Chapter 3
Big Papa
The best part about being the Iron Valor’s chaplain was never the Sunday services, and it sure as hell wasn’t handholding the half-drunk prospects through their first come-to-Jesus talk.
It was these moments, right before “church” officially started, when all the club officers crowded into the conference room, each man carrying his own brand of quiet.
We met every Monday, rain or shine, in a room that was too clean to belong to a biker compound and too battered to ever pass for professional.
The table had gouges and burn marks, and every chair was a different height—Wrecker had sawed an inch off Gunner’s legs as a joke two months back, and nobody had bothered to fix it.
Of course, this was the new bunker conference room that had been built after the old compound had been blown to hell by the Greenbriar pack.
Wrecker’s mate was in the building at the time.
She told him she’d died. Saw her dead mother and everything.
But, thing is, there’s this angel named Archon who showed up, as he does from time to time, and seems he touched Parker.
Cuz she’s as alive as I am. And now, that girl is angel touched and little miracles seem to follow her.
Hell, maybe she’d be a better chaplain. Then again, I recently passed away as well, and that same angel brought me back from the other side.
I got no miracles to my name at this time, but the day’s still young.
This morning, the whole place smelled like burnt coffee, and the ghost of last night’s pulled pork. Sunlight cut stripes through the shades, landing square on Bronc’s knuckles where he sat at the head, frowning into his third cup of black.
Juliet, our Luna, had arrived early and put out donuts.
She lingered by the window, arms folded, profile sharp as a scythe.
Her mate had finally claimed her in a way that didn’t let her out of his sight, but she still liked to haunt the perimeter, like a wolf circling the herd.
That woman had been to the pits of hell and came out the other side stronger than steel; a Luna we proudly would die for.
Next to me sat Gunner, slouched back so far his boots nearly propped against the table.
He nursed his coffee with two hands, eyes half-lidded and chin speckled with stubble, cowboy hat low on his head.
The big Texan’s voice was slow and syrupy, but the brain behind it was sharper than most gave him credit for.
Wrecker, our newly named VP, paced at the back, restless as ever. He ran a thumb along the edge of his patch, occasionally pausing to glare at his phone. There was a rumor he slept with it under his pillow, and I’d yet to see him go five minutes without checking it.
Doc had arrived late, as always, sliding into his seat with a nod and a tired smile.
The man looked like he belonged at a university, not a biker club, but he fit here better than most. He’d been up all night with a broken arm and a birth; he had the exhaustion to prove it.
He adjusted his black-framed glasses when he sat.
Bronc waited until the last chair creaked before he spoke.
“Let’s get this started,” he said, voice dry as gravel. “Anyone wanna open with a prayer?”
A few snickers circled the table. I raised my hand. “Lord, grant us the patience to deal with each other, the wisdom to out-think our enemies, and the appetite to get through whatever the hell Gunner brought for breakfast.”
Gunner grinned, eyes flicking to the donut box. “Amen.”
The laughter died quick. Bronc set his cup down and steepled his fingers, the blue in his eyes gone hard and cold. “Rafe’s called a Council. It’ll happen in a few days. He’s not letting any grass grow under this one. It’s priority one.”
Juliet let out a low sigh, her gaze shifting to the floor. She hated the politics of the packs, but it was her burden now, same as Bronc’s, especially when it came to our territory king, Rafe Mayfield.
“What’s his angle?” Wrecker asked, arms crossed. “He hasn’t called one in ages.”
“To get to the bottom of the Greenbriar attempted massacre,” Doc said, tapping a finger against the table. “He wants to see if he can make Maltraz and Otero squirm. And to make sure nobody tries to come back on us for wiping out Greenbriar.”
Gunner shifted forward. “We handled Greenbriar by the old rules. They poisoned our water—killed seven of our own, including a damn child. They came at us. We mopped the floor. I assume nobody is questioning our response.”
Bronc met Gunner’s stare. “He’s gonna make damn sure nobody gets the chance. He’s using our situation as leverage.”
Wrecker grunted. “King Rafe doesn’t breathe unless he can profit from it. So who’s he aiming at?”
“Look, we know there is no love lost between Rafe and the demons,” Bronc answered.
“It’s about the same with that vampire prick.
Rafe wants to lay the water attack at their feet and force a formal alliance among shifters.
There’s no taking out those factions, but maybe that can be weakened or something.
