Twelve
Life gives you lemons, then gets your kid shot.
I don’t know what the fuck is happening in my goddamned clubhouse.
A kid just pulled a weapon on my son—my VP—and some broad I only halfway recognize is being carried out like a rag doll by a mountain-sized motherfucker I don’t know.
Everything they said? Has me looking around like I walked into the wrong dimension.
Like I woke up in the fucking Twilight Zone.
This ain’t how today was supposed to go.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” I bark, voice low but dangerous. The room stills. “But I’m not playing games right now. Everybody—get the fuck back to what you were doing.”
I turn my gaze to my boys.
“Axel, Nitro—grab your mother, the girls, and take ’em to a cage. Whatever the hell this shit is…” I swing my arm toward the chaos still lingering in the air. “… we table it for now. We head to the hospital. Lock this place the fuck down.”
My tone leaves no room for negotiation. I’m not the Prez anymore—but I built this damn club, and when I speak, they still listen.
Well… most of them.
Axel throws me a look like I just spat in his face. Like my decision not to go full guns-blazing pisses him off. Tough shit. I’m not here to coddle bruised egos or feed his rage. My son— his brother—is in the hospital fighting for his life. Axel’s wounded pride can take a fucking number.
Locking the compound is a pain in the ass.
It always is. The ol’ ladies bitch about it every time.
Loudly. And unapologetically. They hate being boxed in with the club girls—especially the ones still playing musical dicks with whoever’s dumb or lonely enough to say yes.
Some of those girls still think getting a patch makes them royalty.
Doesn’t matter whose bed they’re in. Doesn’t matter if that man has an ol’ lady or not.
Shit’s messy. Always has been. And as fucked up as it sounds, I get it.
This is the life they signed up for. I never fucked around on my V, but some of these assholes don’t have that kind of discipline.
The club girls know it and don’t care. And every lockdown, one of them stirs the pot, pushing buttons, crossing lines, reminding the ol’ ladies exactly why they hate lockdowns in the first place.
Still—like it or not—they’re necessary. You keep this many men, this much pent-up aggression, in a confined space without an outlet? Someone’s catching hands. Or worse. So yeah, keeping them around is a necessity. The club girls keep things from boiling over. That’s just facts.
So yeah—it’s chaotic. It’s loud. It’s uncomfortable. And I don’t give a fuck. Until I know where this threat is coming from, everyone’s gonna have to suck it the fuck up.
I step out of the common room and into the parking lot, barking orders to brothers still packing up from my granddaughter’s birthday. Sixteen years old. We were supposed to be celebrating her, not heading to a hospital.
Then I hear it.
A wail. Guttural. Broken.
My spine stiffens.
I turn, already knowing who it is—Heather, Talon’s ol’ lady.
She’s gripping Axel like her body’s about to cave in.
He’s doing what he can to hold her up, eyes haunted but focused.
Behind them, I see my wife. Vera’s got Luna tucked close as they hurry toward the SUV.
Vera’s strong, but I can see the worry in her eyes—she knows this shit runs deep.
How the fuck did we get here?
This was supposed to be a good day.
I stepped back from the club years ago. Watched my sons rise.
Watched them build this place up, double our numbers, expand our reach.
Talon’s done right by the club. He’s earned everything he’s got.
But if what those boys were yelling is true…
if that woman is who I think she is… then there are things my sons don’t know.
Things I don’t know. And I don’t like operating in the dark.
I’m a man who works off facts. And right now, I’m missing too goddamn many.
We get everyone loaded up, brothers on bikes surrounding the SUV as we make the thirty-minute ride to Mercy General. On the way, Axel fills me in. His tone’s tight, clipped. He’s still pissed, but he’s trying to keep it together.
He tells me about the confrontation. About the two boys—Talon’s sons. Sons he never knew about. It aligns with what one of them said earlier, and deep down, I already suspected it.
Then comes the kicker.
The woman, Gabriella.
Gabriella Barone.
The same girl Talon was wrapped up in right after he patched in. The only one besides Heather who ever stuck. She was quiet back then. Sweet. Soft. Honestly, I figured she’d never make it in this life. Thought she was too delicate, too out of place.
Now I know I was wrong.
She’s Barone blood. Sam’s sister. Elijah’s daughter.
And suddenly, all the gaps fill in.
My once-best friend—Elijah Barone—never said a damn word about a daughter. Always talked about his son. That was it. No mention of anyone else. His wife, Rebecca, vanished years ago. One day she was there, the next—gone. No warning. No explanation. I didn’t push. Maybe I should’ve.
Vera and Rebecca were as close as Eli and I were. Then suddenly… nothing. No calls. No visits. Just silence. It didn’t sit right back then, but I let it go. Figured maybe shit got complicated. Hell, it always does in this life.
I let out a breath, thinking about it now.
Gabriella never told us her last name. Never mentioned her parents. And back then, I didn’t ask too many damn questions about the girls the boys were into. But she was different. She was around more than the rest—kept showing up, sticking around. Now I know why.
