Chapter 37 Silver
SILVER
“Dad! DAD!”
I jolt awake, heart slamming against my ribs before my eyes are even fully open. The chanting is coming from downstairs—Jack’s voice, high-pitched and insistent.
I reach across the bed instinctively, but the sheets are empty and cold.
Solana’s gone.
Every nerve in my body fires at once. I spring up, adrenaline surging, and grab my cane from where it’s propped against the nightstand.
I hate this fucking thing; it makes me feel old and crippled, and it’s impossible not to fucking hobble as I use it.
But the wound’s still healing, and mornings are the worst. My leg is stiff and uncooperative, the muscle tight and angry from hours of stillness.
I hobble as fast as I can out of the bedroom and down the stairs, my mind racing through worst-case scenarios. After everything we’ve been through, from the shootouts, the betrayals, and the goddamn severed head on my doorstep, I’ve learned to expect the worst.
My hand itches for my firearm. I’m already calculating how fast I can get to the safe in the hall closet when the pleasant smells hit me.
Pleasant smells like crisp bacon and sweet syrup and earthy coffee.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, blinking.
“Dad! Breakfast!” Jack calls again. He must be grinning as he does; I can tell by his tone of voice.
Not an ounce of panic or fear to be heard. Just a ten-year-old boy who’s hungry and impatient and his father who’s paranoid and overprotective.
The tension seeps out of me like air from a punctured balloon. I let out a slow breath, shaking my head at myself. Looks like I don’t need my firearm after all.
I limp into the kitchen and stop in the doorway, taking in the scene before me.
Solana’s at the griddle, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes like a pro. She’s still in her PJs, collar slipping off one shoulder and her hair piled up in a loose bun.
She looks soft and rumpled and so damn beautiful, the corner of my mouth quirks.
Then there’s Tabby, who’s perched on one of the counter stools, her phone propped up against a mixing bowl, music playing from the tiny speakers. Some pop song I don’t recognize but she’s bobbing her head to it, mouthing the words.
Jack’s in the far corner, carefully pouring orange juice into glasses, his tongue poking out in concentration. He tips the carton a little too far and juice sloshes over the rim, pooling on the counter.
“Whoops,” he mutters, glancing around to see if anybody noticed.
I noticed. But I don’t say anything, my lips spreading further in a grin.
Tabby spots me first. She hops off her stool and dashes over, rising on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Morning, sleepyhead! Solana was right—you really do hibernate like a bear.”
I cock a brow. “I don’t sleep like a—”
But they’re already laughing, all three of them, and the sound fills the kitchen like music. Better than music.
Solana steps away from the griddle and crosses to me, sliding her arms around my neck. She presses a soft kiss to my lips, making me relax even further, the last of the tension melting away.
“Just kidding,” she murmurs against my mouth. “Sit down. We made some of your favorites.”
“I made the eggs!” Jack announces proudly, puffing out his chest.
Tabby rolls her eyes. “He dropped shells in them and we had to redo them.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” he protests, his face scrunching with indignation.
They open their mouths to keep bickering, but then seem to catch themselves and remember they’d decided this morning was supposed to be peaceful.
A truce is silently declared.
They return to their tasks, Tabby setting out plates and Jack mopping up the spilled orange juice with a paper towel.
I settle into a chair at the kitchen table, propping my cane against the wall.
We dig into breakfast together—eggs, bacon, toast, and a stack of pancakes Solana insists I take the biggest portion of. Jack and Tabby sip their orange juice while Solana and I nurse cups of hot coffee.
The kitchen is warm and bright, filled with the sounds of forks scraping against plates and casual conversation.
“I brought my geometry grade up to a B-plus,” Tabby announces between crunchy bites of bacon. “Mrs. Bailey said if I keep it up, I might make not have to do summer school.”
“That’s my girl.” I reach over and squeeze her shoulder. “Proud of you, Peanut.”
She beams, and I swear she sits a little taller.
Jack isn’t about to be outdone. “I’m gonna join the junior basketball league this summer,” he says, stabbing a piece of pancake with his fork. “Tryouts are in May. I’ve been practicing my free throws.”
