Chapter 30
Saint
The Rogue disposition question hits my table at nine in the morning, which is too early for mercy and just late enough for everyone to pretend they’re awake enough to have principles.
Moth lays out the numbers first revealing twelve captured from the eastern corridor.
Five from the compound. Three patched up enough to be questioned again today.
Two are still unconscious. Most of Canon’s officers are either dead, bleeding under Obsidian watch, or scattered far enough that Moth has men tracking phones, bikes, bank activity, and every known girlfriend stupid enough to answer a call from a Rogue burner.
Varina is the only Ward left with enough name recognition to gather what remains, which makes her either a problem or an opportunity depending on how badly she wants to keep breathing.
There’s only one step left, now that I’ve been given enough time to think.
The captured men fold into Obsidian, or they die.
A broken club leaves pieces behind, and pieces either become useful or become a future ambush.
That’s the calculation I was raised on. Absorb what strengthens you.
Kill what might rot. Call the result order because order sounds better than fear when you’re the one holding the knife.
And with my father mercifully absent over the last week, I’ve been able to run the club the way it’s needed with minimal pushback.
Everyone now knows my father’s transgressions from that evening and even if they don’t agree with the way I’m running things, my father’s definitely not the one they want. The one thing he taught every member of this club has now come back to bite him—that loyalty is to the club, not the person.
Bricks, Moth, Pike, and Demo are settled around me, Oisín three seats down from me when he should be in bed.
Harlan said walking was good as long as he didn’t get stupid about it, and Oisín apparently took that as permission to come to a disposition meeting with stitches in his arm and bruises still yellowing along one side of his face.
He’s wearing his cut over a dark sweater, the silver ring on his finger twisting every time he hears something he doesn’t like.
He’s been quiet through most of the meeting, eyes following each point as Moth lists names, injuries, assets, possible defectors.
Every now and then, his hand presses against his ribs when he thinks nobody is watching.
I notice. So does Bricks. So does Tally from the hallway, probably, because that woman hears pain through walls.
The room keeps glancing toward him too, our men talking around him out of habit, yet another part I don’t know how to fix without making it worse.
If I shove attention toward him, half the room will treat it like an order and the other half will watch him like a test. Oisín would hate both.
So I sit with my jaw tight and let Moth finish the first pass, even though every instinct in me wants to put my hand on the back of Oisín’s chair and make the room adjust around him by force.
After last night, letting him hold me, though, I’m forcing myself to do this right. Whatever that means.
Moth looks up from the tablet. “We need terms before the holding rooms become a liability. Food, medical care, guards, transport, and messaging all become more difficult after forty-eight hours.”
Bricks lifts his glass. “I love when you talk dirty.”
“You are the reason the guard count doubled,” Moth says without looking at him.
“Shouldn’t have left that asshole with both feet.”
Pike rubs a hand over his jaw, choosing not to touch that. “We keeping any of them?”
“We’re keeping the ones worth keeping,” I say. “The rest can decide whether they want to become Obsidian or stop breathing.”
Oisín pushes his chair back and stands, pain tightening his mouth before he gets control of it, and his hand stays on the table a little too long for balance.
He plants his palm against the wood, lifts his chin, and looks at me from across the table with Rogue bruises on his face and Obsidian leather on his shoulders.
“Don’t you dare kill my family.”
Everyone pauses as I stare at my husband, confused why he wouldn’t want every single one of them in the ground. He didn’t protest when I killed his father. “They put you in a chair,” I say.
“Canon did. Rook did. Men loyal to them helped.” His hand tightens against the table. “I’m not asking you to spare the ones who touched me.”
“You think the rest didn’t know what kind of club they were in?”
“I think knowing and doing aren’t always the same crime.”
That sounds too much like mercy for a room full of men trained to survive by making those distinctions disappear.
Oisín breathes carefully, shallow enough that I know his ribs are punishing him for every word.
He keeps standing anyway. “I have no loyalty to the Rogues,” he pushes out through clenched teeth.
“That was true before Canon took me. It was true when I brought you the corridor. It was true when I signed my name beside yours and put on your cut. The kidnapping didn’t change me.
It only made everyone else notice where I’d already moved. ”
He looks down for half a second, just gathering enough air to keep going.
“But I’m standing here because the Rogues existed.
Canon raised me badly, but he raised me.
Varina stood between me and rooms too loud for me to survive alone when we were young, even if she failed me when it mattered.
The women in that kitchen fed me when my father forgot I hadn’t eaten.
