Eighteen #2
That vague-ass answer says everything and nothing. He won’t speak freely in front of Heather. His tone changes when he adds, “Your boy got heated and shot Heather in the shoulder. Hence the sling.”
I turn my head to Heather slowly. She won’t look at me. “The fuck ?”
“To be fair,” Nitro says with a lazy shrug, “he warned her to shut her mouth. She didn’t.”
My head snaps to Nitro like I didn’t just wake up from a coma. “ Are you serious? That’s how you talk about my woman getting shot ? You’re my SAA, and you're laughing it off like it’s some bar fight?”
Nitro doesn’t flinch. “Fuck you, Talon. You weren’t there. That kid’s volatile as hell. Heather pushed the wrong buttons, and two plus two equaled a bullet in her shoulder. Shit got ugly. There was an argument about Ma’s past. Gabriella kept calling her Valentina .”
That makes me freeze.
Valentina?
Nitro continues, “Whatever it was, Ma clammed up. Gabriella’s been pushing, and Pop’s been all up in her business—cozying up to her and your kids like he knows something we don’t. Sketchy as fuck.”
He's leaving shit out. I know it. I can feel it.
“What do you mean?” I look at Axel. Maybe he’ll give it to me straight.
He rubs a hand down his face, exhausted.
“Gabriella dropped a bomb. Said some Don in New York—Salvatore—has had it out for Ma for years. Claims he’s obsessed.
Apparently, the Barones have had her in hiding, trying to keep her away from him.
Some kind of protection agreement. Gabriella claims her people knew Ma before Pop.
Before any of this. Said Ma had a whole other life. ”
My pulse spikes. “So Pop’s been working with her?”
Axel nods. “Behind closed doors. Tight-lipped. He hasn’t told us shit. Just said to focus on keeping the club stable and staying alert. Every time we ask, we get stonewalled.”
Nitro cuts in, voice lower now. “We’ve seen Gabriella and all your kids around the clubhouse. Damn, I thought them boys were something… The girls…” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “We’re not in the loop. Whatever’s going down, it’s on lock.”
“So y’all don’t know who the hell shot me?” My voice is sharper now.
Axel responds without hesitation. “We’re almost sure it was the Keepers. Word is, their Prez—Demon—was running his mouth to one of their club girls. Said they were making a name of taking you out. And Salvatore’s backing them.”
I register all of that—and then rewind.
Kids . Plural .
“Wait… girls ?” I ask slowly, eyes locked on Axel.
He doesn’t answer.
Neither does Nitro.
Just silence.
My jaw clenches. I lift a shaky hand and hold it up. “Hold on.”
I look at Heather. She’s pale. Staring off like she’s not even in the room. Her breathing’s shallow, like she’s trying to keep from crumbling right in front of us.
“You okay?” I ask, softer now. “Sit down, baby. You look like you're about to pass out.”
She blinks, disoriented, like she just realized I spoke. Her eyes roam the room, unfocused. She closes them tightly for a second, then opens them again, still off. She is still not fully here .
I reach for her hand. “Heather. Talk to me.”
Something’s wrong, and it’s more than just her shoulder. Something big, and I don’t like not knowing what the fuck it is.
Shaking her head, Heather clears her throat before answering. “Yeah… baby, I’m fine. Probably need to eat or something.”
I look over at my brothers. They both shrug, like her weird-ass behavior is nothing new.
“Um… I… I’m gonna go down to the cafeteria. Grab something to eat. I’ll be right back. You want anything?”
My head tilts as I watch her fidget and look everywhere but at me. I shake my head. She leans down, kisses me—quick, light—and scurries out like the room’s on fire.
I watch her go. My jaw tightens.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, still looking at the door.
Neither of them reacts much. But then Nitro shifts, releases a long breath, and finally speaks.
“Talon, since you got shot… she’s been acting shady as fuck. And I don’t mean worried-about-your-old-man kind of shady. I mean, sneaking around, disappearing for hours. Shits suspect.” His voice is cautious, eyes on me, waiting for a reaction.
I slowly drag my eyes between my brothers, then focus on him. He holds my gaze, but there's a warning behind it.
“I know she’s your ol’ lady and all,” he says, “but the night Pop told us what he found out about Demon and the Keepers, she vanished. No security. Didn’t take anyone with her. She gets phone calls, and suddenly she’s slipping off where no one can hear.”
