Chapter 10
Emily
I keep my shoulder to the grind. This is the kind of work that teaches patience. The moment my stomach growls, Onyx speaks up.
“Are you ready for lunch?” he asks, glancing at the clock on the wall. “We can grab lunch in the clubhouse. I saw Jasper’s old lady had the club girls making homemade lasagna earlier.”
I nod, rubbing my eyes and stretching my shoulders. “That actually sounds amazing.”
I follow him into the bar area, the smell of food hits immediately.
The tables are filling up, brothers are already filling their plates.
A few women move behind the bar and between the kitchen and the tables, carrying trays and talking over one another.
I recognize some of them from earlier. They’re club girls.
Onyx gets pulled aside before he can even fill his plate. Someone catches his attention with a low voice and a hand on his arm. He gives me a brief look and murmurs, “I’ll be right back.” Before I can answer, he turns away.
I hover for a second, unsure what to do. Then I walk over to the buffet, fill my plate and take an open seat at one of the tables. No one says anything as I settle in, but I feel their eyes on me anyway. The noise level rises, as everyone starts talking as they eat.
That’s when a woman walks across from the far side of the room and leans in.
“I heard you’re the office help,” she says in a snide tone.
I turn to get a better look at her long, perfectly styled hair and realize she’s wearing evening clothing during the day, including platform spiked heels. Her smile is fake and her make-up is nothing short of elaborate. She grins. “I didn’t know Queenie was hiring secretaries again.”
I keep my expression neutral. “I’m an archivist,” I correct her calmly. “I’m here to digitize all the club records.”
She snorts a laugh, like she’s been dying to get that out since the conversation started. “It’s the same thing. Paperwork girls never last. The brothers prefer women who actually contribute.”
“I’m contributing,” I say evenly. “Just not in the kitchen.”
Her eyes look me over, slow and deliberate. “You think this is about the kitchen?” she asks. “Honey, you don’t know the half of it.”
Before I can respond, Onyx’s presence registers behind me. I don’t hear him approach, but I feel the shift immediately because the woman stiffens.
That’s enough, Heaven,” he says, his voice flat and controlled. “One, you don’t speak for the club. And two, Emily is actually employed by the club. Unlike you, she’s getting paid in cash, not room, board, and dick.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again when he looks at her. “Still, I wasn’t lying,” she murmurs quietly.
“Yes, you were,” he replies. “And you know it.” When she doesn’t respond, he adds, “I think you know better than to fuckin’ pick on women who are new to the club. You need to fall back. Just because Silver isn’t showing her ass anymore, doesn’t mean she left behind a power vacuum.”
She scoffs, pushing back from the table. “Fine, I’m sorry for talking to the new girl.”
Onyx takes a menacing step closer and raises his voice slightly, “She’s not the new girl. She’s my woman, and you’ll treat her with respect.”
Heaven’s eyes droop down to a leather vest folded neatly over his arm. Her eyes get big. She makes a disgruntled sound of disbelief and stomps away.
Onyx turns to me and sets that vest down on the table beside my plate. I recognize it instantly from the way it looks and the way the room goes quiet around us.
“My cut,” he says. “You should go ahead and put it on. It’ll save you a lot of problems, like the one you just had.”
I stare at it for a moment before touching it.
The leather feels cool and buttery soft beneath my fingers.
But it’s what it represents that tugs at my emotions.
It means I’m his old lady and anyone who disrespects me, also disrespects Onyx and his club.
But it also means that everything I say and do moving forward is a reflection on him and his club.
My grandfather once explained to me that’s what it means to wear a cut.
When I finally look up, I see the other women in the room watching us. Some with open envy. Some with resentment they aren’t even trying to hide. The realization slowly settles in that at least some of them wanted him.
I come to my feet, pick it up and look at the way his name spans the back in a clean beautiful script.
The vest is heavier than it looks. The way it rests across my shoulders feels like it was custom made for me, even though I know it wasn’t.
Regardless, I instantly feel warmer and more protected.
