Chapter Twenty-Three
Vic
Vic was helping Hurley and Pinto close up the club’s back lot after a long night when trouble rolled in wearing familiar eyes.
Conner Montrose stepped out of a blacked-out SUV like he owned the fucking pavement.
Same height as their father, same sharp jaw, but he was harder now.
His posture was military straight, his gaze cold, and the chip on his shoulder was the size of Wyoming.
Two guys flanked him; their stances shouted they were clearly hired muscle.
“Well, shit,” Hurley muttered. “This ain’t good.”
“It’s my brother.” Vic shook his head. “Nope, I don’t think it’s good at all.”
Conner’s eyes locked on Vic immediately. A cruel smirk tugged at his mouth. “Little brother. Heard you were playing house with these biker boys.”
Vic stepped forward, shoulders squared. “Conner. What the hell are you doing here? What does it matter to you who I hang with?”
“Came to see what kind of trash my baby brother’s been running with. Everybody in half a dozen states knows who the Rebel Wayfarers are. I wanted to come see how you’re spending my inheritance.” Conner’s gaze slid to Hurley. “This the one who thinks he’s hot shit?”
Before Vic could answer, Conner shoved past him and deliberately shoulder-checked Hurley hard enough to make the big man stumble.
“The fuck?” Hurley’s eyes flashed. “You got a problem, asshole?”
“Yeah,” Conner said, grinning. “I got a problem with my brother thinking he’s better than the family he came from.
Hanging around these pretend tough guys.
They’ve been a pain in my ass about some of my money routes, something about not allowing dope on their turf.
Assholes trying to run me out of business.
If there wasn’t a demand, then I wouldn’t have the supply. ”
Things escalated fast.
One of Conner’s guys swung on Pinto. Hurley grabbed the other. Vic went straight for Conner.
Fists flew. Vic landed a solid hit to Conner’s jaw, but his brother was quicker than expected. The experience of years of whatever life he’d been living had made him mean. Conner countered with a brutal elbow that split Vic’s lip.
Then someone pulled a baseball bat from the SUV.
The crack of wood against bone echoed across the lot as one of Conner’s men swung at Hurley. The big Rebel took the hit across the ribs with a grunt but didn’t go down.
Vic saw red.
He tackled the man with the bat, wrenching it from his hands and cracking him across the knees. The guy dropped, howling.
Conner laughed, and it came out as a bitter, ugly sound. “Still playing hero, huh? Always were Dad’s favorite little savior.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Vic snarled, breathing hard, blood dripping down his chin. “You don’t get to show up here and fuck with my people. You aren’t anything, Conner. Nothing I want to be associated with, that’s for sure.”
“Tell Mason we’ve got trouble in the back forty,” Pinto said into the phone, and Vic silently thanked him for being the one to make that call.
“You don’t get it, little brother. You’ve got something of mine, and I want it now.
Grams said there wasn’t anything Rosie left me, but you couldn’t be living the way you are without some extra green.
Way I see it, that’s my green.” Conner lifted his chin, staring down his nose at Vic. “Do you comprehend, Victor?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Before Vic could say anything else, Mason arrived like a storm.
The Rebel Wayfarers MC national president stepped into the chaos with several patched members behind him. His face was thunderous as he took in the scene—Hurley holding his side, blood on Vic’s face, Conner and his men looking worse for wear.
“Enough,” Mason barked. His voice cut through everything. “You”—he pointed at Conner—“got ten seconds to explain why the fuck you’re on my property starting shit.”
Conner wiped blood from his mouth and sneered. “Just catching up with family.”
Chase pushed through the crowd, eyes wide. “Dad—”
Mason held up a hand, silencing his son. His gaze locked on Conner. “You’re done here. Get the fuck off my lot before I decide you’re not leaving at all.”
Conner looked like he wanted to argue, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to push Mason. He shot Vic one last venomous look.
“This ain’t over, little brother.”
As Conner and his men retreated to their SUV, Vic stood breathing hard, adrenaline still surging. Chase moved to his side, looking between him and his father.
“You okay?” Chase asked quietly.
Vic nodded once, wiping blood from his lip. “Yeah. Sorry about this. He’s...my half brother. Different moms. He’s had a problem with me since we were kids.”
Mason stepped closer, eyes sharp. “Family don’t get a free pass to fuck with mine. You handled yourself. But next time something like this comes knocking, you tell us first.”
“Wasn’t time to call anyone, Mason,” Hurley cut in. “They just rolled up and started tryin’ shit.”
“Then it’s a goddamned good thing Pinto made sure I showed up when I did.” Mason shook his head. “Doesn’t change the fact that if you’ve got trouble, I need to be your first call.”
Vic met the older man’s gaze. “Yes, sir.”
Mason studied him for a long moment, then gave a short nod. “You’re one of us now, Montrose. Friend of the club. Act like it.”
As the tension slowly bled out of the men on the lot, Vic felt the weight of that statement settle over him.
Conner was blood.
But Bear, Hurley, Pinto, Chase, Benny, Slate, and the rest of them...they were his family now.
And he’d be damned if he let the ghosts of the past hurt them.
***
Vic sat on the back steps of Bear’s house long after the others had gone inside.
The adrenaline from the fight had burned off, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and the metallic taste of blood where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek.
