Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
hades
The clubhouse feels different with five kids sprawled across the couches in the main room.
Lily's curled up asleep in one of the leather chairs, thumb in her mouth, while the older ones watch a movie on the big screen TV.
It's not exactly the environment most people would consider kid-friendly, but it's secure, and right now, that's what matters.
"They settling in okay?" Ghost asks, joining me at the bar where I'm nursing my third cup of coffee. His blue eyes are sharp, taking in every detail. As president of the Saint's Outlaws, he's got the kind of mind that sees three moves ahead of everyone else.
"Better than expected." I glance toward the kids. Mason's got his arm around Emma, both of them trying to act tougher than they feel. "They're resilient. Calla raised them right."
"And Evangeline?"
The question hits like a sucker punch to the gut. "What about her?"
"Don't play dumb, brother. You've been wound tight since she walked into that foster home yesterday." Ghost leans against the bar, his voice low enough that the kids can't hear. "Tempest filled me in on the situation with the fiancé."
Of course he did. Tempest's got a mouth like a sieve when it comes to club business.
"It's complicated," I say.
"It's always complicated with you and that woman." Ghost's tone isn't judgmental, just stating facts. "The question is: what are you planning to do about it?"
Before I can answer, the chapel door opens and the brothers start filing out. Savage, our VP, looks grim as he approaches us. Behind him come Rogue, Sniper, Renegade, Ruin, Onyx, and Nemesis. The core of our brotherhood, the men I'd trust with my life.
And now, with the lives of five kids who didn't ask to be part of this world.
"We need to talk," Ghost says, jerking his head toward the chapel. "All of us."
I follow them back into the meeting room, the familiar ritual of club business helping to center my thoughts.
But even as I take my seat at the long wooden table, part of my attention stays focused on the main room, on the soft sounds of the children, and the knowledge that Evangeline is somewhere in this building.
"Alright," Ghost says, calling the meeting to order. "Let's talk about what we know. Hades, you spoke to the detective again this morning?"
I nod. "Isaacs' good people, but she's got her hands tied. The official line is home invasion gone wrong. But off the record, she's got questions."
"What kind of questions?" Rogue asks. He's leaning back in his chair, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. After everything he's been through with Willow and their daughter, he understands what it means to have family in danger.
"Too many things don't add up. The security system was disabled, but only the motion sensors. Cameras were still rolling. Marcus' wallet was still in his back pocket and had three hundred in cash inside. Calla's jewelry box was untouched."
"Professional hit," Savage says flatly.
"That's what I'm thinking. Question is: who wanted them dead and why?"
Tempest shifts in his seat. "Marcus was clean, right? No connection to any of our business?"
"Clean as they come. He worked for some boring accounting firm downtown, handled small business taxes and estate planning. Nothing that should have put a target on his back."
"What about Calla?" Nemesis asks. His scarred face is impassive, but I can hear the edge in his voice. None of us like the idea of innocent people getting caught up in club business.
"She was a kindergarten teacher, for fuck's sake. The most dangerous thing in her life was finger paints and playground duty."
"Someone wanted them gone," Ghost says. "The question is whether this was about the club or something else entirely."
The possibility that my sister died because of my association with the Saints makes my stomach twist, but I have to consider it. We've got enemies, and some of them are crazy enough to go after family.
"I want to review everything," I say. "Police reports, security footage, financial records. Whatever it takes to find who did this."
"You got it, brother," Rogue says. "We'll tear this city apart if we have to."
The solidarity in his voice settles something in my chest. This is what the club is about. Family. Brotherhood. Protecting the people who matter.
Ghost's about to speak, when the main door to the clubhouse slams open with enough force to rattle the windows. The sound carries into the chapel, and we all go still.
"Where is she?"
The voice is sharp, entitled, carrying the kind of authority that comes from money and privilege. I know who it is before I even see him.
Ethan.
"Motherfucker," I growl, pushing back from the table.
"Easy, brother," Ghost warns, but I'm already moving toward the door.
In the main room, Ethan stands near the entrance like he owns the place. His expensive suit looks out of place among the leather and chrome, and his eyes are scanning the room with obvious distaste. When he sees the children, his face hardens.
