Chapter 6
Big Papa
The mornings always came early at the Iron Valor compound, but today, the cold bit straight through to the bone.
The sun was barely a hint behind the scrub of mesquite and winter-bare hackberry, but the lot was already full.
Chrome glinted under a skin of dew; exhaust from the warm-up runs hung above the bikes like prayer smoke.
It felt right. The way the world froze and burned at the same time reminded you that life was always close to the edge.
I shook the frost off my boots and walked up to the clubhouse, the sound of my steps lost in the low drone of a half-dozen men talking at once.
Someone’d fixed the front steps since last week; the boards didn’t creak under my weight.
It was the kind of detail most people missed, but I made a habit of noticing the small things.
It’s what kept the brothers alive, more often than not.
Inside, the conference room was already humming.
Bronc had claimed the head of the table, eyes bright and blue and scanning every man as he filtered in.
His hands were steepled in front of him—his tell that this wasn’t going to be a bullshit session, but a meeting where you left with a job and probably an ulcer.
Arsenal and Gunner had the left and right flanks, hands busy with mugs of black coffee, plates of bacon and eggs, and the pack’s daily banter.
Doc, always punctual, sat with his black-framed glasses perched on his nose, reading a patient’s chart while he waited.
Wrecker was late as usual, but his voice echoed from the hallway, carrying some foul joke about what happened if you crossed a succubus with a dairy cow.
I sidled in, catching Juliet’s scent from the open kitchen. She was there, back straight, hands on hips, giving the griddle hell. The woman ran a tight ship. She saw me and nodded once, a signal that she’d have a plate out in a minute. I nodded back and turned my attention to Bronc.
He didn’t say a word until every chair was filled. Then he leaned forward and, without preamble, spoke in that low growl that always demanded respect.
“We got word from the council last night. King Rafe delivered the news himself.” His gaze went around the table, pausing on each man like he was checking for cracks in the foundation. “We know Maltraz worked with Silas on the poisoning. His sigil on the bottles wasn’t proof enough for the Council.”
Bronc’s jaw clenched. “Council isn’t taking action. Say they can’t prove it was actually him and not some rogue in his organization. They want us to keep the peace, bide our time, and let the proper channels work.”
“Always the fucking same. Proper channels?” Arsenal spat, voice soft but loaded. “We lost seven people. Almost lost our Alpha and our Luna.”
Gunner stared into his coffee, the anger in his eyes sharp enough to skin a man. “They won’t be satisfied until Iron Valor is burned to the motherfucking ground.”
I felt the old, familiar tension run the length of my spine. It was never rage with me, just a slow, building pressure, like the earth settling before an earthquake. “What about the bank hits?” I asked, careful to keep my voice level. “Anything on that?”
Bronc nodded. “Rafe sprung that on him.” He shot a look at me.
“Said that was worth the look on Maltraz’s face.
He hadn’t figured out we’d put the screws to him there.
He still thought those transactions were real.
Guarantee he ran from that room to check on those accounts only to find out they actually stole zero dollars from us. ”
Wrecker wore a shit eatin’ grin. “My little bird leaving a backdoor open for us saved us a shit ton of money there. Although I guess I need to keep an eye on her. He’ll know she’s the one who screwed him on the bank transaction side.”
Bronc got serious. “We’ll keep an eye on everything. Maltraz is gonna be pissed he failed on all sides.”
Juliet walked in with a tray, cutting the tension in half just by existing.
She set plates down with more force than strictly necessary and topped off everyone’s mugs.
“Y’all are welcome, by the way,” she muttered, and I caught the flicker of pride in her eyes when Bronc reached for his plate first.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he said, his voice overflowing with affection. The gratitude wasn’t just for the food.
Gunner had just swallowed a bite of food. “So, what’s the verdict on the bakery hottie? I may or may not have strolled by there yesterday and took a peek in the window. Holy shit! Girl’s got curves for days! Does she bake as good as she looks?”
I had to grit my teeth. I wanted to take Gunner’s eyes, so he’d never be able to look at Aspen again. “Hey asshole, how ‘bout some respect.” I growled at him.
He threw up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, sorry, man. Just making an observation.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I cleared my throat. “She’s an excellent baker.” I continued like I hadn’t just acted like I wanted to remove his head. “Of the choices, the lemon was definitely the best. I’m going by there today to pick up a sample cake for everyone.”