And Rebecca? She knew. If we’d seen her—if Vera had looked her in the eye—we would’ve known who Gabriella really was. Elijah made sure that didn’t happen. He kept them both hidden.
He was protecting his daughter.
Even from me.
And I won’t lie—that stings more than I want to admit.
We used to break bread together, talk shop, while we built our legacy side by side. And all this time, he was keeping his daughter a secret. Now she’s here, and my son is in the hospital. I don’t know where this road is headed. But I know one thing for sure.
This shit is just beginning. I can feel it in my bones.
I didn’t see the strain back then—the one that slowly bled our friendship dry—until a few months after Talon made Heather his ol’ lady.
That’s when Elijah started pulling back.
Calls went unanswered unless it was about business.
No more dinners. No more get-togethers. The man who used to break bread with me like a brother started treating me like a fucking client.
Just as I did with Rebecca, I never pushed for an explanation.
Thought maybe it was just one of those things.
But now? Now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve.
Because not pushing? It cost me.
It meant I missed seventeen years of watching my grandsons grow up.
It meant I wasn’t there to help my son fix whatever the fuck broke between him and Gabriella.
And maybe—just maybe—it meant losing a friendship that once meant something.
Elijah was never subtle about his dislike for Talon.
Their relationship shifted after Talon claimed Heather.
I chalked it up to the usual old-school shit—ego, expectations.
But now I know better. Elijah had his reasons.
Deep ones. The kind of reasons a man buries behind silence and cold stares.
Years later, there were whispers—Barones wanting to cut ties. Back then, I didn’t have the full picture. I figured it was business politics. So I called a meeting, tried to patch things up. Elijah never showed. Sent his son instead.
Samuel Barone walked in like it was a formality.
A box to check. He said Elijah was tied up, gave the usual runaround.
Told me the partnership would remain intact.
Said another party—never named—wanted to make sure we kept things strong.
He slipped in some bullshit about ensuring our club remained under “honest leadership,” like that wasn’t a loaded fucking comment.
Looking back, I see it now.
It wasn’t just about business. It was her. Gabriella.
She was the one keeping us connected. I didn’t see it then, but I sure as hell do now.
I’ve heard the whispers over the years—clubs lining up to test us, families itching to take a bite out of our territory.
Then… backing off. Every time. Like someone bigger than all of us made a quiet phone call.
Like someone was pulling strings in the background, keeping the wolves off our backs.
And it was her.
Hot damn.
Gabriella wasn’t just watching us—she was protecting us. Watching over the very people who threw her to the side. Watching over him.
Meanwhile, Axel’s still in my ear, fuming, saying she came back for blood. Says she’s a vindictive bitch, here to make Talon pay. But from what I saw today… from what I’ve pieced together? She’s the reason we’re still breathing. If she wanted this club gone, we’d be nothing but ash and stories.
She had every reason to burn this place to the ground.
If she were my daughter, and someone did to her what Talon did?
I’d scorch the goddamn earth. I wouldn’t ask for revenge.
I’d take it. And Elijah? That man could’ve ended us in a blink.
He’s not just feared—he’s legendary . I’ve heard the stories.
The night he decapitated all the Capos of a rival cartel.
Simultaneously. Didn’t wait for them to gather.
One by one, Eli and his crew flew across South America and took their heads in their homes, in front of their families.
All because one of them mouthed off about his wife.
That wasn’t business. That was personal.
And that is the kind of man Gabriella had at her back. Kind of father.
Elijah commanded hundreds of men. My club? Not even a hundred. Sure, we’ve got chapters. Allies. But we don’t move like him. We don’t strike like him. The fact that we’re still standing? That Talon is still breathing? That says more about her than it does about us.
Which tells me one thing—Gabriella had a hell of a lot more sway with her father than anyone realized.
She could’ve let him off the leash. Instead, she kept him leashed, probably at her own expense.
Even after Talon turned his back on her—after she was left to raise two boys in silence—she still protected his legacy.
That’s loyalty.
That’s power.
And that’s exactly why I look Axel dead in the eye and tell him, “You need to ease the fuck up.”
But I can see it—he’s not going to. Not yet. His eyes are dark, full of fire and hurt and pride. He’s ready to give that girl hell; nothing I say right now will change that. Axel loves his brother. I get it. He’s my son—loyal to the bone. But he’s also hot-headed, and that’s a liability right now.
We can’t afford to poke the wrong bear. Not with the Barones. Not with her. This isn’t about pride or old wounds anymore. This is about survival. About keeping this club intact. I’m not so arrogant to think we’re untouchable. So I’ll do what I’ve always done—what I’ve had to do.
I’ll step in. Step up. Reclaim the space I stepped away from and keep my boys from getting us all killed. Because if Axel goes off the rails, if Talon wakes up and lets guilt turn to pride, if any of these brothers let emotion lead?
We’ll be knee-deep in a war we won’t win.
And I’m not about to let my legacy die because my sons couldn’t see the bigger picture.
No…
Shit’s about to get a lot harder before it gets better.
And I will not blink.
Not this time.