Chapter 5
FIVE
BLADE
Dinner winds down slowly. Plates empty, utensils scrape the last bits, and lazy conversation replaces the earlier bustle.
Brooke starts packing leftovers with the intensity of a woman preparing for a natural disaster, labeling containers and stacking them with military precision.
Bella slips away to put Jax down and returns a few minutes later, rubbing her back and sighing like getting off her feet is the best thing that has happened all day.
Bri stands immediately and starts clearing plates before Bella can take even one step toward the kitchen. “Sit. I mean it. New mom rule. Anyone who pushed a human out of their body gets automatic couch privileges.”
Bella laughs and gives up. “I am not going to argue with that logic. But only because it benefits me.”
“Look at you, already learning the perks of motherhood,” Brooke teases, handing her a glass of water. “Next week you will be bribing us with baby photos to avoid changing a diaper.”
“Jax’s butt is Switch’s job after eight p.m.,” Bella fires back.
Switch calls from the living room, “Lies. Slander. I demand a hearing.”
We all snort, and for a moment the tension that lingered from earlier melts away.
I stand and grab a few dishes because sitting still while others work never sat right with me.
“Leave it, Blade,” Bella calls over, pointing one finger like she actually expects compliance. “You are a guest. Guests do not wash dishes.”
“Pretty sure you put me to work enough that I am not a guest anymore,” I say, collecting plates anyway.
“See?” Bri says as she heads toward the sink. “Even he respects the new mom rule. You, sit. Couch. Now.”
Bella obeys, though she gives Bri a look that promises revenge later.
In the kitchen, Bri is already humming, hips swaying slightly as she rinses dishes. Her hair falls forward and I look away before my imagination runs wild.
“Those go there,” she says, pointing with a soapy hand at the cabinet.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her mouth curves in a smile she tries to hide. “You only call me ma’am when you are trying not to argue.”
“Or because you are bossy. Which is most of the time.”
She throws a playful glare over her shoulder. “Bossy gets things done. You should try it.”
“I run with bikers,” I say. “Bossy is our second language.”
She snorts. “And here I thought it was sarcasm.”
I shrug. “That is our first.”
She laughs, and for a moment the room feels lighter.
Then she asks quietly, “You really think they will be back?”
The mood shifts.
“Yes.”
“And the drugs?”
“I did not realize you heard that part.”
“I hear more than people think,” she says. “Just because I do not talk about it does not mean I am blind.”
I nod. “There have been more overdoses. Stronger product. Kids playing with fire.”
She goes still for a moment, sponge paused in her hand. “I hate that. It could be anyone.”
“Could be,” I agree. “And that is why we keep it out.”
She exhales slowly. “That is the part people do not get about the club. You guys are not the ones dealing. You are cutting it off.”
“Clean streets keep families whole,” I say.
She turns, leaning back against the counter. “So what is the plan?”
“Keep eyes on Perdition. Shut it down early. Warn them once. And if they come back, we make sure they understand there is no second chance.”
She studies me. “Sounds like you expect things to get ugly.”
I do not sugarcoat. “I expect things to get real. Fast.”
She holds my stare. “You really think I should stay away.”
“Yes. I do.”
Her chin tips up. “You do not own the town. And I am not a kid you can ground.”
“I am not grounding you.” I rub the back of my neck. “I am trying to keep you out of something that gets messy fast.”
She crosses her arms. “Because you do not think I can handle it.”
“No,” I say quietly. “Because I know how it ends. I have seen it. Up close.”
Her expression softens for half a second, and then she pushes past it. “News flash, Blade. Sometimes it touches people whether you want it to or not.”
The silence that follows is sharp.
She turns the water off, drops the sponge, wipes her hands, and brushes past me, leaving soap bubbles and tension in her wake.
I watch her go and know I messed up, but I also know I would say the same thing again. There is no version of this where I let her walk into that fire.
I stare at the sink like it insulted me just for existing.
Rev appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he has been waiting for this. “You got a real talent for stepping in shit with that girl.”
“Not helpful.”
“Maybe not. But true.”
“Want a medal?”
He smirks. “Nah. I will take a cupcake though.”
I slide the box toward him. He grabs one and talks around a mouthful. “You bark orders and expect her to roll over. She is not built that way.”
“I know.”
“So try talking to her like she is not a prospect you are disciplining.”
I flip him off. He grins.
Switch calls from the back door, “Quit flirting and get over here.”
We step outside. The air is cooler, sharp, grounding.
Switch leans on the railing. “Tank found out one of those college punks is local. Daddy is connected. Thinks he is bulletproof.”
“Figures,” I mutter.
“Cops are sniffing around,” Rev adds. “They will probably screw it up.”
“We need eyes next weekend,” Switch says. “Quiet eyes. No bodies. Message only.”
I nod. “Got it.”
Switch crosses his arms. “And Blade? I heard you told Bri to stay out.”
“Yeah.”
“You think that is gonna stop her?”
“No.”
“So what are you planning to do?”
I look out at the yard, shadows long and stretching into darkness.
“Handle the threat.”
“And Bri?”
I do not answer, mostly because there is nothing I can say that would not make me sound like a fool or a liar.
The truth is, I cannot guarantee anything where she is concerned.
I cannot control her. I cannot predict her.
I cannot pretend I am unaffected. Through the window, Bri laughs, soft and warm, completely unaware of the storm brewing right outside the door.
The sound hits me like a sucker punch, because she is standing in the middle of all this danger without even realizing it, and I am the idiot trying to build a wall around her with my bare hands.
I grip the railing and stare out at the yard, feeling the familiar weight settle onto my shoulders.
The responsibility. The threat. The memory of what happens when things slip.
If those college kids show up again, if they push product, if they test boundaries or try to stake a claim in our town, I will shut them down.
That much is certain. I know how to handle threats.
I know how to send messages. I know how to keep Perdition clean and keep innocent people out of the crossfire. That part has never scared me.
What scares me is her. Because I will keep Bri clear as long as I have lungs to breathe.
I will put myself between her and anything that looks like danger.
I will take the hit before she ever sees it coming.
And if she steps into the line of fire anyway, if she decides her curiosity or stubbornness or desire to prove something drags her toward this storm, then God help me, because I will protect her from those kids, from the poison they bring, from this world, and if it comes down to it, from myself.
The worst part is that I do not know how long I can do all three at once, and I do not know what happens when I finally fail at one.
That uncertainty sits heavy in my chest, because out of every threat I have ever faced, the idea of losing her—physically or otherwise—is the only one that truly terrifies me.