Chapter 17
Legend
The Reverend meets me on the front steps of Pearly Gates like he’s been expecting the devil himself. Arms crossed over his chest, face carved in stone, that smug self-satisfied smirk hanging under his scruff like a snake coiled behind his teeth.
The steeple casts a long shadow across the gravel, swallowing half the yard in darkness even though the sun is barely touching the sky.
He looks like God’s chosen from far away.
Up close, he’s rot in a pressed shirt.
“I thought we were done with these little visits,” he says, skipping the greeting like I don’t deserve human courtesy.
I stop at the bottom step, boots grinding into the gravel. “We’re not. Not until I get answers.”
He exhales like he’s bored. “And what do you think you’re owed this time, son?”
“I ain’t your son.” The words come out low, sharp. “Six girls are gone. All tied to this church. All tied to your flock. And somehow you’ve got the balls to act like the pattern ain’t pointing to you.”
He chuckles. Actually chuckles. “Girls wander. Especially the ones who confuse attention with salvation.”
“You mean girls you let slip through your hands.” My voice tightens. “Girls you scare into silence. Girls you decide aren’t pure enough to keep.”
His eyes sharpen. “Watch your tone. Most of them end up in your clutches. Seems like signs are pointing to Hell. Glory to the devil, he must have a hold.”
“You forget who you’re talking to,” I say. “I ain’t a choir boy. And I ain’t afraid of your sermons.”
“You should be,” he replies quietly. “Because you’re meddling in God’s work.”
He steps down one stair, bringing us close enough for me to smell the bitter coffee on his breath. “You’ve always had trouble with obedience. Just like your father.” His smile sharpens. “But unlike him, I know your weakness.”
“Try me.”
He turns his back, walking into the church like he owns the kingdom of heaven and hell combined.
I stand there for a long second, breathing in slow, fighting the urge to drag him down those stairs and crack his skull open on the pavement. The cicadas stop humming. Even the wind pauses like it knows something’s coming.
He’s hiding something.
And it’s not holy.
Turning, I mount my Harley and ride off the property before I do something I can’t take back.
Not yet.
Back at the clubhouse, I gather some, men I can trust. Hell, I trust all my men. I pick brothers already at the Lockup. Royal. Rye. Vandal. Oaks.
I lay it out flat. “We sweep Pearly Gates tonight. Quiet. No guns unless we have to. We look for anything that ties the girls to him.”
No one speaks. They don’t need to.
Royal stands off to the side, eyes darker than I’ve seen in a long time. Something is eating him alive. I know what it is.
Becki.
He’s thinking about her chained up in his room. He’s thinking about what she’s doing to him. How do I know? I’ve been in his shoes. At Becki’s mercy.
And Sophie?
Where’d she come from? Standing beside me, she mimics my stance. Hand to her chin like she’s thinking about Royal thinking about Becki, too. But she ain’t. Probably thinking about Becki though, no doubt. All she talks about when I’d rather forget her.
Woman storms off to my room without nary a word.
When I get to her, Sophie is pacing, arms crossed so hard they might snap. Her hair is pulled back, her boots still muddy from the farm like she stormed here straight from work.
“Is she still here?” she asks before I close the door.
“Yeah.”
Her chin trembles with fury. “You said it would be temporary.”
“It is.”
“Hudson,” she utters my name, and it comes across like a scold. She steps in front of me, blocking the room like she owns every inch of it. Every inch of me. Goddamn, this woman does. “She ain’t your prisoner.”
“The club’s, Royals. Not mine.”
“Then why is she being protected like she’s yours? Ol’ Ladies talk. They say they can’t get near her.”
I exhale slowly. Sophie doesn’t understand. I’m afraid she never will. No matter how many times I explain the deal with Crowley. I find something new. “Because she knows something. Something we need before another girl gets buried.”
“She’s manipulating you,” Sophie whispers. “She always has.”
“Becki didn’t make those girls disappear.”
“She sure as hell didn’t stop it.”
“She ain’t the enemy,” I repeat.
Sophie laughs, but it’s not humor. It’s heartbreak sharpened into a blade. “Then who is, Legend? Because you’re acting like you don’t see the way she looks at you. Like she didn’t keep us apart. Like she didn’t almost get me killed.”
My heart breaks because I know she’s right.
“That little preacher princess has been circling you since we were teenagers,” Sophie says. “And I’ll be damned if I let you fall for it again.”
“I ain’t falling for anything.”
“Then why is she still under our roof?”
I don’t answer. Because I can’t. Because Sophie is right in ways, she doesn’t want to be. And wrong in ways she’ll never admit.
“If she stays,” Sophie whispers, voice cracking, “I go for good.”
Those words land like a hammer.
Sophie. My Horse Princess. The woman who just took my ring and promised to stand beside me through shootouts and secrets and the kind of nights that leave scars you can’t see. Be my ol’ Lady.
She’s giving me an ultimatum. Not just going back to the farm where, honestly, she’s safer. But gone for good? And she already knows I can’t meet her demands.
She turns and walks out before I can respond.
I stand there, silent, remembering.
We were young. Stupid. Burning slow under the Kentucky stars. Becki leaned against me outside the church, her blue dress sticking to her skin from the heat.
“You ever think about burning it all down?” she whispered, breath warm on my throat.
“Sometimes.”
“I think you were born to lead.”
She wasn’t wrong.
She leaned in then, lips brushing my jaw. Not a kiss. Not yet. Just a promise. A warning. A spark waiting for oxygen.
I didn’t kiss her then. But I wanted to. And maybe that was the first mistake. Second was setting the damn church on fire that night. Reverend’s men stopped the blaze quick.
Reverend set Royal’s ass on fire. He took the fall.
Back in the now, I grab my keys and walk out of my room. Sophie needs reassurance I can’t give. The Becki situation needs answers I don’t have. The club needs a leader who doesn’t flinch.
I ain’t sure I can do all three.
Night falls in Hell, Kentucky. Dark comes fast here. Faster when it knows it has work to do. We go without patches, without the swagger we normally wear. Without noise, on foot. Oaks takes the west side of the property. Rye and Vandal sweep the storage sheds.
Royal and I move toward the old church basement. The same basement Becki took Royal to. The same one Royal found that scrap of glitter-pink cloth in. He has the key. The doors groan open. The air hits us in a wave, damp, stale, holding the weight of things that were alive once.
We move room to room. I find chains sunk into brick. Old. Rusted. Used. Royal finds a rusted bedframe with restraints still bolted to it. We give each other a disgusted look.
Rye radios us from outside. “Got a stash of phones. Burners.”
Vandal finds an earring in the gravel behind a storage shed. “No church girl wore these.”
Oaks finds a trail of dried blood that leads toward the trees.
And me?
I find a room with names carved into the walls. Girl names. Ages. Dates. Some recent. Some scratched out.
Becki was right.
Royal looks at me, nostrils flaring. “We’re not dealing with the doomsday cult we grew up with.”
“No,” I say. “We’re dealing with a graveyard someone hasn’t finished filling.”