Chapter 12
The bike thrums between my legs, engine hot from the long haul back from Terry. Six hours of warehouse inventory with Ledger, counting shit that isn’t on any manifest. My shoulders ache. My brand still burns under my shirt, the healing has been worse than the actual moment of branding.
Plastic bags of Chinese food hang from my grip, swinging as I take the last turn onto our road. Got Mercy those sugar donuts she likes. The ones dusted with cinnamon that leave her fingerprints everywhere.
I almost stop the bike when I see the Range Rover, white and gleaming in my dirt driveway like some alien spacecraft landed while I was gone.
Savannah's ride. I'd know it anywhere—seen it enough times on her Instagram, parked outside fancy hotels, designer shopping bags arranged just so on the hood.
I kill the engine, let silence fill the space where my heartbeat should be. The food bags crinkle as I tighten my grip.
What the fuck is she doin’ here?
Five days since the silo.
Five days since I cut her loose, really expecting it to be the end this time.
Five days of nothing but the ache in my chest and the memory of her skin.
They know I'm here. You don't sneak up on anyone riding this bike. The door opens before I can reach for it.
"Legion!" Mercy's face appears, grinning wide. "We have a visitor!"
Like I could miss the six-figure SUV parked out front.
I step inside, keeping my face blank. Savannah sits on our couch, all honey-blonde and polished in her riding clothes. Tight white pants. Tall black boots. Hair pulled back in a low bun. The ring is back on her finger, diamond catching light like it's showing off.
"Brought dinner," I say, holding up the bags. My voice sounds normal. Doesn't give away the ache in my chest.
Mercy bounces over, snatching the bags from my hands. "Chinese? Yes!" She peers inside. "Did you get—"
"Sugar donuts are in the bottom bag."
She grins, already digging for them. "Savannah came to see the new place!"
"So I see." I look at Savannah, really look at her. Something's off. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. There's tension in her shoulders I recognize—the kind she gets when she's trying not to crack.
"I was just in the neighborhood," she says. Bullshit. Nobody's "just in the neighborhood" of Kane land. We're the wrong side of everywhere.
"Nice of you to drop by." I keep my tone even. "Wasn't expecting company, or I'd have brought more food."
"Oh, I'm not staying for dinner." Her smile tightens a fraction. The diamond flashes again as she tucks hair behind her ear.
Mercy hauls the food to the kitchen, already opening containers, the smell of fried rice and kung pao chicken filling the air. "This is so much better than what we had at the clubhouse," she calls over her shoulder.
I watch Savannah flinch at the word "clubhouse." There's a story there. Something happened while I was gone.
"Mercy," I say, not taking my eyes off Savannah, "give us a minute, will ya?"
"But the food—"
"It'll still be there." I reach out my hand to Savannah. "Let's go for a walk."
She hesitates, then takes my hand. Her fingers are cool against mine. I can feel the ring pressing into my skin.
"Don't touch my food," I warn Mercy. "I'll be right back."
"Whatever." She's already got a pair of chopsticks in her hand, rooting through the containers. "I'm not making any promises."
I lead Savannah outside, onto the porch, into the purple dusk. The air smells like dust and sage. Her perfume cuts through it—something expensive, subtle.
The moment we're alone, I drop her hand.
"What are ya doin’ here, Savannah?"
The diamond on her finger catches the last light of day.
Three carats of bullshit.
Three years of my life.
All of it feels weighed and measured in that stone.
"This place looks... different," she says, gesturing at the new trailer. Her fingers tremble slightly, like she wants to touch the outside to make sure it’s real. "Last time I was here, it was—"
"A rusted-out piece of shit?" The words are bitter and come out mean. "Yeah, well. Now it's not. What do ya really want, Savannah?"
She takes a step back, boot heel clicking against the fresh wood of the porch. "I wanna know where it came from. How you afforded it. How it got here so fast." Her eyes narrow. "And who exactly are these men from the clubhouse teaching Mercy all these new skills she’s been braggin’ about?"
Oh. I think to myself. I do not think so, Miss Ashby. "Let me be real clear." My voice drops low. "Mercy is my sister. Not yours. You don't get have opinions about how I raise her just because you dropped off groceries while I was gone."
