Chapter 10
Zeus
The chapel doors close behind me, and I drop into my seat at the table.
I notice the shift in my own body—the way I'm sitting upright instead of slumped, the way my hands rest flat on the wood instead of balled into fists.
My head isn't pounding from last night's whiskey.
I didn't drink myself into oblivion. I slept.
Actually slept. Four solid hours with London's body curled against mine, her breath warm on my chest, and not a single nightmare.
Chaos takes his seat at the head of the table. Fury settles to his right, Demon to his left. Mayhem, Jinx, Prophet, Fuzzy—the rest of the patched brothers fill in around us. The room drops into the focused quiet that precedes club business.
"Let's get to it," Chaos says. "First order—Los Cuervos."
He lays it out clean. The combined efforts with the Chaldeans and the Black Kings are paying off.
Raven distribution in our territory has dropped by over eighty percent.
Los Cuervos has pulled back—not entirely, but we figure it’s only a matter of time before they cut their losses and get the hell out of Detroit.
Many of their dealers have scattered. Their supply chain is fractured.
The few remaining players are struggling.
“The Black Kings intercepted another shipment last week," Fury reports. "Small one, but they're not restocking."
"Trafficking angle?" Chaos asks.
“Possibly moving south,” Demon answers. “Nashville or maybe Atlanta. Intel says they’re slowing operations here. Too much heat."
Chaos nods. "Good. Keep monitoring, but it looks like we’re squeezing them out."
A murmur of satisfaction ripples around the table.
Six months of coordinated warfare against one of the most ruthless opponents we’ve ever faced, and we’re winning.
Not with a single decisive battle, but with sustained, relentless pressure from every angle until the bastards had no choice but to go somewhere more hospitable.
"Now." Chaos's gaze shifts to me. "The other matter. London Mitchell."
Curious heads turn my way. Everyone's aware of what's been happening. I claimed responsibility for her. I put her on the back of my bike. We made out like teenagers in front of the club.
"She's Fiend's daughter," Chaos continues, addressing the table at large. “It hasn’t been DNA-confirmed, but Zeus is satisfied she's legitimate.
“However.” Chaos drums his fingers once. "She doesn't know the full story about her father."
Every set of eyes in the room lands on me.
"I'm asking for time." I keep my voice even, controlled. “I want to be the one to explain what happened—all of it. On my terms, when the moment's right."
"And when's that gonna be?" Fury asks. Not a challenge—a genuine question.
"Soon. She's still settling in. Finding her footing." I run a hand through my hair. "I want to be sure she’s ready first."
Chaos watches me. That long, assessing look he gives when he's reading a situation three moves ahead. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, and he nods.
"Your call. Your timeline. But don't sit on it too long, brother."
"Understood."
"On a related note—" Fury leans back in his chair, the ghost of a grin pulling at his mouth. "Good to have you back, Zeus."
I shoot him a look that’s supposed to be a glare, but I can’t help it that the corners of my mouth turn up slightly.
“Amen,” Fuzzy adds.
“Yeah. You've been a miserable prick for months, bro, and today you look like a human being instead of a walking corpse." Mayhem doesn't bother softening it.
A few brothers knock their fists on the table—their version of applause. Heat crawls up the back of my neck.
“Alright, alright. Y’all are makin’ it weird," I growl.
“It is weird.” Jinx grins. "Accept it."
I flip him off, but there's no venom behind it. They're not wrong. Only days ago, I was a black hole swallowing everything in my orbit. Now… I can’t say I’m back to the carefree man I used to be, but I can say I feel about a thousand pounds lighter now that I give a damn about something besides the bottom of a whiskey glass.
London did that. One small, fierce, brave woman walked through our gates and broke down a wall I'd been constructing for half a year.
"One more thing," I say as the laughter dies down.
The room quiets.
I look at Chaos, then Demon. “A man named Greg Bowman. London's stepfather."
I motion to my cheek, the place where London wears a bandage. “He’s responsible for the injuries to her face.”
My fists clench. Rage leaks into my posture despite my best efforts.
“And it’s not an isolated incident. He beat her for years. Threatened worse." My voice drops to a flat, dead register. "He found her new apartment days before she showed up here. She barely escaped him.”
No one speaks. No one moves.
"He needs to be gone," I say. "I'm not looking for a conversation. I'm not looking for a warning. Gone. Permanently.”
Chaos holds my gaze. "You want to handle it yourself?"
The question is standard. Personal business stays personal unless you ask for help. And part of me—a large, savage, screaming part—wants to wrap my hands around Greg Bowman's throat and watch the life drain from his eyes.
“Fuck yeah, I do.” I look at Demon. “I’ll need some help with the cleanup.”
Demon's face doesn't shift. It never does when violence is on the table. He gives a single nod. "Consider it done."
This time, I can’t contain my grin. It’s good to know that despite what a complete fucking asshole I’ve been lately, my brothers still have my back.