Chapter 29 Makenna
TWENTY-NINE
MAKENNA
Everything feels wrong. It’s not quiet. There’s a low hum of voices from brothers scattered around the room, but it’s almost like the breath before the sky splits open.
You’re just worried about Zane.
Not just worried, terrified. He walked out of here like a soldier climbing into a Humvee. And I feel like the military wife who may never see her husband again.
No. He’s coming back. I don’t care what it takes. I will literally drag him back here if I have to.
I try to shake off the crawling beneath my skin, the prickling along my neck, but it won’t stop.
Focus on the girls. Listen to the conversation. Pretend your world isn’t burning.
But even they seem quiet. It’s as if everybody can feel the unease seeping through the walls.
“Just putting it out there,” Dayna leans forward on the table, “but does anyone else feel —”
“Weird?” Ivy interrupts, taking the glass away from Seren’s reach for the hundredth time.
“You’re weird,” Toby mutters without looking up from his phone. Maylie gives him that look only an older sister can manage, before shifting the baby. Theo’s latched on, one tiny hand curled against her skin, his eyes half-closed.
Dayna stares at the doors, like she’s expecting them to burst open. Her brows pull together. “My spider senses are tingling.”
“Your what?” Maylie frowns at her, adjusting Theo.
Dash doesn’t even look up from his coffee. “Okay, Spider-Man, take a breath. Nothing is tingling. The guys will be back soon, and we can all go on with our merry little lives.”
I really want to believe that, but until Zane walks back through that door and tells me it’s over, I’m keeping any hope at a distance.
I let my gaze drift around the men left behind to protect the clubhouse. They all look like tanks. Broad, covered in tattoos, could snap a neck with their pinkie…
But I don’t feel safe.
I open my mouth to say that, but my words die in my throat.
There’s a pop. Then another. It’s the third shot that breaks the spell. It lands in my chest like a hammer.
Gunshots.
My blood freezes, and my heart kicks against my ribs.
We’re being shot at.
Dash is already moving too fast for his injuries. He drags Dayna out of her chair, his body covering hers even as he yells, “Get down!”
I drop to the floor. Ivy’s next to me, Seren pressed beneath her. I cover them both, as if I can stop bullets.
I can barely focus on the yells reverberating around us. More shots ring out. Outside, maybe. The back of the clubhouse… It’s hard to tell where they’re coming from.
Between the legs of the table, I lock eyes with Maylie. She’s holding Theo to her, still nursing him. Her brother is shielding her. Twelve years old and he’s protecting his sister and nephew like he’s been on the frontline for years.
I don’t know why, but seeing her baby still feeding, oblivious to the horror unfolding around him, clears my mind. We’re not dying like this. Not cowering under a fucking table.
“I told you I was getting the tingly thing,” Dayna hisses from under Dash.
Boots hammer past, thundering toward the fight erupting outside. I wish we could see what is going on. Dash presses a kiss to her temple. “Stay here.”
Her hand snaps out and loops around his wrist. “You are not going out there.”
“Babe—”
She interrupts him. “You still have a hole in your side and do I need to remind you I’m pregnant? With your child. You don’t get to run off and die on me.”
“That was… Weirdly romantic,” Maylie says, eyes on her son, like none of this is happening.
I’m not sure whether I should be impressed or concerned.
The firing peters out almost as quickly as it started. Relief mixes with bone deep fear. Are the guys about to come back in victorious or are we about to be gunned down by whoever attacked?
Dash shifts slightly, and I catch the glint of the gun in his hand. At least we have some protection.
The doors kick open. The doors that Dayna only moments ago had been staring at like she was waiting for this.
Two brothers—Fury and Terror, I think—fill the space like titanium walls.
Between them they’re dragging a man. He’s wearing the same the leather vest all the men wear, and there is blood trailing down his face, thick and sticky.
For a moment I think one of their guys is injured, that they’re helping him, but then they drop him on the floor like he’s nothing.
He sprawls and scrambles up to his knees, his eyes wild and afraid.
He doesn’t move too far. Fury presses a gun to the back of his head and my breath hitches in my chest.
Is he going to pull the trigger? Right now?
That familiar nausea builds inside my gut. Anxiety clashing with a sense of helplessness. Dash curses under his breath, pushing up to his feet. This time, Dayna doesn’t stop him.
My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth, as I wrap my arms tighter around Ivy and Seren.
“What the hell is happening?” Dayna breathes the words like a prayer.
“The rats always come home,” Fury says, using the barrel to force his head lower.