"I just don't think it's a good idea." Her voice shakes a little. Surprised at my challenge. "Having Mercy around criminal bikers like—"
"Like what?" I lean in close. Let her see exactly what three years inside did to my eyes. Let her see the darkness that grew there, fed by concrete walls and fluorescent lights that never died. "I'm a criminal biker, Savannah. Did you forget that part while you were picking out china patterns?"
I grab her left hand, shove it up between us.
The diamond shines unnaturally bright, like this moment was staged by Eleanor Ashby herself.
"You lost all right to ask those questions the moment you put this ring on.
You wanna know about the clubhouse? About who's teaching Mercy what? About where the money came from?"
She tries to pull away, but I hold tighter. Feeling her pulse race against my fingertips.
"Those are family questions, Savannah."
My voice starts hard, but it goes soft at the end when I say her name. I don't wanna be mad at her. I don't wanna hate her. Savannah Ashby is the only woman I've ever wanted in all my life. She's the one.
But she made her choice and now she has to live with it.
So this is what I tell her.
"You chose the mansion lights over midnight rides, Savannah. Chose diamond rings over chain links. I spent three years in darkness dreaming about you underneath me as the starlight dusted your skin. And while I was doin’ that, you were busy turning yourself into something I don't recognize."
She lets out a breath and her eyes go sad.
But I keep going. Because I got shit to say.
If she stays away, I'll get over it. I'll make myself get over it. I'll look back at that last night in the silo as the perfect ending.
Not a happy one, but I never expected one of those.
If she stays away.
If she comes around, well that's another matter. If she keeps comin’ around, she's gonna kill me slowly. One moment at a time.
I'll never get over it.
I'll never get over her.
This will turn me mean and evil.
And I'm halfway there already. Have been since the day I was born. I can't risk the 'casual' nature of our past relationship.
Not anymore. It’s not workin’ for me.
"That's the thing about choices, Savannah.
" I look her straight in the eyes for this last part.
"They don't just change your future. They burn your past to ash.
And darlin', we're nothing but embers right now.
Not the kind that spark up with the right wind, but the kind that die out slowly over time. "
"You want me to leave."
It's not a question, but I answer it anyway. "No, Savannah. That's not what I want. I wanna keep you forever. But I'm done sharing, ya understand? I'm done bein’ your dirty little secret. I don't like it. I never did. But if you're movin’ on, then I'm movin’ on too."
I pick up her hand again. Show her the ring. Her ring. The one she took off the last time we met up and then put it right back on when she got home.
Like I don't mean anything to her.
I'm just a hookup.
She's listening to me, I can tell by the way her nose crinkles up. She's thinking.
Do I believe she loves this senator's son more than me?
Fuck no. I don't even think she likes him.
But she will run back to that family money—to the mansion, and the land, and the horses, and the cattle, and the security of it all.
Yeah, she will.
And I just can’t stand for that.
Because I can't give her that. Ever. I'll never be able to give her that. So either she wants me, or she wants her lifestyle.
If she chose the life, I wouldn't even hate her for it. I mean, I hope she does. Because picturing Savanah Ashby living in my new trailer is pretty much the saddest thing I can think of right now.
She doesn't deserve this. She deserves better.
And to be quite frank about shit, she's way too good for me. She's knows it, I know it, Cash knows it. That's why he gave me that warning.
"You want me to walk away, don't you, Legion?"
I'm too busy dyin’ over the way she says my name to respond, so she just keeps going.
"Don't even bother denying it. I can see it all over your face. You wouldn't even know what to do with me if I was truly yours. Only yours."
She's not wrong.
"But I'm gonna have my say," she continues. "If you get to throw your midnight rides in my face, then I get to throw my love in yours.”
Love.
Such a small word for the thing that's been killing me since I was fourteen.
"I love you," she says again, stepping closer.
"I've loved you since I was twelve years old singing in that silo.
I loved you when I was fifteen and gave you the most precious thing I had to offer.
I loved you through four years of college, and three years of silence.
Through engagement photos and charity galas and every single fucking Instagram post."
I don't move. Can't.
"I'll give it up," she whispers, and now her voice changes, becomes something harder. Something I recognize. "All of it. The car, the horses, the ranch—everything. I'll sign it over to Cash and walk away."
The world stops spinning for a second. Savannah Ashby without her inheritance is like a bird without wings. It's her protection, her power, the only thing that's ever truly been hers.
"But I want you to walk away too," she adds, and her eyes hold mine. "From the clubhouse."
And there it is. The trade.