“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe we can shoot some more hoops later. Work on your form.”
His eyes light up. “Really? That’d be awesome!”
“You’ll just have to keep in mind I’ve got the cane, so go easy on me.”
“Like at the arcade? Dad, you won!”
Tabby suddenly gasps, turning around her phone. “Oh my god, Solana, look! Someone posted a TikTok of your performance last night. It already has, like, eight thousand views!”
“Wait, really?” Solana takes the phone, her brow furrowing as she scrolls through. “Wow…”
“And look at the comments!” Tabby says, leaning over her shoulder. “Everyone’s saying how good you were. Like, actual compliments. That almost never happens on TikTok.”
Solana’s dark brown eyes shine as she reads the comments, her lips parting in surprise. Then a slow, disbelieving smile spreads across her pretty face, and she looks up at me like she can’t believe it’s real.
I wink at her. “Told you. Star material.”
She can’t bring herself to answer as she ducks her head and smiles more privately, like the rest of us can’t see it.
I lean back in my chair, letting the moment wash over me. My kids are happy and healthy. Tabby’s doing much better in school. Jack’s done with softball and now excited about basketball. And Solana—she’s my girlfriend who I couldn’t be crazier about.
It’s more than any man could ever ask for. More than a man like me probably deserves. I’ve done things. Killed people. Made choices that would keep most folks up at night.
But somehow, despite all of it, I’ve ended up here.
Truly blessed.
My phone buzzes against my thigh.
I pull it out and glance at the screen. Tito’s texted me about club business. There’s always something. Always another fire to put out or another problem to solve.
But for once, I don’t jump to answer it.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and reach for my coffee instead, letting my gaze drift over the people around this table. Tabby’s showing Solana something else on her phone. Jack’s sneaking a couple extra pieces of bacon. Solana’s laughing as she nods along to whatever she’s being shown.
The club can wait.
Right now, I’d rather savor this.
“…and that’s the latest on the armory. We’ve restocked the ammo supply, and Zoe’s secured more explosives we could use in case of emergencies. Anybody else fucks with us, they’re about to be blown the fuck up!”
Ozzie finishes his briefing in true dramatic Ozzie fashion, then settles back into his chair.
Tito stands up, clearing his throat. “Next matter of business—the Pena cartel and the fractured business relationship.”
A ripple of tension moves through the room. The Penas have been a thorn in our side for months, and that wound is still fresh after how Tom interfered and made things worse.
Mace leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “We’ve got my father to thank for that. He’s the one who stirred up shit with them in the first place.”
“Tensions were already rocky,” Cash counters from his other side. “That was before Tom interfered.”
“Yeah, well.” Mace half shrugs, his jaw tight. “He damn sure didn’t help things. But what else is new?”
No one argues with that.
We spend the next twenty minutes hashing out a plan for seeking a new deal with the Penas. Something that’ll be more mutually beneficial and allow us to rebuild the bridge that was destroyed over the past few months.
We’ve come back from worse.
When the discussion winds down, I push myself to my feet, and the room goes quiet.
I peer around the head table at the men gathered, then look to the rest of the barroom where the non-council members are sitting.
We’ve got a mix of everybody in attendance this afternoon. Some who have been Kings for decades like me. Others who are newer, still proving themselves.
But every single one of them stayed loyal when it mattered. When everything was falling apart, they stood firm.
“I want to thank you,” I say, my voice steady. “All of you. Things got rough these past few months. Our club went through its own reckoning—betrayal from within and enemies on all sides. But you proved yourselves to be real Steel Kings. It makes me proud to be your president.”
I pause, letting my gaze move from face to face. I receive nods of respect and solidarity.
True brotherhood.
“We lost some good men,” I continue gravely. “Big Eddie. Tate. And Mudd’s still fighting for his life in that hospital bed. But they’ll always be Kings. Even in death. Because even death can’t stop us. That’s what it means to wear this patch. That’s what it means to be part of this brotherhood.”
I raise my pint of beer, the others following to do the same.
“To the Kings we’ve lost,” I say. “And to the future of our brotherhood.”
“To the Kings,” the guys echo.
