Thirteen
Not my monkeys, not my circus. Well, apparently, they are, and it is.
M y old man—always the thinker—starts breaking down the history between us and the Barones.
Shit, neither Talon nor I really knew the full extent of.
Doesn’t change a damn thing for me. I still don’t trust her, or why the hell she’s here now.
So yeah, I’ll keep my eye on her—and those boys riding her coattails. That’s a promise.
Guilty until proven innocent in my book. Nobody fucks with my family and walks away. I told Pop straight—If find out she’s behind any of this. I’ll put a bullet in her head myself. I don’t care who she used to be to Talon. Does that make me the asshole? Maybe. Do I give a shit? Fuck no.
Emotions are already running high when we roll up to the hospital.
Everyone piles out and heads toward the reception desk.
Ma, Heather, and Luna’s eyes are all red, their faces stained with tears.
Ma’s trying to keep it together. She’s been the OG old lady of this club long enough to know how shit goes.
But I see the shake in her hands and the tightness around her mouth.
She's barely holding on, and it makes something inside me snap.
Someone’s going to pay. And they’ll pay in blood for putting that look on my mother’s face.
Heather’s clinging to Pop like she’s afraid her knees might give out. She opens her mouth, trying to speak, but nothing comes out. Pop takes over, calm and collected, even with grief shadowing his face as we reach the desk.
“Yes, my son Brian Masterson was brought in. We were told he was in surgery. We just arrived—we’d like an update.”
That’s when Heather breaks again, lets out another gut-wrenching sob.
I step in, pull her against me as she shakes.
I hold her close, grounding her, even if I’ve got my own storm to deal with.
She’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s loyal.
Loves my brother down bad. Even if he hasn’t always returned the feeling.
I glance over. Nitro’s holding Ma and Luna close, eyes glassy, jaw locked tight. He meets my gaze. I nod. He nods back. No words needed—we both know what time it is. Somebody’s going in the fucking ground for this.
The nurse behind the desk looks like she’s about to piss herself. Her eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of twenty-plus leather-wearing bikers storming her lobby. Brothers. Men are ready to ride or die for our president. For our brother. She freezes, blinking like a deer in headlights.
I wave the crew back a bit. Don’t want to scare her into a panic attack.
Pop clears his throat, and she jumps like she’s been shocked.
Eyes back on her screen, hands trembling as she types.
Poor girl’s green—has to be. We’ve been through these doors more than once, so she’s definitely new around here.
She peeks up at Pop through her lashes, cheeks flushed.
She finally scribbles something down, hands it over. Pop thanks her and walks off toward the elevators without saying a word to anyone. We follow, silent, tense, ready to kill or pray depending on what we hear next.
At the elevators, Pop's back is still to us. His shoulders are stiff, but I see the weight crushing him. He breathes deep, then turns.
“We’re heading to the surgical wing. Family waiting room. The doctor’s name is on the note.” His voice is tight, controlled. He’s keeping it together for all of us.
We ride up to the third floor in silence.
The kind that buzzes like a fuse burning down.
When the doors open, we flood out and start moving.
Heather’s still got a death grip on me like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
Luna looks a little better now, less dazed.
Nitro and Ma flank her, whispering, holding her up.
Ma keeps looking back to check on Heather, but her focus is clearly on her granddaughter.
Pop walks beside Ma, solid as always, though his silence speaks volumes.
Heather and Ma never clicked. No one knows why. Ma’s never said much—until after Luna was born. We were all celebrating the baby, and Ma just kept watching Heather like she was trying to figure out a puzzle she didn’t like. Talon asked her about it once.
“Shadows consume that girl,” Ma had said. “Her eyes are filled with nothing but deception.”
That was it. Talon brushed it off, figured Ma didn’t think Heather was good enough for him. But she’s kept her distance ever since. Only deals with Heather when she has to.
Just before we hit the waiting room, Pop turns back.
“I’ll be right back,” he mutters, heading toward the desk. Probably checking in, making sure they know we’re here for Talon. Doubt that the poor girl downstairs called up—she looked ready to faint.
Heather lets go of me as we stop and watch Pop walk away. I’m watching him when I feel the shift and hear Heather bellow.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? BITCH. THIS IS FOR FAMILY ONLY. YOU. AIN’T. FUCKING FAMILY.”