Wrecker’s eyes lit up. “Well now. Maybe the day’s not a total loss.”
“So, you gonna tell us anything else? What’s her story? Is she single like we heard?”
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, but I didn’t shy away from the question. “Her name’s Aspen. She’s from Georgia. Lost her mom, moved out here to start fresh.” I kept my voice casual, like it wasn’t the most important fact in my life at the moment. “And she’s different.”
Arsenal raised an eyebrow. “Different how? She a shifter?”
“Nope,” I said. “She’s definitely a witch. From one of the old Southern covens. But she’s not like any witch I’ve ever come across. Said her magic never came in right. Swears she doesn’t have any magical abilities.”
Bronc’s eyes narrowed, and for a second I thought he’d shut me down right there. Instead, he asked, “She left her coven? She running from something?”
I considered my answer and nodded. “Her coven itself sounds like. I didn’t exactly get off on the right foot with her, so she wasn’t totally forthcoming.
She just mentioned that as her mother was dying; she told her she’d bought her that bakery.
Then told her to run. So she ran. But Aspen seemed afraid of her coven. ”
Gunner’s hand hovered over his coffee mug. “So we’re harboring a fugitive?”
“Didn’t say that. Don’t know that. Right now, she just seems like a girl trying to survive. And get this, her mother told her if she got into any trouble, to seek out the Iron Valor Pack, that she could trust us.”
A silence fell—heavy, but not dangerous. The men, thinking. Arsenal finally broke it. “Well, if she can make a good carrot cake Gunner might marry her himself.”
Wrecker hooted. “Might have his pups, too.”
Gunner ignored them, but his smile was real.
Bronc leaned back, weighing his words. “You trust her?”
“Too soon to know,” I said, and meant it. “She got damn offended when I accused her of infusing her cakes with magic to make them taste so good, though. She seemed so innocent. I don’t think the girl has ever been on her own.”
Bronc nodded, just once. “Well, you know the deal. We protect our own. If she brings trouble to this door—”
“All due respect, Alpha, every woman any of us has brought in around here seems to have had a bucket of trouble in tow.” I told him.
“Well, hell,” he breathed out on a heavy sigh. “I can’t argue with that. Guess they’ve all been worth the trouble they’ve hauled in.”
Nobody dared disagree with him.
The meeting rolled on, talk shifting to logistics for the ceremony, how many people to expect, who was on perimeter duty the night of the event. I took notes, and thought of any details we might be missing.
Wrecker nudged me under the table. “You gonna bring her to the party?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. If she doesn’t hate me.”
He busted out laughing. “Like anybody could hate you, JT.”
“I was an ass to her. I don’t know what happened.” I ran my hand through my beard.
Doc spoke up. “Maybe you felt a connection, and it scared you. Honestly, Papa, you’re used to keeping people, especially women, at arm’s length. Her being a witch was a good excuse to push her away.”
It was Bronc’s turn to chime in. “He’s right, Papa. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be cautious. But you also shouldn’t close yourself off either.”
“Shit, when did y’all suddenly become Dr. Phil?” Everyone around the table laughed. But I knew they were right.
The meeting broke up soon after, men filing out in twos and threes, talking about bike repairs and security assignments and who’d pay up at poker night. I hung back, watching Bronc as he lingered by the window, arms folded, deep in thought.
I waited until the room was empty before approaching him. He didn’t turn until I spoke.
“You worried about me, boss?”
He kept his eyes on the frost outside. “Man, I just want you to find your happiness.”
“I’m keeping my eyes open,” I said, keeping my voice even.
He finally turned, and I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen before: fear. Not for himself, but for me. “Just be careful, Papa. There is an unknown factor here. Listen to your heart and your instincts.”
We stood there a moment, silent, then he turned back to the window. I took that as my cue and headed out, the chill air sharp and bracing after the heat of the room.
I took my truck to Dairyville since I was picking up that bigger cake. I sank into the soft leather and cranked up the radio, letting the music take me to a place where I knew who I was and things made sense.
The drive to Dairyville always cleared my head. The bakery’s bright yellow awning slanted up into the sharp morning light, a flag for lost souls and sugar addicts alike. The smell hit me a block away—vanilla, yeast, and whatever Aspen’s special touch was.