Chapter 13 Calla
Iwake before the sun, heart already beating too fast. Rook’s wrapped around me, warm and solid, his arm heavy across my waist. Normally, that weight is the safest thing I know. This morning, it feels like a shield against a world that’s suddenly meaner than it was yesterday.
Last night’s whispers keep replaying—the ambush, the burned scorpion carved into the fence, the name he spoke in the shower.
Calder. I can still taste the worry in his voice when he told me.
Someone he trusted. Someone the Royal Bastards trusted.
And inside the prison, I’d only ever known Calder as Scorpions.
The thought twists sharply in my stomach.
If he’s been straddling both worlds, feeding the Scorpions everything, then what happened on that run wasn’t just bad luck.
It was a setup. I press my face into Rook’s chest, breathing in the smoke-and-leather scent that clings to him even after the shower.
He doesn’t stir. Of course he doesn’t—he spent half the night on high alert, then came home to keep Beau and me safe.
I love him. God, I do. But loving him means loving the club, and today that feels like loving a storm. Outside, the forest is silent—the kind of quiet that makes you listen harder. Inside, I count his heartbeats and pray the Bastards are ready for whatever’s coming next.
Rook stirs before I can untangle from him. A low sound rumbles in his chest, and then his lips find the back of my neck—slow, unhurried kisses that chase away the last of the chill.
“Morning, angel,” he murmurs against my skin.
I turn just enough to see the faint grin tugging at his mouth, the one that always makes me forget how dangerous the world outside this cabin can be. Before I can answer, the door bangs open.
“Mama! Dad?!” Beau barrels in like a pint-sized hurricane, stuffed fox bouncing in his fist. He launches himself onto the bed with zero warning.
Rook catches him mid-air, laughing as Beau lands between us.
“You’re still here!” Beau’s eyes are wide, sparkling like it’s Christmas morning. “You didn’t leave!”
Rook scoops him closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his messy hair. “Told you I’d be here, little man. I'm never leaving you.”
Beau wriggles out of the blankets, already bouncing. “School! We gotta get ready! Dad’s making breakfast, right?”
I can’t help it, I laugh, even with last night’s fear still lodged under my ribs. Rook’s grin only widens.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes meeting mine over Beau’s head. “Dad’s still here.”
We tumble out of bed in a blur of little-boy energy and warm laughter. Beau charges ahead, chattering about cereal and the fox’s “front-row seat,” while Rook trails behind, one hand at the small of my back like he’s not ready to let the night go.
The cabin fills with the smell of coffee and toast. Rook moves easily around the kitchen, pouring batter onto the griddle while Beau sets the table—three plates, and one for the fox, of course.
I steal quick sips of coffee while flipping through the day in my head: shift at the prison, intake paperwork, medication counts, the usual.
Rook catches me reaching for my scrubs. His brow furrows, that storm-cloud look I know too well. “You’re really heading in today?”
“Yeah,” I say lightly, slipping the top over my head. “It’s just work.”
“After what happened last night?” His voice stays low, but the edge is there. “Scorpions are too close, Cal.”
I step closer and lay a hand on his chest. “I’ll be fine. You made sure of that.” I hold his gaze until the tension in his shoulders eases, just a little. “Besides, the prison’s locked down tighter than any clubhouse.”
Beau bounds over before Rook can argue again, eyes bright. “Dad, can we have waffles every day? You make ‘em better than Mama.”
That earns a grin from Rook and a relieved breath from me. The room feels lighter as Beau climbs into his chair, fox tucked under his arm.
Breakfast disappears fast—waffles, bacon, a second round of coffee that barely dents the fog of a night like last night. Beau chatters through every bite, more syrup on his cheeks than in his mouth, while Rook keeps that quiet, watchful look on me, no matter how many times I tell him I’m fine.
When it’s time to go, Rook snags my keys before I can reach them. “I’ll drive,” he says. Not a question. And honestly, I don’t mind.
The three of us pile into my truck, Beau buckled into his booster with his stuffed fox tucked tight under his arm. Morning sun cuts through the windshield, catching the silver in Rook’s rings as he grips the wheel. He fits behind the controls like he’s been doing this his whole life.
Berlin slides past in shades of pine and mist. Beau keeps up a steady stream of kindergarten updates—today is show-and-tell, he might share the rainbow dinosaur again—Uncle Grimm still promised a puppy.
Rook tosses in the occasional “yeah, buddy” and “that’s a solid plan.
” Still, his eyes stay on the rearview, scanning every curve of the road.
I watch him more than the scenery. The leather of his kutte creaks when he shifts, his jaw tight, shoulders a little too tense. After the ambush, after Calder’s name, it’s no wonder.
