Chapter Thirteen
KAIA
We’re approaching the cemetery, but the route is lined with motorcycles.
Hundreds of them.
Bikers in leather and patches, standing at attention beside their rides like an honor guard.
I press my face to the window, my heart hammering. NOLA Defiance patches, yes, but others as well. Chicago Defiance, Houston Defiance, Tampa Defiance, Las Vegas Defiance. My heart thuds at the sight of the brothers from LA Defiance.
Their faces show complete anguish.
I guess because they are the reason we’re here right now.
They asked for Hurricane to stand up and fight for their cause.
But knowing they’re here to honor his memory means a lot.
Knowing that chapters from across the country are all here to honor Hurricane, to honor my husband, means more than I could have ever thought.
A fresh wave of pain radiates from my lower back around to my stomach, stronger this time.
I press my palm against the spot, trying to ease the tension.
It’s probably just stress.
Everything about today feels like too much for my body to handle.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face again, but these feel different. These tears carry something besides grief—they carry gratitude, love, and the overwhelming realization that Hurricane’s family extends far beyond our little circle.
As our car passes, the bikers rev their engines in synchronized tribute, the sound rolling like thunder across the morning air. It’s loud, powerful, and completely perfect, because Hurricane was loud, powerful, and perfect in his own chaotic way.
“Daddy’s friends,” Immy says with satisfaction, as if this makes perfect sense to her.
“Yeah, baby,” I manage through my tears. “All of Daddy’s friends came to say goodbye.”
The sight gives me strength I didn’t know I had. Hurricane touched so many lives, meant so much to so many people, and I now realize I’m not the only one who lost him. This entire community, this brotherhood he helped build, they’re all grieving too.
And today, we’ll grieve together.
Today, we’ll celebrate the man who loved fiercely, lived boldly, and died a hero.
Today, we’ll say goodbye to Hurricane.
The prospect driving us slows as we pass through the formation, and I see some of the brothers clearly now.
City, who’s been trying to hold everything together since Hurricane died.
He never wanted to rise to the presidency this way.
Bayou, Hurricane’s twin, standing tall but hollow-eyed beside his bike.
Even through the window, I see how much weight he’s lost, how the grief has carved new lines into his face.
He was always adamant he never wanted a position of power, but with Hurricane gone, and the Ladet lineage fading from the NOLA legacy, he felt it was his duty to finally stand up and take on his role as VP of the club.
There are faces I recognize from other chapters, brothers who have visited the clubhouse over the years. Men who respected Hurricane, who called him a friend, who understood what he meant to this entire community we’re a part of.
And then, as we round the final curve toward the ceremony site, I see something that makes my heart stop completely.
More bikers.
But these ones are different.
Hawaiian patches.
Oahu Defiance.
“No fucking way,” I whisper, and Lani turns to follow my gaze. Tears instantly flood my eyes, then fall rapidly down my cheeks.
“Is that?”
“Pono,” I whisper, recognizing the massive frame of the Oahu president even from a distance. “And Mauka. They actually came.”
My chest feels like it might cave in from the emotion flooding through me. Hurricane and I spent our honeymoon with them just months ago. We became family in those few short days. Pono promised that Oahu would always be in Hurricane’s debt for helping rescue Nalani from The Ministry.
But I never expected this.
I never anticipated they’d fly thousands of miles to honor a fallen brother.
As our car comes to a stop, I see them more clearly. Not just Pono and Mauka, but Wipeout, Chopsticks, and Koa. Even Aunty Malia and Nalani are here, their warm smiles visible even through my tears. They’re dressed in traditional Hawaiian clothing beneath their cuts, and they’ve brought…
… something.
I can’t quite make out what it is from the car, but they’ve clearly prepared some kind of ceremony.
Another sharp pain grips my abdomen, this one strong enough to make me gasp softly.
Lani’s hand immediately finds mine. “You okay?” she asks quietly.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
It’s just the stress. It has to be.
Today is about Hurricane. About saying goodbye properly. So I can handle whatever my body is throwing at me.
Mom helps Immy out of her car seat while Lani assists me from the back seat. My belly making everything awkwardly slow. I know Hurricane would be fussing over me, and yelling at everyone to get the fuck out of the way.
