37. Zane
37
ZANE
Chase took the bullet meant for me.
That thought won’t leave my head. No matter how much I drink, no matter how many times I replay the fight in my mind. He moved faster than me. Reacted before I could. And now, three days later, he’s finally awake but still struggling to recover, still in pain with every movement.
I should’ve been faster.
I should’ve been the one bleeding out on that floor.
Rick told me to shake it off. “Chase did what any of us would do,” he said. “Don’t waste time feeling sorry. Make it count.”
So here I am, making it count—helping Draven recover, even though my mind is on my brother upstairs, fighting for his life.
“Easy,” I say, steadying Draven as he takes another step across the room. He’s too stubborn for his own good, but I get it. He doesn’t want to feel weak. Hell, if it were me, I’d be forcing myself to walk too.
He grits his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. His breath is labored like every step is a battle.
“Doc said not to push too hard.”
“Doc doesn’t know shit.” He grunts through the pain, but I feel how heavily he leans on me. Muscles shaking with effort. His bruises—deep, angry purples and yellows—stand out stark against his skin. A reminder of what Death’s Head did to him.
What they would’ve done if we hadn’t gotten to him in time.
Rose stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him closely. Her usual fire is banked, but I see it in her eyes—restrained fury, barely held back.
We finally get him back to bed, and I hand him a water bottle. He takes it with a quiet thanks, his breathing heavy. Rose moves in, adjusting the pillows without a word. He grins up at her despite his pain.
I watch them for a moment. You can tell just how much they’re in love by looking at them together.
I clear my throat. “Need anything else?”
Rose hesitates, then stands abruptly. “Actually. Could you stay? I have a call to make.”
I nod, watching her go. The moment the door closes, Draven shifts in bed. “Ask.”
I frown. “Ask what?”
“Whatever’s on your mind.” His voice is too sharp for a man on pain meds. “You’re watching me like you got something to say.”
I consider dodging the question, but I’m tired of dancing around shit. “She’s not who she claims to be.”
Draven doesn’t even flinch. He just smirks. “No. She’s more.”
“That doesn’t worry you?”
“Course it does.” His fingers flex around the water bottle. “But so does everything in our world. Black Wolves business. Rival clubs. Old enemies.”
I lean against the dresser. “Speaking of enemies. What did you learn? While they had you?”
His expression darkens. “Enough to know we’re in deeper shit than we thought.”
Before he can explain, the door creaks open. Rose is back, but something’s off.
Draven notices too. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” But she won’t meet his eyes. “Just business.”
He reaches out a hand, and after a moment, she takes it. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t.” Her voice cracks slightly. “You know I can’t.”
For a second, I think she’s about to shut down and snap back into that cold, untouchable woman she pretends to be. But then she practically collapses onto his bed, and I think I should give them space.
“I’ve never…” She swallows hard. “In all my years of…I’ve never…”
“Never what?” Draven strokes her wrist with his thumb.
Her voice is barely audible. “Never wanted to stay. Never had something real to lose.”
Draven holds on to her hand like a lifeline. “You won’t lose me. Any of us.”
She lets out a choked laugh and doesn’t say anything else.
Later at night, Teller calls for a meeting.
We gather in Draven’s recovery room—MC leadership, my brothers, and Rose hovering by the door like she doesn’t know where she belongs.
“Start from the beginning,” Teller says. “Everything you heard.”
Draven shifts, grimacing. Rose instinctively reaches to adjust his pillows, but this time, he stops her. “They weren’t hiding anything,” he starts. “They wanted me to hear. To understand what we’re up against.”
“Death’s Head?” Clay asks.
Draven shakes his head. “They’re just muscle. Expensive muscle, but still following orders.”
Rick leans forward. “From who?”
Draven’s lips press into a thin line. “Guy named Delgado.”
Rose goes completely still.
“Some heavy hitter from Sacramento. Italian mob connections. Serious pull with corrupt officials.”
Teller stays neutral. “What’s his interest in Wolf Pike?”
“Territory’s part of it,” Draven says, touching his bruised ribs. “But not the main goal. He’s hunting someone. Someone who took something valuable from him.”
Clay narrows his eyes. “And they talked freely around you?”
Draven lets out a humorless laugh. “They wanted to make a point. Show how connected they are. That FBI investigations disappear. Agents go missing… One guy—older, expensive suit—he takes calls in Italian. Professional hitman, I’d guess. Talks about family honor. About making examples.”
Teller’s voice is sharp. “Details. Names.”
“Carlo handles West Coast distribution. Marco runs enforcement. But Delgado…” Draven exhales. “He’s obsessed with finding her.”
Rick’s jaw tightens. “Her?”
Draven’s eyes lock onto Rose. “His wife. Elena. The one who stole his money.”
Silence falls, heavy as a storm rolling in.
“They mentioned other things,” Draven adds. “Federal agents helping her escape. How betrayal deserves special punishment.”
“And they think she’s here? In Wolf Pike?” Teller asks.
Draven nods. “They’re certain.”
“How much?” Clay asks quietly. “The money she took?”
Draven shakes his head. “Millions.”
I glance at my brothers, seeing the same suspicion I feel reflected on their faces. This just went from bad to worse.
Teller’s gaze is still locked on Rose. “That all?”
“No.” Draven takes a breath, wincing.
“Yeah?” I ask.
His voice is quiet but razor-sharp. “They’re watching the schools.”
Rage boils in my blood. Those bastards are watching children.
This just got personal.