Chapter 12 Vin
Vin
The rumble of ancient wisdom rolled into the Royal Bastards clubhouse like a storm cloud, blotting out the chaos of laughter and clinking glasses.
Mama Celeste didn't just walk through the door; she swept in with a presence that made the air feel heavy with portent.
Heads turned, conversations died, and even the jukebox seemed to hush as if in reverence to the gravity she carried on her slender shoulders.
I was mid-swig when I caught sight of her, the burn of whiskey nothing compared to the sudden tightness gripping my chest. Her amber eyes found mine across the room, locking me in place.
Something about that gaze, man—it was like being seen, truly seen, by someone who knew all your secrets and sins but looked at you anyway with a kind of weary understanding.
It wasn't just concern etched into the lines of her face; it was determination, fierce as a knife's edge.
"Shit," I said under my breath, setting down my glass with more care than I usually bothered with.
The rest of the bastards might as well have been ghosts for all the noise they were making now.
Tension strung the silence tight as guitar strings, every brother waiting, watching.
They knew, same as I did, that Mama Celeste showing up unannounced meant trouble—trouble with a capital T and probably dressed in black robes and speaking in tongues.
Her braids swayed gently, bones and beads clicking softly as she moved with purpose toward where I stood, frozen like some rookie instead of the hardened president of the Royal Bastards MC Lexington, Kentucky Chapter.
My gut churned, instincts screaming that whatever news she brought would be the kind that left scars.
And damn it, if I didn't feel the weight of every single one of those sons of bitches looking at me, waiting for me to face what was coming.
"Vin Reed," she said when she finally reached me, her voice low and smooth. "We need to talk."
My response came out gruff, the only kind of shield I had left.
"You always bring sunshine and roses, Celeste.
What's the word from the other side this time?
" I was trying to find any ounce of humor in the situation to make myself feel better, but deep down, I knew better than to expect anything less than a hurricane wrapped in riddles from Mama Celeste.
Mama Celeste's fingers, adorned with rings that had seen more lifetimes than I cared to count, wrapped around my wrist with a grip that said, 'listen up, boy, or you'll wish you had.
' Her amber eyes drilled into mine, and I could almost hear the clink of her talismans like a death knell.
"Child," she started, her voice steady but laced with something dark and urgent, "the raven soars in darkness toward the abyss, her wings clipped by shadows unseen. "
"Speak plain, Celeste," I said, my patience fraying like the ends of my sanity. The clubhouse was too damn quiet; the only sound was the erratic thump of my heart against my ribcage.
"Raven's in danger, Vin," she finally said, her voice dropping an octave. "The kind that creeps silent until it's too late. Watch her close, trust your gut, 'cause what's comin'... it don't play by the rules we know."
Her cryptic bullshit was like trying to catch smoke—impossible to grasp and guaranteed to leave you gasping. Raven was tough as nails, but Trouble didn't care about that. It just took what it wanted. And if Mama Celeste was warning me, it meant this wasn't your garden-variety road rash.
"Damn it, Celeste, you always gotta talk in damn puzzles?" I snapped, frustration boiling over. But there was no anger behind it, just a cold dread settling in my bones. My gaze darted around the room, every set of eyes on us reflecting the same question: What now?
As soon as her grip loosened, my mind kicked into overdrive.
Questions raced through my head like bikers on a midnight run—too fast, too many.
What did she see? Who would dare come after Raven?
And how the hell do I stop something I can't even see coming?
I'd fought plenty of battles and shed blood for less, but this.
.. This fear of the unknown clawed at me, tearing through the tough exterior everyone thought was impenetrable.
Raven was under my skin, got there without me even realizing, and the thought of anything touching her. ..
"Vin?" Mama Celeste's voice brought me back, her eyes softening just a touch. "You carry the strength of the old ones. Trust it."
"Strength be damned if I don't know where to swing," I muttered under my breath, already moving, planning. I needed to find Raven and wrap her up in whatever protection I could muster. And if fate was coming for her, well, it'd have to get through me first.
“You have a place for me?” Mama Celeste asked. “I’m staying until the raven sees the light.”
“All the rooms are livable now,” Totgut said.
He was our first Prospect, brought on by Moab.