We drink together, the moment of silence in honor of the Kings we’ve lost and our future carrying on their memory.
The meeting adjourns and everyone breaks off into smaller conversations—sidebars about business, family, the usual bullshit that keeps a club running.
I’m about to head over to Mace when I notice somebody approaching from my peripheral vision.
It’s Moses coming up to talk. I turn to face him, keeping my expression neutral.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still on guard. Moses was one of the guys who followed Tom; he bought into his bullshit and stood against me when the club fractured. I know he was fooled, charmed by Tom’s manipulation like some of the others.
But trust, once broken, takes time to rebuild.
Still, I can see the conflict in his expression. He’s not himself; struggling with losing Big Eddie hit him hard. Hit all of us hard, but especially him and Solana. Eddie was almost like a father to them since their own passed away years ago.
“Prez,” Moses says with a nod of his head. “Can I have a word?”
“Shoot.”
He draws a breath, then scratches at his neck. “It’s been hard. Losing my uncle. Nobody saw it going down that way. We had no idea what Tom was really up to… or what he was planning. I should’ve seen it. But I was angry with you over… you know.”
I give him no real response, simply waiting for him to continue and speak what’s on his mind.
“Look… what I’m saying is… it’s my bad, Silver. I know it doesn’t fix things. But I’ll prove myself. My loyalty is with the Kings. Always has been, even when I lost my way for a minute. You’re the president, and I respect that. I support it.”
He holds out his hand.
I glance down at it for a moment. This is the same hand that damn near threw a punch at me during the brawl weeks ago. If Eddie hadn’t, Moses damn sure would’ve done so.
He’s the same guy who fell in line with Tom’s volatile plan for the club, even if he didn’t realize how he was being manipulated.
But it’s also Solana’s brother. Big Eddie’s nephew. A King who lost his way and is trying to find the path back.
I take his hand and shake it firmly.
“I appreciate you saying that,” I tell him. “Takes a big man to apologize and own his mistakes. Big Ed would be proud.”
Gratitude flickers across Moses face. He nods along as if he knows what I’ve said is true. Big Eddie, even if we weren’t on the best terms at the end, always wanted to keep the peace in the club.
“One more thing,” he says, releasing my hand. “Uncle Ed’s funeral service is Wednesday. I hope you and Solana make it. And... uh… tell her she always has a room at the house. If she wants it.”
This is an olive branch—not just to me, but to his sister. After everything that went down between them, he knows he’s got to fix their relationship.
“I’ll let her know,” I say. “I’m sure she’ll want to be there.”
Moses nods again. “I know you’ll treat her right. I’m just... I’m protective of her. That’s all. She’s my baby sister and… I guess I still see her as a kid sometimes.”
“I get it.” And I do. More than he probably realizes. “She’s lucky to have a brother who gives a damn.”
He claps me once on the shoulder and then turns and walks away.
I watch him go, grateful for the chance to clear the air. We’re not all the way there yet. That’ll take time. But it’s a start.
“Things are finally starting to feel like normal again.”
Mace and Cash come up on my left looking more relaxed than they have in weeks. Cash sips from his Coke can with the beginnings of a grin on his face while even Mace’s permanent scowl has eased up some.
I snort, gesturing at the cane in my hand. “Things’ll be normal when I don’t need this fucking thing anymore.”
“Give it time, old man,” Mace taunts. “You’ll be back to kicking ass soon enough.”
“Speaking of getting back to normal,” Cash continues, “Kori and I are having a special dinner next weekend. To celebrate our engagement. You and Solana are invited. It’ll be good for all of us—help us move on. Remember the good we’ve got.”
I nod slowly. “We’ll be there.”
“Good. It means a lot, Prez. Especially since you ruined my proposal.”
I chuckle, unable to refute that very real fact.
He and Mace drift off to join the others, and I’m left standing alone for a moment, leaning on my cane and looking around the room.
The club’s still finding its footing. We’re bruised and battered, grieving our losses and rebuilding what Tom and Wheels tried to destroy. It won’t happen overnight. Healing takes time.
But we’ve survived before. We’ll survive this time too.
It’s what Steel Kings do.