Beau finally asks the question that breaks the silence. “Dad, can you pick me up after school?”
Rook glances at me, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah, little man. We’ll both be here.”
Beau beams, satisfied, and goes back to describing the fort he and “Dad” are going to build later.
I lean back against the seat, the rumble of the engine steady under us, and let the thought settle: after everything that tried to break us, we’re driving straight into a normal morning—together.
The elementary lot is already buzzing when we pull in—teachers waving cars forward, kids tumbling out with backpacks bigger than their torsos. Rook parks at the curb but doesn’t kill the engine, eyes tracking every movement like a hawk.
Beau bounces in his seat. “Can I show Dad my classroom?”
I smile and reach back to smooth his hair. “Not today, buddy. We’ve got to let the other parents get through.”
Rook finally cuts the engine. “I’ll walk him in with you.”
It’s not a question. We join the small stream of parents, Beau skipping ahead, his fox clutched in one hand. The October air smells like wet leaves and pencil shavings. For a minute, it feels almost normal.
Then I feel it. That prickle along the back of my neck.
The sense of eyes where they don’t belong.
I slow, scanning the parking lot. Across the street, a dark sedan idles at the edge of the tree line.
The windows tinted too black for the morning sun.
Engine running, exhaust curling faint white against the pines.
Rook follows my gaze. The shift in him is instant—shoulders squared, jaw locked, every ounce of his easy morning mood gone. He steers Beau toward the door, deposits him with a teacher and a quiet promise—“We’ll be back at three, little man.”
I bend down and press a kiss to Beau’s forehead. “Have the best day at school, lovebug. I love you more than all the dinosaurs in the world.”
He smiles up at me with that toothy grin. “I love you so much, Mama.”
I stand with Rook as Beau runs off with his teacher. Rook’s hand grips my waist as he turns me around.
“Get in the truck,” he tells me, voice low and dangerous.
“Rook—”
“Now.”
We’re barely inside before he slams the door and fires the engine. His hands choke the wheel, knuckles white.
“That car,” I start.
“I saw it.” His voice is a growl. “Same make the Scorpions run when they cross state lines. And they’re parked across from my kid’s school.”
Heat radiates off him, the kind that makes the air feel electric. He pulls into traffic, eyes fixed on the rearview.
“I swear to God, Calla—” His teeth grind hard enough I can hear it. “If they think they can bring this to him, to you…” He shakes his head, a dark laugh escaping. “I’ll burn this whole damn town to the ground before I let them breathe the same air as my family.”
The words vibrate through the cab, low and lethal. I reach for his arm, not to stop him—because I know he means every word—but to remind him we’re here, together, and Beau is safe for now. Outside the window, Berlin blurs past, the quiet mountain town suddenly feeling like the heart of a war zone.
Rook’s already thumbing his phone before we hit the main road, the truck eating up pavement like it can taste our anger.
“Grimm,” he barks the second the call connects. “Get two bikes to Berlin Elementary. Now. Park where everyone can see you and don’t move till I say. Yeah—armed. Quiet but visible. Nobody gets near my kid.”
I grip the armrest tighter while he works, the low rumble of his voice a mix of fury and control. By the time we turn onto the dirt road that leads to my cabin, he’s already lined up coverage like a military op. The dark outline of his Harley waits in the driveway where he left it last night.
He reaches across the console and catches my hand before he can shift into park. “I love you, Calla. More than I can say. Grimm is at the school and won’t let anything happen to our kid. More guys are on the way and will watch your cabin too.”
The truck rolls to a stop in front of the cabin.
Rook is out before I can reach for the handle, the night’s anger still flickering under his skin.
He comes around to my side, pulls the door open, and draws me against him.
For a moment, everything else—Scorpions, ambush, black sedans—disappears beneath the weight of his arms.
“I love you,” he murmurs again, rough and certain, before pressing a slow kiss to my mouth. It tastes like smoke and coffee and the kind of promise you don’t have to say twice.
“I love you,” I whisper back.
When he finally lets me go, the mountain air feels colder. I climb into the driver’s seat, start the engine, and glance over to where his Harley waits at the edge of the drive.
Rook swings a leg over the bike, visor up long enough to meet my eyes. “I’m behind you all the way.”
I nod, throat tight, and ease the truck down the gravel road.
In the side mirror, his headlight flares to life, a steady beam cutting through the morning fog.
All the way into town, the sound of his engine rides just behind me, low and relentless, a living reminder I’m not alone.
Even when the prison’s gray towers rise out of the pines, that rumble stays with me, a heartbeat I can follow home.