There’s more. I can see it on his face.
“Spit it the fuck out, brother,” I growl.
He rubs a hand over his face like he’s not sure if he’s about to make things better or worse. “That day we were in the family waiting room—when you were in surgery—Sebastian checked everyone.”
My brows knit. “Checked?”
“Checked for bugs. Trackers. Whatever. Apparently, Gabriella and them had suspicions. Only one person set it off.”
He doesn’t have to say her name.
I already know.
Nitro’s voice drops, hard and certain. “It was her, Talon. Now I’m not saying she’s the mole. But I’m not… not saying it either.”
My heart kicks against my ribs like it wants to come out and throw hands.
“You really think Heather would pull some shit like that?” My voice is low and lethal. “What the fuck are you saying, brother? How the fuck do you figure?”
“I’m telling you what I see , not what I think , alright?
” His tone matches mine now. “And what I’ve seen?
It doesn’t fucking add up. I know Axel wants to pin everything on Gabriella, but I’m telling you—Heather’s off.
And just so you know, nothing’s popped off with anyone else in the club. No leaks. No weird movement. Just her.”
He stares straight into my eyes. Not flinching. And that pisses me off more.
“She’s the mother of my fucking child!” I bark. “We’ve been together a long-ass time. She wouldn’t betray the club—or me. She’s family , Nitro. So whatever paranoid shit’s in your head, get it the fuck out.”
“She’s been checking up on Luna,” I add through clenched teeth. “Making sure our daughter’s okay. That’s it.” At least that’s what I try to convince myself of. That has to be it. Right?
But I see the look they share—the one Axel tries to hide and Nitro doesn’t bother to.
“Think what you want,” Nitro says. “You asked. I answered. I’ll keep doing my job—keeping this family safe. And that means looking into everything and everyone . You don’t like it, too fucking bad.” He growls out, giving me a hard look.
He leans forward, his voice sharp, calculated.
“Let’s stop pretending we know her. She showed up outta nowhere.
Broke up your two-year relationship and got pregnant quick.
No friends. No family. Just you .” He pauses, raising a brow and then adds, “That doesn’t bother you? ’Cause it fucking should.”
We stare each other down. Neither of us is backing off. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I swear I can feel a pressure building in my skull. And still… I can’t shake the sense he’s holding back more . The door swings open. I don’t look away from Nitro. He doesn’t look away from me.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Masterson,” a voice says behind me, oblivious to the war simmering in the room. “Glad to see you awake. How are you feeling? Any pain?”
The doctor walks in and doesn’t introduce himself.
He just heads straight for the machines, starts fiddling with my IV, and reads charts like I’m not a second away from crashing the fuck out on my brother and what he’s insinuating.
When I don’t answer, the doctor stops, looks at me, and flinches the moment our eyes lock.
He clears his throat. “Ah—sorry. I’m Dr. Danforth. I’ve been overseeing your care since your arrival. You were in critical condition when they brought you in, but we believe you’ll make a full recovery.”
Half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He glances around and stiffens when he realizes my brothers are staring him down. “Doc.” My throat’s still dry, voice scratchy. Axel hands me the cup again, and I take a slow sip. “Cut the bullshit. When can I get out of here?”
His mouth opens, then closes again.
I don’t have time for sugar-coated answers or long-winded explanations.
I’ve got a club in chaos, a mole maybe in my bed, and an ex with secrets involving a fucking Don from New York.
I need to get out of this bed and back in control.
Because the longer I lie here, the more pieces shift without me.
And the more dangerous that becomes for all of us.
“Well?” I ask.
He glances at his iPad, clearly trying not to look up at the three pissed-off bikers staring him down.
“You had a significant head injury. I need to run some blood work, get a CT scan, ask a few questions, and then we’ll assess the next steps.
If all goes well, you could be discharged within a week, as long as there are no deficits. ”
He says it rushed, like he’s trying to get it all out before we grow fangs.
“Okay, Doc. Break it down for me—plain English. What exactly happened?”
I drop the growl from my voice. No need to push him closer to pissing himself.
“Yes, of course.” He clears his throat. “When you arrived… You crashed your bike in the ER parking lot. That’s what caused your head trauma. Swelling in your brain forced us to place you in a medically induced coma. It’s gone down now. You’re healing well.”