His first assignment…clean the place up, though Jameson had had enough forethought to make the place inhabitable once he had someone in line.
“I’ll show her to a room.” Mama Celeste followed Totgut down the hall and out of view.
The others left to their rooms, agreeing to a good night’s rest and reviewing our plan of attack in the morning.
The clubhouse faded to a distant murmur as I shut the door behind me, sealing myself in a room lit by a single flickering bulb.
Ignoring the pungent mix of oil and old leather that clung to the air like an unwanted memory, I leaned against the rough wood of the dresser and caught my reflection in the dinged-up mirror.
It was just me, staring back with those eyes that had seen too damn much.
But then the glass rippled, like a stone chucked into a still pond, and the face looking back wasn't mine anymore. It twisted and shifted until I was staring into the pale, spectral features of a woman I hadn't seen since I was a kid throwing punches in Arizona alleys.
"Ma?" My voice came out more of a croak, my usual swagger bleeding out onto the cracked tile floor. I grabbed onto the dresser, stabilizing my weakening knees.
Her lips twitched, almost a smile, but there was nothing warm about it.
"Vincent," she whispered, voice slicing through the silence like the roar of a bike on an empty highway.
It was a sound that raised the hairs on my arms, dredging up long-buried shit I thought I'd buried deep enough to never resurface.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" I demanded, the tough-guy act slipping back on as easy as my leather cut. But inside, a storm was brewing, a tangled mess of childhood fears and grown-ass man anger.
She didn't answer, just looked at me with those dead eyes that used to read me bedtime stories, now telling tales of roads I'd yet to travel, paths shadowed by death and danger. I could feel her reaching out from whatever beyond she was stuck in, clawing at the edges of my reality.
"Ma, talk to me. What are you doing here?" The raw edge of desperation in my tone would have pissed me off any other day, but right then, I needed answers like I needed air in my lungs.
“They let me come talk to you, Vincent.”
“Who are they?” I leaned closer to the mirror, raising my hand and pressing it against the glass. Mom’s energy flowed through the memory and touched my soul.
“I don’t know, honey.” She looked down for a moment. “I’m sorry we didn’t have more time, Vincent.” She reached out and touched my hand. “You’ve turned into a good man, Vincent. Momma’s very proud of you.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from that asshole, Momma.” I started to wipe the tears at the corners of my eyes, but Mom stopped me when her hand passed through the mirror. Like she’d done when I was a little boy, she wiped my tears, an act that only made me cry harder.
“Vincent. It’s okay. You’re a good man. You’ve been given a second chance. I begged them to give you a second chance.” She looked back as if someone was waiting for her.
“Don’t go, Mom. Please.”
“I have to, Vincent.” She tilted her head and smiled like she did when I was running around the house batshit crazy as a child. “I love you, son.” She looked back again and nodded. " Vincent, protect..." Her voice was fading, a radio station losing signal, but the message hit hard and clear.
"Protect who? Raven?" I shot back, trying to grab hold of the vanishing thread. But she was receding, her image dissolving like smoke in the wind, leaving me with nothing but the echo of her warning and a cold dread settling in the pit of my stomach.
"Fuck." I slammed my fist against the dresser, not giving a damn about the pain or the splintered wood beneath my skin. This was getting too real, too close to home. And whatever game the universe was playing, it had better be ready for a fight because Vin Reed played for keeps.
The ghost of Ma's voice still echoed in my head as I stumbled back from the mirror, the dim light of the room now just a dull haze around me.
My heart was pounding like it wanted to break out and run for cover—hell, I couldn't blame it.
The tough-as-nails exterior I wore like armor felt like it had been pierced by something I couldn't even see.
"Shit," I muttered to myself, rubbing at the stubble on my chin as if that could scrub away the unease. Vin Reed didn't do shaken; he did the shaking. But here I was, knees damn near buckling from some spectral message from the afterlife.
I shook my head, trying to clear it of ghosts and warnings. Raven... Protect... What the hell was coming down the pipe this time? I needed air, clarity, and maybe a stiff drink—or ten.
With a last glance at the now-still mirror, I pushed through the door and into the belly of the clubhouse. It was quieter than usual, like the place itself was holding its breath, waiting for something big and bad to roll up on two wheels.