Two #2
Then there's Armand.
Most assume he’s the boss. My man. My keeper.
Wrong on all counts.
I never correct them. I like letting them sit in their assumptions before I burn them down. Misogyny is so predictable it’s almost boring.
They all look me over. Not a glance—full-body inventory. I let them. It tells me more than they think.
The lack of shame in their gaze? Disrespect. Not just to me, but to Armand too—if he were my man. Which he’s not. Still, disrespect is disrespect. And if they’re that careless, that comfortable in their bullshit? We’ve got a problem.
I smirk.
Let them look. Let them underestimate me. It only makes what comes next more satisfying.
Armand and my boys? They’ll clock the disrespect, too. And unlike me, they don’t play subtle. Sometimes, that ends with blood. And ruined Manolos.
Sometimes not.
Fingers crossed for not.
Axel steps forward. Makes the mistake they all do. He walks right up to Armand, hand extended. I don’t stop it. Armand knows better. He’s in on the game. I let them get their speech out first—let them build their house of assumptions. Then I burn the motherfucker down.
Axel clears his throat, formal but guarded.
“Gabe Barone. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Axel, VP of Lucifer’s Saints MC, Sacramento Chapter. If you’d follow me, our President Talon and the other chapter officers are waiting for you in church.”
He nods at me. “Ma’am.”
It’s polite.
It’s not dismissive.
But it’s also not recognition.
Not yet.
Armand looks over at me, and I do everything in my power not to react to the irritated scowl on his face.
He gets so damn offended every time this happens.
And for what? This is the nature of the beast—we live and breathe in a man’s world.
Armand knows that as well as I do. Most men assume “Gabe” is a man.
Male-presenting. A boss with a dick. Misogyny isn’t new, and it sure as hell doesn’t shock me.
I should put him out of his misery, but Axel keeps running his mouth before I can.
“Is this your wife and kids?” he asks, glancing toward the boys. I chuckle softly, and his eyes snap to mine. I smile. They always assume wrong.
Armand doesn’t respond. He narrows his eyes on the man, the tension thickening. Axel’s brow furrows. A few brothers shuffle closer behind him, but he keeps pushing through.
“Well, alrighty then,” he says, “we can show them around. They’re more than welcome to enjoy the festivities. It’s my niece Luna’s sixteenth, so there’s plenty for them to do while we meet.”
He chuckles, clearly unsure if he’s being respectful or offensive. Judging by Armand’s expression, it’s leaning toward the latter.
“Any excuse for a cookout, we take it. We know this meeting was important and had to be today, but with my niece and her momma being my brother’s world... plans couldn’t change.”
My breath catches in my throat. I cover it quickly with a cough.
The name doesn’t need to be said. We all know who he means.
I hear a low growl beside me. I reach out, placing a firm hand on Sebastian’s arm, giving him a warning look.
Now’s not the time. We don’t need questions—not yet.
Sebastian knows more than he’s ever admitted, but I won’t push.
He’ll talk when he’s ready. Just because I kept my distance from Talon doesn’t mean I don’t know about his life. I do.
Torturing myself with it has been my pastime. I’ve mastered the art.
I refocus just in time to hear the tail end of Axel’s speech.
“… as much as it pained Talon, he understood this meeting was necessary. So here we are.”
There’s a scoff behind me—Malikai. I ignore it.
Axel gestures around the yard like he's proud.
The party's still buzzing, but most people have stopped to watch us. The kids and old ladies, especially. The brothers? They look uneasy. Good. They should. The amount of security with me isn’t subtle.
Sammy sent half a team, but it's still overkill. He did it to make a statement.
I take a step forward, flanked by Malikai and Sebastian. Armand stays close behind, silent and unreadable. I smile and offer Axel my hand. His eyes widen when Armand steps back.
“Axel, good to meet you. I’m Gabe Barone. This is Armand—not my husband, not their father, and definitely not the one in charge.”
My smirk widens as the shock rolls through the men behind him. A few let comments slip, but I ignore them. Malikai and Sebastian don’t—they shift forward protectively, but I stop them with a raised hand.
Let the idiots process.
“This is Sebastian and Malikai,” I continue, calm and firm. “They’ll be attending the meeting. Armand is my right hand.”
Axel opens his mouth to speak, probably to recover, but I shut it down quick.
“Please, show us the way.”
No time for jaw collecting.
Maybe I’m being a bitch. I don’t care. This is business, and once that’s over, the personal side of this visit will come knocking. And when it does? God help them. If they start shit, they won’t win. No one ever wins against a Barone.
Axel chuckles to himself, and some men behind him follow suit. Not sure if it’s nerves or respect. Doesn’t matter.
Some of their faces I recognize, others I don’t. A few look at me like they’re trying to place where they’ve seen me before. Good luck, boys. You won’t get there unless I want you to.
“Well, shit. My bad, Mrs. Barone,” Axel says, scratching the back of his neck. “We were told we’d be meeting a ‘Gabe’—just assumed...”