“You’re not going to kill me,” he growls, slicing a glance over his shoulder.
He’s careful not to move too much or too fast. I understand why. The tension emanating off them and the other brothers now crowding in is so thick I can taste it.
“No,” Terror says, circling him like a vulture. “Not yet.”
I can’t breathe. The room has gone quiet. No more gunshots, no more shouts, nothing but his ragged breaths.
“Who is that?” Dayna asks.
Maylie doesn’t take her eyes off the man on his knees. “That’s Crank.”
I snap my gaze back to him. He’s older than I thought he’d be. Too old for a girl as young as Chloe. He’s built like the rest of the men around him, but somehow, he seems smaller. Shrunken. He doesn’t ooze power, like Ravage. He doesn’t move with confidence like Nic.
On his knees, surrounded by Sons, with fear dancing in his eyes. And he looks weak.
I expect a smart mouthed quip from Dayna, but she stays uncharacteristically quiet, watching. Waiting to see what happens. Her eyes never leave Dash, who is now standing in front of the man he once called president.
Dash crouches in front of him, his arm resting on one knee. The look he gives Crank would strip paint off the walls.
“Is this what it’s come to?” Crank spits. “You betraying the patch? Betraying me?”
Fury snorts. Terror shifts on his feet like he’s debating putting his boot through Crank’s face.
But Dash… He doesn’t flinch. “You know what I’m most angry about?
” His voice drops low and deadly. Gone is the man who sits with us at breakfast, his hand splayed over Dayna’s bump.
“How badly you failed us, Crank. You did nothing while brothers bled. You watched as our enemies chipped away at our territory piece at a time. And then you slaughtered the men who refused to follow you. Men who were loyal to the patch. You sold us out for your own gain, and then you killed brothers to save your own neck.”
He spits in Crank’s face. He flinches but doesn’t lift his hand to wipe it away. Vicious anger blooms in his eyes, replacing the fear just for a second.
“You think you’re better than me? You think you could’ve run this chapter better than I did?”
“I think the fucking prospect could’ve run this chapter better than you did,” Dash says.
He straightens from his crouch slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Dayna’s fingers find mine and I curl my hand around hers.
I don’t look away. It’s like watching a train crash in real time. None of us have moved from under the table. I’ve stopped trying to pull air into my lungs.
Dash pulls back his fist and smashes it into Crank’s face. Dayna gasps, her grip squeezing mine so tight my bones grind.
Crank falls back, sprawling like somebody cut his strings. I swallow the bile in my throat. Am I about to see someone die in front of me? Where the hell is Zane?
“You’re not worthy to wear the Sons name on your back.”
Fury and Terror pull him back up onto his knees. There’s blood trailing from his mouth, adding to the smear down the side of his face. But still, Crank glares defiantly.
“I did what I had to do. I kept the chapter alive.”
“And got my wife killed.” We all turn as another brother walks slowly toward Crank.
He looks like violence and vengeance wrapped in denim and leather. The back of his kutte says Manchester, but I’m not sure who he is.
“You can’t blame me for that. It was the pioneers—”
“Who you should have taken care of.”
CRACK.
His fist slams into Crank’s jaw like a block of concrete. Once again, he goes sprawling. This time, he doesn’t try to get up, but he laughs. It sounds maniacal, like a man teetering on the edge of sanity. Blood bubbles on his lips. “Blame me all you want, but I didn’t kill Mara.”
The guy boots him in the side hard enough that I flinch. “You don’t say her name. You don’t ever say her fucking name.”
The doors open again, and my stomach drops. I brace for whatever hit is coming next.
But this time… This time it’s him.
Zane.
His eyes are wild in a way I’ve never seen. There’s no control, no composure. He walks in like a fucking war god and the second he sees me, he stops.
I climb out from under the table, shaking. He crosses the room like a hurricane. He doesn’t look at Crank, at his brothers, at anything but me.
And as soon as he’s in front of me, his arms go around me, and I’m pulled into his chest. He’s warm, solid, and mine.
I cling to him like I’ll die if I don’t. I don’t know what he’s been through, or why he walked in here like this. I don’t ask. I just let him hold me.
Let him press his nose into my hair like he’s imprinting my scent into every cell in his body. After a moment, he pulls back, his hands cupping my face like I’m breakable.
“You okay?” he rasps.
“I am now,” I whisper.
“Fuck.” I’m crushed again against his chest, his hand tight around my nape like he can hold us together with nothing but his touch.
And for the first time since I left our apartment, divorce papers on the counter, I breathe.