Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Killer pulled up in front of The Firehouse, the rumble of his engine cutting through the night like a warning shot.
As he backed the bike into place, his gaze landed on the cluster of brothers out front—Tool, Angel, Gypsy, and Romeo—all standing in a loose circle, mid-conversation.
The energy shifted the moment they noticed him.
The second the engine died, Killer reached down and tapped Brandi’s leg, the silent signal they’d arrived, and she could climb off.
She swung one leg over and planted her feet on the pavement, unaware that every eye out front had zeroed in on her. They all knew what was coming. No one moved to stop it.
Tool had made his bed months ago when he failed to do what Gypsy told him. Three months. Three goddamn months of silence. No calls. No visits. No claim. As far as the club was concerned, Brandi was free to do whatever—and whoever—she wanted.
Tool didn’t get a say anymore.
Brandi barely had time to straighten her jacket before Tool stormed forward and grabbed her by the arm—hard.
“The fuck are you doin’ on the back of Killer’s sled?” he snapped, his voice cutting sharp enough to draw stares from the bar patio.
Brandi winced, trying to pull away. “Let go of me—”
Killer didn’t hesitate. He shoved Tool with both hands, hard enough to break his grip.
Tool let go—more from the jolt than choice—but it caused Brandi to stumble. She lost her balance and hit the pavement with a sharp gasp, landing hard on her side.
“Brandi!” Killer dropped to help her, but he barely got a hand out before Tool’s fist came from nowhere.
The punch landed clean across Killer’s jaw, snapping his head to the side and sending him down to one knee.
Angel swore. Romeo pushed off the wall. And Gypsy didn’t move. Not yet.
The only sound was the scrape of Killer’s boots on the pavement as he pushed himself upright, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
The air was tight—about to combust. Tool was breathing heavy, chest rising and falling like he didn’t know whether to fight or fold.
Then Brandi’s voice cut through the tension, shaking but furious.
“You don’t get to touch me,” she said, eyes locked on Tool as she pushed herself to her feet. “Not anymore.”
Killer stood, his shoulders loose, his expression tight. This confrontation had been coming.
Tool squared up, nostrils flaring, fists clenched like he had something left to prove.
Angel started forward, but Gypsy threw an arm out, stopping him cold.
“Don’t,” Gypsy said, voice low but final. “He earned this.”
Romeo took a half-step too, but one look from Gypsy rooted him in place.
Brandi stood off to the side now, her arm still stung from where Tool had grabbed her, her hip throbbing from the impact with the concrete, her lip trembling—not with fear, but rage. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.
Killer’s voice was calm, cold. “You wanna act like she’s yours, Tool? Then you should’ve acted like it three months ago. Instead, you ghosted her. Let her sit alone. Let her bleed alone. Now, you wanna act like she means something to you? Not without going through me.”
Tool swung first—wild, reckless. Killer ducked it, driving a fist into Tool’s ribs so hard the crack echoed like a gunshot.
Tool grunted, staggering back, but Killer was already on him. Another hit, this one to the jaw, then a hard elbow that split Tool’s lip wide open.
“You put your hands on her again,” Killer growled, “and I’ll break every bone in your fuckin’ hands.”
Tool tried to recover, lunged, but Killer sidestepped and slammed him against the side of the building. The impact rattled the siding and dropped Tool to his knees.
Brandi flinched but didn’t look away.
Angel muttered, “Damn,” under his breath.
Romeo shook his head. “Told you.”
Killer grabbed Tool by the collar, yanked him up just enough to look him in the eye.
“She ain’t yours,” Killer said coldly. “And she never deserved the way you treated her.”
He let go, and Tool collapsed to the ground, coughing and bloody, pride shattered across the pavement.
Gypsy finally stepped forward; his voice was sharp as a blade. “You want respect, Tool? Start actin’ like it. Until then, stay the fuck away from her.”
Tool didn’t answer. He just stayed down; the fight drained right out of him.
Killer turned, offering Brandi a steady hand. No claim. No drama. Just the quiet, solid bond of two people who knew they had each other’s backs.
When Brandi started to walk off, she gave Killer a small nod—grateful, fierce—and turned her back on Tool without a second thought.
Every brother watching understood the message loud and clear:
Killer hadn’t been protecting his property. He’d been protecting his sister.
And in the club, that bond was just as sacred.
Killer led Brandi through the entrance to the front patio, away from the brothers still lingering out front. The cool night air cut between them, but neither said anything right away.
Brandi hugged herself, her hands shaking just a little from the adrenaline still working through her system.
Killer glanced over at her. “You good?”
She nodded, but it was stiff. Mechanical. Not real.
“Bran,” he said, voice lower now. “Don’t bullshit me.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I’m fine,” she rasped. Then, after a second, she added, “I’m just tired of it. Tired of him... acting like he gets to decide when I matter.”
Killer leaned his shoulder against the wall, studying her. “He’s a dumbass,” he said simply. “A mean, selfish dumbass who didn’t know what he had when he had it.”
She let out a shaky laugh. It wasn’t happy. “Yeah. Tell me how you really feel.”
He cracked a half-smile. “I’d need a couple shots of whiskey first.”
For a long moment, they just stood there, the distant thump of music and voices spilling from the beer garden the only sound.
Then Killer nudged her gently with his shoulder. “You ain’t alone, Brandi. You never were. You got family here—even if some of us are stubborn sons of bitches.”
Brandi’s eyes burned, but she blinked it back. “Thanks, Killer.”
He shrugged like it was nothing. But it wasn’t. “You’re my sister, Bran. Always will be.”
She sniffed and bumped his arm with hers. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Yeah, but I’m your asshole,” he shot back with a grin.
The tension between them broke, the sharp edges of the night softening just a little. Whatever came next—whatever fallout Tool had brought on himself—Brandi knew she had someone in her corner.
And sometimes, that was enough.
From the corner of the lot, Gypsy watched Brandi and Killer talking, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Just stood there, taking it all in, jaw tight, annoyance simmering low in his gut.
Tool was still slumped sitting on the curb, bloodied and breathing hard, looking more pitiful than dangerous. It made Gypsy’s lip curl in disgust.
This? This wasn’t about Brandi. This was about respect.
Tool had been warned—handle your shit or back the hell off. Instead, he let his jealousy fester, put his hands where they didn’t belong, and worse, he swung on another patched brother. That broke a different set of rules entirely.
Romeo stepped up beside him, hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything, but Gypsy caught the look he shot toward the scene—the silent agreement between them.
“You fight a brother outside of the ring, you pay the price,” Gypsy said under his breath, mostly to himself. Then louder, sharper: “Call church for tomorrow. Noon.”
Romeo nodded once and peeled off to start making the calls.
Gypsy ground out the rare cigarette he was smoking under his boot, the scrape of rubber against pavement loud in the otherwise quiet lot.
He wasn’t kicking Tool out over a woman. That wasn’t how this club worked. But he damn sure wasn’t letting this slide.
Tool would be fined. Not for losing his temper. For disrespecting the patch.
And next time?
Next time he'd think twice before letting personal bullshit drag the club's name through the dirt.