His split lip throbbed in time with his heartbeat.
He stared at the dark yard, phone heavy in his hand, and finally dialed the one number he knew would still be answered no matter how late it was.
Grams picked up on the second ring.
“Victor?” Her voice was instantly alert, the way it always got when one of her boys called after dark. “Everything okay, baby?”
He rubbed a hand over his face and winced when his fingers brushed the swelling on his lip. “Hey, Grams. I’m...mostly okay. Just wanted to hear your voice.”
There was a short pause. “What happened?”
Vic let out a tired breath. “Conner showed up tonight. At the MC’s clubhouse.
Brought a couple of guys with him. Started shit with a couple of the guys who’ve been only good to me.
Threw some punches, and then one of Conner’s crew pulled a baseball bat and went after one of the guys.
It got ugly for a minute, but the Rebels handled it. Nobody’s hurt bad.”
Grams inhaled sharply. “He came looking for you?”
“Yeah.” Vic stared at the ground between his boots. “He knew exactly where to find me. Said he was ‘catching up with family.’ But then he started off on a tangent, talking about something Rosie had left to him that I had somehow stolen.”
Another silence, heavier this time. Grams’ voice was small and guilty in a way that twisted something in his chest.
“Victor...he was here. Two weeks ago. Showed up on my porch acting all concerned, asking where you were living now, how you were doing. I didn’t want to tell him anything, but he kept pushing.
Said he was worried about you being mixed up with some trouble.
I...I gave him the name of the town. I’m so sorry, baby. I should’ve known better.”
Vic closed his eyes. “Grams, it’s not your fault. He showed up in Meg’s life too. Sounds like he had the same questions for her. He’s always been good at getting what he wants, no matter the cost. You don’t owe him anything.”
“I know, but I still feel terrible. I never wanted him dragging trouble to your door. I didn’t mean to send him your way.”
“You didn’t,” Vic said firmly. “He made his own choices a long time ago. Listen to me—my people here are safe. The club stepped in. They’ve got my back, and I’ve got theirs. Conner doesn’t get to touch that. Not anymore.”
He heard her sniffle and hated it. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. We’re cutting him off. No more information, no more chances. He’s blood, but he’s not family. Not the way you are. Not the way the people here are.”
Grams was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice had steadied. “You sound different, Victor. Stronger. Like you’ve finally found your place.”
Vic smiled despite the ache in his lip. “I think I have. Grams...there’s someone. Her name’s Bonnie. She’s...God, she’s everything. Fierce and talented and stubborn as hell. I’m in love with her. Really in love.”
The silence that followed was stunned.
“You’re in love?” Grams sounded equal parts shocked and delighted. “My Victor? The one who swore he’d never let a woman tie him down because ‘the road don’t wait’?”
Vic laughed softly. “Yeah, that one. She’s different. She makes the music better. Makes me better. I want you to meet her.”
“Well, bring her home, baby. You hear me? Standing invitation. You two come stay a week or two whenever you want. I’ll make your favorite meatloaf and that peach cobbler Bonnie might fight me for. I want to hug the girl who finally caught my grandson’s heart.”
“I will,” Vic promised, warmth spreading through his chest. “Soon as things settle a little. I love you, Grams.”
“I love you more. Be safe, Victor. And tell that Bonnie I said she’s already got a place at my table.”
They said their goodbyes, and Vic sat there for another minute, phone warm in his hand. The weight of the night felt lighter somehow. He scrolled to another contact and hit Call before he could overthink it.
Sheri answered with the familiar warmth he’d come to count on. “Vic Montrose, as I live and breathe. You better be calling because you’re finally settled somewhere and not because you’re sleeping on another stranger’s couch.”
He laughed. “No couch. I’ve got a room at a friend’s place. Actually...I’ve got a lot more than that.”
“Oh?” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Do tell.”
“I’m with someone, Sheri. For real this time. Her name’s Bonnie. She’s a guitarist, a singer, runs her own band. She’s tough as nails, funny as hell, and she scares the shit out of me in the best way. I’m in love with her. Told her so and everything.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Sheri let out a loud, joyous laugh that made him grin like an idiot.
“Finally! Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. I have been praying for this day since you crashed on my couch looking like a kicked puppy. She must be something special if she got through that thick skull of yours.”
“She is,” Vic said, still smiling. “You’d like her. She doesn’t take any shit, including from me.”
“Good. You need that. When do I get to meet the woman who finally pinned you down?”
“Soon, I hope. We’re figuring things out, but it feels right. Really right.”
Sheri’s voice softened. “I’m happy for you, Vic. You deserve this. After all the pretty-boy bands and the running and the heartbreak—you deserve someone who sees you.”
“Thanks, Momma Sheri.”
“Anytime, kiddo. Now go tell that girl you love her again. And call me when you two are ready for a visit. I’ll cook enough to feed an army.”
Vic was still laughing when he hung up. He sat on the steps a while longer, the night air cool against his skin, the ache in his lip and knuckles a distant thing now.
For the first time in a long time, everything felt like it was falling into place instead of falling apart.
He stood up, brushed off his jeans, and headed inside. He was ready to ice his lip, text Bonnie good night, and sleep like a man who finally knew where he belonged.