No, it won’t stop a bullet, but if it stops someone harassing me, then it’s worth its weight in gold.
I glance around the room to see most of the men are staring at me right along with the women.
Rock and Queenie are sitting at a table all the way in the back near the stairs.
Rock lifts his beer when he catches Onyx’s eye.
Onyx jerks his chin towards his father, while Queenie relaxes with a cup of coffee.
It feels like all these people know exactly where I stand, even if I don’t fully understand it myself yet.
***
We work side by side without much talking at first. The quiet is comfortable now, broken only by the soft sounds of paper shifting and the occasional tap of keys.
The deeper I get into the records, the clearer it becomes that this club didn’t just stumble into being.
It fought for its survival, over and over again.
Some of the entries make anxiety pool in the pit of my stomach.
There were territorial disputes that escalated quickly.
Club businesses were burned to the ground.
Brothers were injured or worse. I pause more than once, rereading notes written in rushed handwriting, trying to picture the reality of what happened all those years ago.
These aren’t exaggerated stories told by some drunken brother.
They’re records created in the heat of the moment, while the person was still actively dealing with the trauma.
One folder brings me to a complete stop.
I read through it slowly, my heartbeat picking up as the details sink in.
Queenie’s name appears again and again. She was called Victoria back then.
She was kidnapped during a conflict with a rival club and held for days.
She was pregnant at the time, and Rock was desperate to get her back.
There are notes about negotiations failing and his worries that time was running out.
There is a description of Rock organizing a response with allied clubs from three different states.
I look up from the page, chest aching. “Onyx,” I say quietly. “Can I ask you something?”
He swivels his chair slightly towards me, immediately attentive. “Yeah. What do you want to know?”
I hold up the folder. “This,” I say. “It’s about your mom.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look surprised. “What about it?”
“She was taken,” I say carefully. “She was pregnant. This says she almost lost the baby.”
His eyes drop to the folder, then lift back to mine. “She almost did.”
I hesitate. “What happened?”
He leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Rock didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t wait for law enforcement. He called every allied club that owed us or respected us and told them what was happening.”
I swallow. “And they just… came?”
“They didn’t ask questions,” he says. “They knew what it meant. By abducting a club president’s old lady, that rival club crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.”
“What did they do?” I ask.
He doesn’t soften the answer. “They took the club apart. Piece by piece. They got my mom out before the bastards got a chance to move her again. My old man carried her out himself.”
The atmosphere in the room grows a few degrees colder, as I try to wrap my head around what happened.
“I didn’t know any of this,” I admit. “I grew up around you. Around your family. I knew there were fights, trouble sometimes. But I never even thought about the possibility of someone going after an old lady to get even with one of the brothers.”
Onyx nods. “That almost never happens. Going after a patched brother’s family means it’s open season on your own family because clubs retaliate.
My old man decided to go after their club because he didn’t feel right about going after their women.
It’s an unfortunate fact of life that sometimes violence is the only language that works.
We don’t look for it. But we don’t shy away from it either. ”
I glance down at the cut resting across my shoulders. “So, this is more than just for show,” I say, touching the leather lightly. “My grandfather was right about what it represents.”
“It does,” he says. “It tells people you’re under protection. It tells them hurting you means consequences they won’t want to deal with.”
I sit back in my chair, the weight of this family’s history slowly seeping into the dark recesses of my mind. This club has survived death, kidnappings, wars, internal fractures, and outside pressure. Rock intentionally built it to endure anything life throws at them.
I look back at the files in front of me, seeing them differently now. These aren’t just club records. They’re proof that these people made impossible choices and are living with them, all in the name of survival.
When I return to work, my hands are steadier.
I understand several things I didn’t before.
Namely, these records are a kind of autobiography that deserves to be preserved.
I also understand why Onyx carries himself the way he does.
Why discipline, dedication, and loyalty matter so much to this family.
I also now understand that in wearing his cut, I’ve stepped into something far bigger than a job.
***