Heather’s voice slices through the hallway like a blade. I whip around and charge into the room.
She’s toe-to-toe with Gabriella.
And I mean nose-to-fucking-nose.
My jaw tightens. I didn’t even know Heather knew who Gabriella was. Sure, she knew the history. But going from sobbing mess to ready to murder in a second? Didn’t see that coming.
At the clubhouse, Heather was single-minded—get to the hospital, see what’s going on with Talon. She didn’t seem to catch much of what happened between me, Gabriella, or the boys.
My hand finds my jaw, still tender from my so-called nephew, clocking me earlier. Kid’s got a right hook, I’ll give him that.
Heather pulls back like she’s about to slap Gabriella, but doesn’t get far.
One of the twins has a gun to her temple before she even finishes raising her hand.
“I dare you, bitch,” the boy says, voice cold, expression colder. “Give me a fucking reason to end you.”
Heather stiffens.
Slowly, she turns her head, hand still frozen midair, moving like she knew one wrong twitch might get her brains blown out.
And she wasn’t wrong. I closed the space between us, eyes locked on the kid with the gun.
Heather glared at him, nostrils flaring like she had something to prove.
Gabriella, meanwhile, looked chill as fuck, like this was just another day.
The boy pushed the barrel harder into Heather’s temple, his stare blank and lethal, daring her to test him.
“Sebastian,” Gabriella said, voice flat like she was already bored with all of us.
I reached for Heather, tried to pull her back. She resisted, still deadlocked on Gabriella and her son, like she was ready to throw hands—or worse. But I didn’t let up. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and tugged at her. Reluctantly, she stepped back, closer to me.
I was burning inside.
This little punk already disrespected my brother earlier today—pulled a piece on him.
Now he’s got it aimed at his ol’ lady? Nah.
Nah, fuck that. I’m done watching this little fucker mouth off and point heat at my family like he’s bulletproof.
But before I can go off, Gabriella speaks again.
Saying his name, Malakai, and then something in what I think is Italian.
The exchange is smooth, practiced—like this isn’t their first rodeo. What I catch is her saying something about “Cameras off. No witnesses.” At least I think, even though we are Italian on Ma’s side, we never really learned the language, but we sure as shit got cussed out in it a few times.
“I don’t know exactly what the fuck any of you are saying, and honestly, I don’t give a fuck,” I snap, loud enough to let the others know what time it is. “You’re not welcome here. You’re not family. So get the fuck out.”
My voice carries through the room just as Ma, Pop, and more of my brothers file in and take in the scene. Heather doesn’t miss a beat.
“You heard Axel, bitch. GET. THE. FUCK. OUT! ” she yells, jabbing a finger toward the door like it’s a damn sword.
The kid—Sebastian—still has the gun pointed at Heather, and now he's looking at me like he wants to take my fucking head off. His jaw clenches, and I can see it—he’s got that killer energy. I don’t doubt for a second that he’d pull the trigger. But I don’t flinch. I meet his stare head-on.
I don’t know him. I don’t know Gabriella.
And I don’t give a flying fuck about their past until Talon makes it clear where they stand.
Until then? They’re nothing to me but a threat.
And threats get handled. I’m unarmed. I’ll own that.
If he pulls the trigger, Heather’s done.
But so is he. I’ll take his ass down, and I’ll make it count.
“You must be a dumb motherfucker to pull this shit in public,” I bite out. “You better check yourself, kid, or my brother’s gonna end up a father of two. ”
Sebastian smirks. It’s faint, but I catch it. Something flashes in his eyes. He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls another gun.
Points it at me.
I scoff.
This kid’s balls must weigh ten pounds.
Behind me, I hear a few curses fly. None of us saw that coming. The little psycho has a death wish. His eyes are locked on mine, head tilted, daring me to twitch.
“Sebastian,” Gabriella says, then speaks in Italian in a firmer tone this time.
I don’t know what the fuck she said, but it carried weight. His jaw ticks like he’s grinding his teeth down to dust. He glances at her, and some silent conversation passes between them.
Finally, he lowers the first gun, flips the safety on, and holsters it. The second one, pointed at me, stays drawn for another beat.
Heather exhales like she forgot how to breathe, stepping behind me, trying to use me for cover. Doesn’t stop her from shooting Gabriella and her son a death glare so hot it could strip paint.