Chapter 2 Hayden
HAYDEN
The Black Crow is buzzing—pool balls cracking, low music pulsing through the floorboards, and the scent of beer, smoke, and women thick in the air.
I’m parked at my usual table in the corner, halfway through a whiskey I don’t even want, watching the door like it owes me something.
Kane, a local, leans against the wall near the jukebox, arms crossed, quietly amused.
Dan’s in the booth opposite me, sipping black coffee like it’s a fine single malt, eyes scanning the room out of habit.
His brother Dom’s with him, same sharp posture, same don't-fuck-with-me stare. You can tell they’re ex-army, even before they speak.
Not patched, but solid and loyal. The kind of men who show up when it matters.
Shane walks past the bar in uniform, off-duty but still carrying the cop energy. He nods at me like we’re old friends. We’re not. But we’ve got mutual respect. That’s enough.
And me? I’m just here brooding. Letting the nickname Wrath do the work of keeping people away.
I don’t dance. Don’t talk unless I have to.
I glance around the room, the constant itch between my shoulders never fully easing. My seat backs onto the wall out of habit.
“Wrath,” Draven mutters, dropping into the chair across from me. “You’re scaring the punters again.”
I raise a brow. “By sitting still?”
“By looking like you’re planning someone’s funeral.” He nods towards the bar. “Someone’s asking for you.”
One of the girls—a fake blonde, too much makeup—flashes me a hopeful smile.
I don’t smile back.
Kit, the prospect, throws his pool cue down with a groan after losing a game—again.
A small smile curves my lips. “That’s the third time tonight Travis has thrashed you.”
Travis’ brother Tristan doesn’t look up from his laptop, his long hair covering the scars on his face. If anyone scares the punters, it’s him.
These people are my family, yet there’s something missing in my life.
“You ever think about getting out?” I ask Draven.
“Out of what?”
“This.” I gesture towards the bar, the noise, the leather cuts and stitched on egos.
Draven snorts. “You’re the SAA enforcer. If you wanted out, you’d be gone. But here you are. Same bar, same whiskey, same ghosts. Same as me.”
I don’t answer because he’s right. I could walk. But I don’t. I sit in this bar, night after night, shoulders tight, heart locked up, because it’s the only family I have and the only thing I’ve ever known.
Draven leans over the table, lowering his voice. “I got a call from Oak today. Wanted me to get a message to you.”
I lift my head. “Why didn’t he just call me?”
Draven shrugs. “He called the bar. Probably safer that way.”
My stomach tightens. “What is it?”
“He needs you to check in on his sister. Needs you to keep her safe.”
“Faith?” Little Sunshine. Haven’t seen her in years. She was always tagging along behind us with scraped knees and a cheeky grin.
Oak always said she was too soft for our world. Always kept her away from the garage and the club after his dad died.
And now he’s entrusting me to keep her safe?
I toss the whiskey back, then rise from my seat. “If he calls again, you tell him I’ll find her… and I won’t let her out of my sight.”
This is a bad idea.
A beautiful, dangerous kind of bad, but I owe Oak my life. He took one for the club and got himself banged up in the process. It should be me doing time right now.
I ride through the dark night, the engine purring under me like a beast I’ve finally tamed. Streetlights flicker past, and the wind bites through my cut. I keep my eyes on the road, while my mind is still on the message from Oak.
Keep Sunshine safe.
He didn’t say where she was, just that she needs me.
I don’t tell the rest of the club. Until I know what I’m dealing with, there’s no point in getting anyone else involved. I owe Oak, and he’s entrusted me with this, not the rest of the club.
By the time I roll into the gravel lot behind the garage and turn off my engine, there’s a heavy silence that only comes after midnight. No club noise. No engines. No voices. Just the buzz of the floodlight above the door and the ticking of my bike cooling down behind me.
The garage is dark—shuttered up for the night. The familiar scent of oil and rust catches in my nose. Home.
I take the steps two at a time towards the unit above the garage. A small one bed space that I call the bunk. Hairs prickle on the back of my neck. The air’s too still, like it’s holding its breath. Then I see her.
Sunshine. But there’s a grey cloud hanging over her, dulling the sparkle I remember.
Curled up at my door, hoodie pulled over her head, arms wrapped tight around her body, but I’d know her golden hair anywhere.
I stop cold, chest locking up like I’ve taken a punch.
Her teeth chatter in the cold night air—unless it’s me making her shake as I tower over her.
Fuck
She doesn’t look up. Just shivers like it hurts and keeps her head down like she’s trying to disappear into herself.
I take a step closer, slowly, so I don’t startle her.
“Faith?”
Her head jerks up at the sound of my voice.
Big, startled eyes—glass-blue and red-rimmed. Her face is pale, her lips cracked, cheeks streaked with tears. A bruise half hidden beneath smeared foundation. There’s dirt on her hands, and her trainers are soaked. She's been here for a while.
Every ounce of control I’ve spent years mastering burns away. She’s not a kid anymore. Not even close. But she’s still my sunshine.
This version of her isn’t warm or laughing. She’s cracked around the edges. Fragile in a way that makes my chest burn.
She doesn’t say anything. Just watches me, like she’s waiting to see if I’ll send her away.
I take the last step and kneel in front of her, lowering my voice. “How long you been out here?”
She shrugs, arms tightening around herself. She’s trembling.
Wind whistles through the alley behind the garage, catching on the metal edges of the roof. Somewhere down the street, a dog barks.
“Come inside,” I say, already reaching for the keys in my back pocket. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
She blinks at me. Like the words don’t quite make sense yet.
“I said,” I repeat, softer this time, “Come inside, Sunshine.”
Her bottom lip quivers just before she nods.
I unlock the door and push it open. The familiar scent of old leather, dust, and whiskey greets us both. I flip the light on low. She steps over the threshold without a word, like all the fight left her miles ago.
No questions.
No explanations.
Because I already know.
I can see the bruises. I can smell the fear on her skin.
And I made a promise—to Oak, to her, and to myself—a long time ago when my sister got mixed up in club business. Never again.
Even if I didn’t realise it until just now.
Tonight, I keep it.