Men in that garage taught me how to hear a bike’s problem by listening before they realized they were teaching me anything useful.
” Oisín hisses as tears gather in his eyes.
I’m not sure if it’s from pain or anger, everything in me wanting to clear the room so I can take the pain from him.
“The people sitting in your holding rooms aren’t all Canon.
They’re not all Rook. Some of them are cowards.
Some of them looked away too long. Some of them followed orders because that’s what clubs train people to do before they call it loyalty.
I’m not saying they’re innocent. I’m saying join or die makes you sound exactly like the men you dragged me out of that barn to prove you weren’t. ”
My first instinct is correct Oisín, contain the room, and remind every man at this table whose call this is before the silence grows teeth.
No one overrules me in front of my officers.
No one stands in my room and compares my terms to Canon’s, to Sol’s, or to any bastard who thinks fear is the same thing as leadership.
Then I look at the man wearing my ring on my finger before staring down at the metal on mine and realize that this is one of the moments that will prove to Oisín where I stand.
Bricks breaks the silence first, because his survival instinct only works when it feels like it. “What terms are you suggesting, Oisín?”
Oisín doesn’t look away from me. “Join or leave.”
Pike exhales. “Leave where?”
“Anywhere that isn’t here and isn’t regrouping under Rogue colors,” Oisín says.
“Strip their cuts. Take their weapons, route access, product knowledge, accounts, anything that lets them become useful to someone else quickly. The ones who want to stay swear in under Obsidian and answer to this table. The ones who don’t get escorted out with enough money for a bus ticket and enough warning to understand what happens if they come back armed. ”
Moth’s eyes sharpen. “Varina?”
Oisín’s throat moves. “She gets the same offer.” My jaw tightens before I can stop it, Oisín stepping closer.
“I’m not asking you to forgive her.” He takes another few steps, his face paling with the effort.
“I’m asking you not to make me watch another person decide blood only matters when it’s useful. ”
Unable to hold back, I step up to Oisín and push him back into his seat. He gives me a strange look but I refuse to apologize as some of the color returns to his face. “I can do that,” I say loud enough for everyone to hear.
Pike glances at me as I return to my seat. “Some of those men will run straight to another club.”
“Then you kill them when they do something worth killing them for,” Oisín says.
Sol would call what we’re doing weakness but he’s not in this room. Some of the older members are still on the fence with the new direction but no one has outright asked for my father. I haven’t even seen him except in passing over the last few days and have no desire to change that.
Eventually, though, I will have to face him for the handover.
“Join or leave,” I push out, agreeing with Oisín.
The room shifts around us, everyone non essential leaving the room before I move back to Oisín, lightly gripping his shoulder. “Moth,” I say, eyes still on Oisín. “Draft the message.”
Moth’s fingers are already moving. “To Varina?”
“To Varina. She comes to Obsidian within the week with her answer, or the offer expires.”
“And the captured men?”
“Same terms. Screened by Moth. Sponsored by an officer if they stay. Marked if they leave. Anyone lies, runs product, contacts a hostile club, or tries to rebuild under Rogue colors, they stop being Oisín’s family and become my problem.”
Oisín’s gaze holds mine a second longer before nodding. Tally pushes her way into the room, eyes narrowed at me before moving in front of Oisín. “Sweetheart,” she says, looking only at Oisín, “Harlan said ten minutes in a chair, not a full constitutional convention.”
Bricks coughs into his glass.
Oisín sighs. “I’m fine.”
“Lie better.”
Demo moves from the door. “Do you want me to—”
“No,” Tally, Oisín, and I say at the same time.
Demo stops mid-step and lifts both hands. “Great. Love being useful.”
Oisín’s mouth softens with the beginning of a laugh, then tightens when his ribs punish him for it. I move before he can argue, offering my arm instead of taking his. He looks at it for a second, then uses it to stand. Oisín makes it to the doorway with Tally on his other side.
I wait until he’s gone before facing the men closest to me, Bricks chuckling under his breath as he shakes his head. “You just let him overrule you at your own table.”
I glare at him, trying to sift through my own feelings. “He was right.”
Bricks stares at me for a long second before his mouth starts to curve. “Christ. You really are gone.”
I almost throw my normal retort at him, deflect, or even just lie but there’s something different. Something is changing. I glance at the door Oisín just walked out of, a smile creeping onto my face. “No, I think I’ve just started figuring out how to fall for my husband."
Bricks’ grin fades by a fraction, softening a little. “Good. About damn time.”