“It’s Miss, ” I correct smoothly. “And it’s all right. Reasonable assumption. Just Gabe. Or Gabriella.”
I observe him carefully, but my name doesn’t get a flicker of recognition. I don’t know what I expected. Still, a sharp little pang hits me in the chest, anyway.
“There’s no need for formalities,” I add, voice light but laced with steel. “We all know there are no gentlemen here.”
I point toward the doors, ignoring my men’s stifled laughter. Armand shakes his head, muttering under his breath.
He loves it when I’m like this.
Asshole.
A few jaws clench at my last comment, but they smirk and let it go. Wise move. They don’t want this smoke, even if they think they do.
We head toward the entrance, my men flanking me in formation. I wave off the others, keeping Malikai, Sebastian, and Armand close. I don’t say a word as we pass the crowd.
Axel leans over and says something to one of his guys. I catch the glance he throws me. The one he spoke to moves off toward my soldiers. Probably trying to keep them occupied while the big kids talk business.
The inside of the clubhouse is just as well done as the exterior.
Gone is the dingy ’70s brothel vibe—this place looks more like a high-end nightclub now.
A bar spans the left wall. There are still the old hallway cutouts I remember, but not much has changed in the layout.
As we walk, the memories come—unwanted, uninvited.
I shake them off. Not today.
Girl, cut that shit out.
Nostalgia washes over me as I take in the photos and other memorabilia that line the walls as we walk the halls.
Items that the club has accumulated over the years.
I shake off the feelings and memories that have a hold on me.
We follow Axel as he leads us to the man I haven’t seen or spoken to in seventeen years.
Am I ready for this? No the fuck, I’m not. But I am here.
So, here we go.
Armand slows his steps, dropping behind me like the seasoned enforcer he is.
Always watching my back. People may question my decisions and my place—fine.
Let them. They’ll never understand what I do for my family.
I don’t need them to. Armand and my crew?
They're always at my side, no matter the cost.
Still, my palms sweat. My nerves won’t settle, and I hate that shit. I’m a savage, a stone-cold bitch when I need to be, but this place? It does something to me. Gets under my skin in a way I thought I’d buried. I shouldn’t be this affected. I shouldn’t let old ghosts rattle my cage.
But here we are.
Armand senses we’re close. How? Because Armand knows every room I might ever walk into. Entry points, exits, hiding spots, secret compartments—you name it. He’s a walking map of survival.
Axel stops at a large door at the end of the hallway, glancing back. When he opens it, Armand immediately steps around me and enters first. That’s protocol. That’s us.
Axel lingers by the door, his tone a little too tight. “Right this way, Miss Barone.” The emphasis is petty, childish even. He gestures toward someone in the room, jaw ticking.
Aww. Did I bruise your feelings, Axel? Poor baby. Grow a pair.
He gestures toward a seat clearly meant for me. I catch a few muffled grumbles behind him, but ignore it. I give him a slight nod and take my place at the table without hesitation.
I know what this is.
They weren’t expecting four of us, and they damn sure weren’t expecting me . A woman. In their space. In their so-called sanctuary. Boo-fucking-hoo. If my presence offends their testosterone-fueled sensibilities, too bad. I don’t answer to them. They work for my family.
I sit back, slow breaths, keeping my cool. Then I scan the room behind my sunglasses—and there he is.
Talon.
He’s sitting at the far end of the table, the so-called chapel they worship their bullshit codes in. The room is dressed up to intimidate—oversized table, heavy wood, darker lighting—but it doesn’t faze me. It’s all for show, like everything else in their posturing world.
Their energy? It’s giving small dick syndrome .
They try to look hard, but I see through them. I earned my seat with blood, sweat, and unrelenting will. I’ve done shit they wouldn’t have the stomach for. So, no, I won’t be quiet. I won’t be small. And I sure as hell won’t apologize for walking into their clubhouse like I own the damn place.
Because I do .
I wait until I’m good and ready before I remove my sunglasses. Set them neatly into my designer bag, which goes on the table , not the nasty-ass floor. It’s a three-thousand-dollar bag. Let’s be serious.
A sharp inhale pulls my attention. My eyes snap up and lock onto his.
Talon.
Seventeen years. And still, my body betrays me. My skin remembers him, my chest aches, but I give him nothing.
Nothing… but the slightest smirk.
His face says it all—shock, rage, recognition.
“Hello, Talon.”
Damn, he still looks good. Dangerous. Unforgiving. My ruin and my reason. But this? This is business.
He stiffens. His eyes cut to the boys at my back, then to me. Back again. Once. Twice. Then a third time, slower. And I know the moment it hits him, he sees himself in them.
That’s when he snaps.
“What the actual fuck is this?” he growls, eyes like blades, slicing through every inch of me and the boys. His brain’s scrambling, trying to sort the pieces, but he can’t hide from the truth blooming right in front of him.
And neither can I.
But I didn’t come here for war or nostalgia.
But it looks like it’s too late for that. Because... he explodes.