The thought brings fresh tears, but also something else. A kind of bittersweet warmth, because even in death, Hurricane is still making me smile.
Ingrid and Novah are out of their vehicle, and Ingrid rushes to me the moment she sees me struggle out of the car, her arms wrapping around me in a fierce embrace.
“How are you holding up?” she asks, the strain evident in her voice.
She’s been crying for days, mourning not just Hurricane but the life she and South left behind in Los Angeles.
“I’m managing,” I lie.
Because what else can I say?
That I feel like I’m drowning?
That every day without him feels like trying to breathe underwater?
That I wake up every morning forgetting for just a split second that he’s gone, and remembering hits me like a physical blow every single time?
Instead, I focus on the overwhelming display of love surrounding us. Brothers and old ladies from across the country, all here to honor the man who somehow managed to touch every one of their lives. The man who loved fiercely, lived boldly, and died protecting people he’d never even met.
Another pain ripples through my stomach, and I have to lean against Lani for support. It’s probably just Braxton Hicks, but they’re getting stronger. She glares at me, and I huff at her.
“I’m okay,” I whisper to Lani before she can ask. “Just emotional.”
Bayou approaches, and the sight of Hurricane’s twin nearly breaks me all over again. They were so different, Hurricane and Bayou, but seeing that familiar face, those same ice-blue eyes, the same stubborn jawline, it’s like looking at a ghost.
“Hey, Kaia,” he says softly, and his voice cracks just a little. “You ready for this?”
I nod because I have to be ready.
Because Hurricane deserves this sendoff.
Because these people deserve to grieve properly.
And I need to be strong enough to get through the next few hours.
But as we walk toward the ceremony site, another pain strikes, this one so intense that I have to stop walking entirely. I press both hands to my belly, breathing through it until it passes.
Lani’s concerned eyes meet mine. “Kaia—”
“I’m fine,” I insist, cutting her off before straightening up. “Let’s just… let’s just get through this.”
She narrows her eyes on me hesitantly, but I take off before she can say anything.
The setup is incredible. Someone, probably City and the NOLA brothers, has created a memorial area with photographs of Hurricane, his patches, and his favorite bourbon.
There’s even his guitar leaning against one of the display boards, the one he started playing when Immy was born.
He would get her to sleep by playing melodies to her.
I swear I have never seen someone learn how to play an instrument as fast as he did.
But when that man put his mind to something, he was as determined as they get.
And when Immy was having trouble sleeping, he was sure that music and his dulcet tones were going to work.
And the fucker was right.
Of course he was.
A slow smile crosses my face again at the memory as I continue glancing at the memorial table, and then I see what Oahu Defiance has prepared, and I nearly collapse from the emotional weight of it all.
They’ve brought traditional Hawaiian items, ti leaves, orchids, a hand-carved wooden bowl, and a ceremonial lei. It’s clearly a blessing or sending ceremony, something authentically Hawaiian to honor Hurricane’s connection to the Islands and my heritage.
My chest tightens, pride and sorrow twisting together. This is more than I ever expected, more than I deserve, and yet it feels so right for him, for us.
My husband.
My forever.
Pono catches my eye and nods solemnly. When he speaks, his deep voice carries across the assembled crowd.
“We come from the Islands to honor a brother who showed us the true meaning of ohana,” he begins, and I have to grip Lani’s hand to keep from sobbing.
“Hurricane proved that family isn’t just blood.
It’s the people who stand up for each other, who risk everything for what’s right, who love without boundaries. ”
His words rip through me, because they are true. Hurricane wasn’t just my husband. He was the man who fought for everyone, who carried the weight of the world for the people he loved. And I was the lucky one who got to love him back.
Pono’s voice rolls deep, carrying like the ocean itself.
“I kēia lā, we gather in aloha. In our way, when someone we love leaves this life, they do not vanish.
Their mana, their spirit, flows back into the ‘āina, the land, the kai, the ocean, the makani, the wind. Hurricane will live on in every tide, every breeze, every mountain that stands against the storm.”
The words are a balm, seeping into the cracks in me. I want to believe it, to feel his mana in the wind on my face, in the crash of the waves.
And for the first time, I do.
He isn’t gone.
He’s everywhere.