"You can't just take them," he's saying to Evangeline, who's positioned herself between him and the kids. "They need proper care, proper supervision."
I hear Willow and Natalia behind me, reaching for the children and taking them away from the scene that’s playing out in front of us. They don’t need to listen to the bullshit that Ethan spews.
"They have it," Evangeline replies, but I can hear the strain in her voice. "They have both of us."
"Both of you?" Ethan's laugh is cold. "You mean you and the criminal?"That's when I step into view, and Ethan's gaze snaps to me. I can see him trying to calculate, trying to figure out if I'm someone he needs to worry about or just another thug he can intimidate.
He chooses wrong.
"Problem here?" I ask, my voice deadly quiet.
"Yes, actually. There's a very big problem." Ethan straightens his tie, the gesture meant to show he's not intimidated. "You've filled my fiancée's head with some fantasy about playing house with a bunch of traumatized children. It's not happening."
"It's not your decision to make," Evangeline says, but Ethan ignores her.
"Evangeline is my responsibility," he continues, talking to me like she's not even in the room. "I won't have her dragged into whatever illegal activities you people are involved in."
The possessive way he says 'my responsibility' makes my hands clench into fists. Like she's property instead of a person. Like she doesn't have a say in her own life.
"Funny," I say, taking a step closer. "Last I checked, she was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions."
Ethan's eyes narrow. "You don't understand the situation. Evangeline is from a good family. She has obligations, a reputation to maintain. She can't just throw her life away on some misguided sense of duty."
He turns to Ghost with a smile so slick it could grease a frying pan. "You seem like a reasonable man. Surely you understand the burden five children would place on a woman like Evangeline. She’s been through so much already…" His voice is smooth, laced with faux-concern.
"Ethan, stop." Evangeline's voice cracks like a whip, but he's not listening to her.
"I'm trying to protect you," he says, finally looking at her. "From him, from this situation, from making a mistake you'll regret for the rest of your life."
"The only mistake I'm starting to regret is saying yes when you proposed."
The words hang in the air like a challenge, and I watch Ethan's face go through a series of emotions. Shock, anger, and finally calculation.
"You're upset," he says, his tone shifting to something softer, more manipulative. "You're grieving. You're not thinking clearly."
"I'm thinking perfectly clearly."
"No, you're not." He reaches for her arm, the same possessive grip I watched him use yesterday. "But that's okay. I'm here now. I'll handle this."
The moment his fingers close around her wrist, something primal and dangerous erupts in my chest. The rational part of my brain knows she's not mine, knows she chose him, and knows I have no right to the territorial rage that's flooding my system.
But the rest of me doesn't give a shit about rationality.
"Take your hands off her." My voice comes out rougher than I intended, carrying the edge of violence that most smart people recognize and heed.
Ethan's not that smart.
"This is between me and my fiancée," he says, tightening his grip on Evangeline's wrist. "It's none of your business."
"Everything that happens under my roof is my business."
"Your roof?" Ethan laughs, the sound sharp and mocking. "This isn't a home. It's a criminal headquarters filled with violent men and illegal activities. It’s no place for children or decent women."
Behind me, I hear the soft shuffle of boots as my brothers file out of the chapel. They're not interfering yet, but I can feel their presence, their readiness to back me up if this goes sideways.
"You need to leave," I say, my voice dropping to the level that makes most people's survival instincts kick in. "Now."
"I'm not leaving without Evangeline and the children."
"Yes, you fucking are."
The standoff stretches between us, tension crackling like electricity. Ethan's got maybe fifty pounds on me, but it's soft weight; gym muscle, not the kind built through violence and necessity. He has no idea what he's walking into.
"Gentlemen." Ghost's voice cuts through the tension, calm but carrying absolute authority. "I think we all need to take a step back."
Ethan's gaze flicks to Ghost, taking in the president's patch, the scars on his knuckles, the kind of quiet menace that comes from years of making hard decisions.
"You must be the leader of this little gang," Ethan says, his tone condescending. "I'm sure you understand the legal implications of harboring minors without proper authorization."
"I understand that you're in my clubhouse making threats," Ghost replies smoothly. "And that's not something I take kindly to."