for years, resenting every one of them who found a mate or a little patch of peace.
I’d shit on their happiness, insulted their women, made a goddamn art of being impossible to love.
If I were being honest, I’d never expected to get called on it.
Iron Valor didn’t do therapy sessions, and we sure as hell didn’t do group hugs.
We did violence, and we did loyalty, sometimes both in the same breath.
But Bronc had called church, and that meant this was the perfect time for facing the music.
I set the empty mug in the sink, shrugged into my cut, crammed my feet into my boots, and scribbled a note for Harper in block letters:
WENT TO THE CLUBHOUSE. BACK LATER.
WAKE UP SLOW. EAT SOMETHING.
LOVE YOU.
—J
I hesitated, then underlined “WAKE UP SLOW.” She needed the rest. She needed to know I’d be coming back.
I made my way downstairs as slowly as possible, keeping my head down, replaying every instance of my being a prick to the people who were my family.
The list was too long. I didn’t know if I’d ever make it right.
Maybe that wasn’t the point. Maybe you just started with today and hoped it stacked up.
The first floor of the pack house was dark except for a couple of wall sconces.
I could smell the slow burn of last night’s embers, the faint trace of beer and barbecue.
I walked through the great room heading toward the basement stairs, reveling in the stillness.
I was early, of course—old military habits and a lifetime of being the first one into the breach.
I headed for the den, only to find Bronc already there.
He sat on the leather couch, boots up on the coffee table, staring into the fire.
Even in the dim light, he looked like a statue: ramrod spine, arms folded, eyes set in that blue steel.
The only thing that gave him away as human was the mug of coffee cradled in both hands.
I realized, not for the first time, that Bronc had a way of commanding the room even when it was empty.
“Morning, boss,” I said, keeping my voice low.
He looked up, face unreadable. “Arsenal. Couldn’t sleep?”
I shrugged. “You know how I do when I got things.”
Bronc grunted, which was as close to a laugh as he usually got. He gestured to the opposite chair. “Sit. Might as well get this over with.”
I sat, hands knotted together, elbows on my knees. For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the low pop of a coal in the fireplace.
Finally, Bronc broke the silence. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind.” He sipped his coffee. “But I need you dialed in today.”
I nodded. “You’ll get my best. You always do.”
“Not always,” Bronc said, his tone so flat it almost stung. “You give your best to the job. Not to the people.”
I flinched, because he was right.
He looked at me for a long time, those blue eyes boring right through all the bullshit. “You got something to say, Jess?”
I swallowed, forcing myself not to look away. “I’ve been a dick to the brothers. And to you. For a long time.”
Bronc raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Because every time I saw one of you find your mate, or make a life, it felt like getting a bullet in the gut.” I let the words hang there. “I didn’t trust it. I thought it was a weakness. I thought it would get us all killed.”
Bronc set his mug down, leaned forward. “That what you still think?”
“No,” I said. It came out harsh, almost a bark. “Not anymore.”
He let out a long, slow breath, as if he’d been holding it for years. “You know what I think, Arsenal?”
I shook my head.
“I think you’re scared. I think you always have been. Not of dying, but of being left behind.” Bronc’s voice didn’t soften, but it lost some of the edge. “You lost your brother when you were just a kid. Then you lost your mate before you ever got to claim her. That shit leaves scars.”
I felt my jaw flex. “He was the good son,” I said, almost under my breath. “He was the one who made Dad proud.”
Bronc snorted. “Your old man is a mean old son of a bitch, from what I hear.”
“Yeah,” I said. “After Ben died, he barely looked at me. I was just a hired hand who worked for free. Didn’t talk unless it was an order. Never asked if I was hurting.”
“That’s why you signed up?”
“Yeah. I knew a lot of wolves did. Seemed easier to take orders from someone who didn’t have to pretend to give a shit.”
Bronc nodded, like he’d heard it a hundred times before. Maybe he had.
He picked up his mug and took another slow sip. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
I didn’t have an answer. I looked at the wall, at the framed pictures of every Iron Valor patch since the club was founded, every face caught in that moment of pride.
There were men on that wall who’d died for the pack, some I’d served with, others who’d bled out before I was born.
I thought about what it meant to have a family, to be worth something to anyone.
“Maybe start with an apology,” I said, the words tasting like vinegar.
Bronc grinned, just a flicker at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a start.”
He leaned back, legs sprawled wide, taking up as much space as possible.
“You know, when I took this job, I had no idea what I was doing. None of us did. We were kids with guns and motorcycles, thinking we could fix the world by force of will. Truth is, we fuck up just like everyone else. I saw my dad do it for years. Thought when he died I’d slide right in and become him. ”
He looked at me, a real warmth in his face now. “Didn’t quite go that way. I’ve fucked up. But then I try again. That’s the difference.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Bronc stood, stretched, and clapped me on the shoulder with a hand that could have snapped my collarbone if he wanted. “I depend on you, Jess. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t.”
He held my gaze for a second, then looked at the clock on the wall. “We got twenty before the rest of the idiots roll in. Want to run through the briefing?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice steadying. “Let’s do it.”
We walked to the war room together, side by side, the silence not awkward anymore but comfortable. I realized, maybe for the first time in my life; that I belonged.
When the time came, I’d stand up and face my brothers. I’d take my lumps. I’d own the past.
And with Bronc’s hand on my shoulder, I knew I could do it.
The war room had filled with the six men who’d made Iron Valor more than just a club: Bronc at the head of the table, Wrecker to his left, then Doc, wearing a lab coat and stethoscope instead of his cut.
Big Papa was to his right, then my chair, then Gunner, and Menace’s face filled one of the new big screens on the wall, his white-blond hair catching the light like a ghost. He sat in his fancy office already dressed in a navy suit complete with black tie.
Looked like he belonged on the cover of fucking GQ magazine.
I’d asked for him to join us for this part of our meeting.
I sat at the table, hands locked together so tight my knuckles went white. I’d spent the last ten minutes rehearsing my speech in my head, but it still came out raw.
Bronc started, thanking Menace for joining us.
Told him to bear with us as he went through the basics—status updates, shipments, Wrecker’s quarterly numbers, which he delivered in three words: “We’re still solvent.
” They saved my part for last. When the silence came, all eyes locked on me. Even Menace seemed to lean in.
I stood, because sitting would have made it worse.
I cleared my throat, then just said it: “I owe every man at this table an apology.”
Wrecker arched an eyebrow, the only sign he was listening. Papa just stared, his huge hands folded in front of him, scarred from a roadside bomb.
“I’ve been an asshole to everyone of you who found a mate.
” My voice didn’t crack, but I heard the tremor in it.
“I told myself it was because mates made us weak, made us a target, but that wasn’t it.
” I looked up, meeting their eyes one at a time.
“The truth is, Fate had given me a mate. One I loved with everything I had in me. Fulfilled me. Made me whole. And before I had a chance to claim that mate, I was told she had rejected me. I felt like half of my soul had been ripped from my body. And it’s a shitty excuse.
But I carried that soul-crippling hurt for years. ”