Shit, I don’t know why Rafe does what Rafe does.
But he’s our king, and we gotta believe he’ll stand up for us.
Plus, Menace may be the Midwest king, but he’s our king too.
If it’s possible to make them pay for the attack, they had a hand in, I’m all for it. ”
There was a beat of silence. My wolf, usually calm, bristled with the memory of the attack on our compound: the first death had been quick, the rest less so. We buried the child ourselves. When it came to payback, Iron Valor hadn’t left a single Greenbriar standing.
“He’s not wrong about the demons,” I said, remembering how they’d attacked me in that field.
They’d literally killed me and possessed my body.
“I’d like them to pay for what they did to me.
” I said with a shiver, then continued. “And they’re getting bolder.
Maltraz is trying to carve a route across New Mexico, and the vamps run supplies for him. ”
Juliet’s lips twisted. “Supplies. You mean human cargo.”
I nodded. “And witches. They’re abducting the solitary ones anywhere they can nab ‘em. The ones with real power.”
Doc slid his hands into his hoodie, knuckles white. “How do we get ahead of it?”
Bronc flicked his gaze at me. “You and Wrecker and Parker take point on the research. Every move Maltraz or Otero’s made in the last twelve months, I want it on my desk after the ceremony.
Gunner, you’re in charge of security at the compound.
Have Tyler help with double patrols, all hours.
Juliet, you coordinate with Pearl—if there’s a threat to the young or the elders, I want them safe before anyone else knows there’s danger. ”
He ran through the rest of the assignments, his voice never raising, but every word hammered into our skulls. If he told us to jump, we’d ask how high on the way up.
Wrecker set his mug down. “This all means we need to pull off the mating ceremony without a hitch. If there’s trouble, it’ll happen while the pack’s focused on the party.”
Juliet smirked. “Typical. We can’t even have a mating night without plotting murder.”
Bronc’s face softened, just a hair. “Three weeks. It’s happening. Whether Rafe’s Council goes to shit or not.”
Pearl breezed in through the side door, carrying a tray of fresh biscuits and a carafe that steamed like a volcano. She wore pearls around her neck and a look that could shush a hurricane.
“Y’all look like you’re about to start a funeral instead of a wedding,” she said, setting the tray down. “Eat. I need the bridegroom and his Luna alive, not plotting world domination on empty stomachs.”
“Thank you, Ma,” Bronc said, meaning it.
Pearl poured coffee for everyone, topping off my cup, black the way I liked it. She eyed the rest of us. “So, have you picked a cake yet, or are you planning on serving Little Debbies to 200 hungry wolves?”
Juliet raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m eating cake with this morning sickness? Not a chance.”
Pearl winked. “You could at least taste it. There’s a new bakery on the square, open just this morning. Owner’s adorable. But she’s definitely not human. And she’s not wolf, either.”
Gunner perked up. “She single?”
Pearl shot him a glare. “That’s not what you should be asking, young man. But yes. Single. Runs the place solo, and rumor is she bakes a cinnamon roll so good it’s practically illegal.”
Gunner grinned. “I’ll volunteer to be taster.”
“No, you won’t,” Juliet said. “You’re on security. Big Papa, you go.”
It took me a second to realize she had told me to go. I blinked. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the only one with a palate. And you’re the only person I trust not to sleep with the baker before we’ve even hired her,” Juliet said, deadpan.
Even Bronc cracked a smile. “She’s right. You’re the best we’ve got.”
I tried to protest, but Pearl just patted my arm. “It’s settled. Go around noon, be nice to her, and don’t scare her off. She’s new to Dairyville and looks like she’s been through hell. You, of all people, should understand that, son.”
The room dissolved into laughter and groans. I finished my coffee and watched the others file out, each to their assignments, their burdens stitched into the backs of their jackets. Bronc lingered a moment, giving me that measured, piercing look.
He nodded once, then left, boots thudding down the hall. I could hear Juliet scolding Wrecker in the hallway for not bringing Parker, Gunner’s laughter booming, and Pearl’s voice trailing after her son like a prayer.
I stared at my empty cup, then out the window, where the wind was already picking up dust from the canyon and sending it across the empty plains. There was a wedding to plan, and a Council to survive, and a whole world of uncertainty that could be waiting to tear us apart.
And apparently, I had a cake to order.