I nod slowly, letting that sink in. He continues.
“You were shot twice. Once in the side, once in the shoulder. The shot to the side went straight through—no vitals hit. The other lodged in your shoulder blade. We removed it, though you had a minor infection that we quickly controlled. Might have some stiffness, maybe permanent, maybe not. But overall? Your recovery’s been solid. ”
He looks relieved just saying it.
“Okay,” I say. “So nothing permanent?”
“No,” he confirms. “Maybe some headaches. Dizziness now and then for a few months. But you should fully recover if the scans and bloodwork come back clear.”
He pulls a pen from his coat pocket and runs a few basic neuro checks: eye tracking, memory questions, and orientation.
“What’s your name?”
“Talon Masterson.”
“Date of birth?”
I rattle it off.
“Current president?”
I arch a brow. “That a political question or a club one?”
He flushes and moves on, clearly satisfied.
“Everything looks great. I’ll have Nurse Carter take you for the scan, and then we’ll follow up.”
He presses on my sides gently, checking the damage. Cold fingers, but no real pain—just that dull pressure of healing muscles.
“Stitches are out, no new signs of infection. Everything’s healing as expected. Any other questions?”
I shake my head. “Nope. We’re good.”
He steps back, nods nervously, and hurries out of the room like the air’s too heavy to breathe. As soon as the door clicks shut, I glance between my brothers.
“So no one’s spoken to Gabriella or my kids?”
Nitro exhales hard, still simmering from earlier. “We’ve seen them—just haven’t talked. They’ve been around, but they’re feeling some type of way. Lot of shit went down when you got hit.” He glances at Axel, then back at me.
I catch it. I don’t call it out. Not yet.
“I can’t blame them,” he adds. “Pop’s been with them more than anyone... but he’s staying real tight-lipped about it.”
The door opens again. Both my parents walk in. Pop sees me first. His face lights up like someone flipped a switch. Ma looks up from rummaging in her purse. Her eyes land on me, and she freezes. Then her bag drops to the floor, her hands cover her mouth, and tears spill instantly.
“Hey, Ma.”
She lets out a broken sob and throws herself at me. The pain that shoots through my torso makes me clench my jaw, but I wrap my arms around her, anyway. Breathe through it. Her sobs rattle in my ear, something garbled I can’t even understand.
“I’m okay, Ma,” I murmur. “I’m awake. Hopefully outta here soon, yeah?”
I look up at Pop, and his eyes… they’ve got that look. The one he gets when he’s holding something back. I tilt my head at him, silently asking the question. He shakes his head and looks down at Ma, still clutching me.
“How’s the club? Lockdown?”
Ma lifts her head and cups my cheek, eyes still glassy. “Don’t worry about that right now. Worry about getting better. Coming home.”
“I almost lost you,” she whispers. Pop gently pulls her back, arms wrapping around her shoulders.
I lock eyes with him again. My old man. We’ve always had unspoken understandings between us.
He trusts us boys to handle business. But I know my brothers—Axel’s got a rage streak, and Nitro’s not much better.
They want revenge. Pop plays chess, always has.
And right now? He’s playing a game he’s not sharing with the rest of us.
“We’ll talk when we get back to the clubhouse,” he says. His eyes bore into mine. “After the doc clears you.”
That alone puts me on edge.
We don’t keep club business from Ma. Not completely. Not like this.
And Pop working alone… especially with Gabriella in the picture?
That doesn’t sit right.
What the fuck aren’t they telling me?
It’s been a few days since I woke up from the coma.
Tests came back clear. They pulled the catheter—thank fuck—and the doc gave me a checklist––take a dump, walk the halls, keep fluids down.
Check, check, check. I was out of there within hours.
I hate hospitals. I hate waiting. And patience? That shit ain’t my thing.
We pull up to the clubhouse, and I hear the bass bumping, music already thumping through the walls. My brothers are ready to celebrate. Me? I’m running on fumes. But I’m not going to sleep. Not yet. There are too many questions still eating at me.
I need to know where Gabriella is—and what’s going on with my kids.
I need to know who the fuck sold us out.
I need to know what the hell we’re doing about the Satan’s Keepers—and those Salvatore pricks.
Because no matter how shit may look, something deep down in my gut tells me. This shit’s far from over.