Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
ROWAN
I ron’s motorcycle sat on the gravel outside the clubhouse as I pulled in, its gleaming metal dulled by an extra layer of dust.
Whatever he wanted to say, he’d have to do it fast, because I wasn’t about to let Sadie go head-to-head with her old man alone. It was time John came clean about what he knew about Patricia’s investigation.
I swung off my bike and strode to the side door of the clubhouse, shoving my way inside. The familiar scent of stale smoke and old leather hit me like a memory I didn’t want any part of.
The place was quiet, not many brothers around that time of day. Most of them were still passed out or just crawling out of whatever hole they’d found their way into the night before.
It didn’t matter. I wasn’t planning on hanging around.
Just as I’d figured, Iron was at the head of the meeting table, like the spot had been carved out for him. A thick cigar lolled between his fingers, its ash dropping onto the table in front of him. He stared out the window, the afternoon sun catching the lines etched deep into his face.
His skin had an unhealthy grey tint, a ghost of the man who once ran this place with an iron fist—hence the name. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it was age. Either way, he didn’t look like the man I’d once admired. If I ever admired him at all.
His absence over the past couple of weeks hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The club had divided itself, brother against brother.
Not that Snake had been a brother to me.
Still, he’d tried to take the life of another member, and almost succeeded.
And now Iron was sitting there like a bomb hadn’t just shaken the entire foundation of the club.
Too many years he’d played king, and for what? It was time for a new regime, and I wasn’t patient enough to wait it out. With what was left of Iron’s power, I had no intention of being the last man standing. If he wasn’t going to do something about Snake, I sure as hell was.
I knocked on the doorframe, the hollow sound echoing through the empty room.
It was odd knocking, as if I was a stranger intruding on his alone time.
Maybe I was. My old man would have laughed his arse off to see me now.
If he could see me. Alive or dead, it made no difference.
He had always been blind to the choices I’d made, the things I’d done to survive.
Iron barely even looked my way, just gave a lazy wave of his hand. “Come on in, son.”
Son . The word used to mean something, especially coming from Iron. Now it was more a performance, a way for him to pretend he still had any power over me.
Even when my father had spoken the word, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. It never meant what it should have. Not loyalty. Not love. Just another chain around our necks. And nothing good ever came from it.
My father had used it as his way of getting inside mine and Logan’s heads, a clever manipulation dressed up as affection.
It was a weapon to hold us close yet keep us right where he wanted us.
But I was no longer that young boy, clinging to the fantasy that family was anything more than blood and betrayal.
I dropped into the chair opposite Iron, the wood groaning beneath me as I leaned back, hands laced behind my head like I gave a shit. The room seemed smaller now. Even the walls knew Iron’s time was running out, even if he didn’t.
“I’ve always admired you, Rowan,” Iron said, his voice calm as he finally acknowledged me. He continued to watch the world outside as though it was still spinning in circles and he was stuck in place. “Lost everything, yet here you are, still sitting at this table like it means something.”
Was that a dig to see what I’d do, or to remind me of what I’d lost—a mother I never knew, Logan, my father, and a chance at something different with Sadie?
Being part of the club used to mean something.
Back when the patch stood for the road. Not blood on the floorboards.
What once started out as a love of motorcycles, of the open road and the thrill of escape, had turned into a group of outlaws who threatened and killed just for the sake of it.
We were just another gang of bastards pretending to be more.
I couldn’t see past that.
Iron continued as if the past had come back to haunt us both. “Your old man? He was a bastard, but he was my brother. One of the last real ones.” There was something in his expression that tried to pass for sadness, some cheap imitation of regret. He even had the balls to look like he gave a shit.
“I beg to differ,” I said, rocking back in the chair and meeting his gaze with my brand of defiance.
He’d played this card before, tried to make me believe in ghosts, believe that the man who had raised Logan and me was worth anything more than the dirt I had buried him in .
Iron nodded, tapping the cigar to the edge of the ashtray in front of him.
“I can see how your view of him would be like that,” he said.
“But before all the drinking and the drugs, your father had vision. A drive to make something of this club. It wasn’t always meant to be like this.
” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat as he swiped his wrist under his nose.
Perhaps he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince me. Maybe he just wanted to remember it that way, a memory he could live with when the truth was too much.
“Why are you telling me this?” I said, cutting through the bullshit stinking up the air.
Memories didn’t mean much once they’d changed shape to fit the story someone else wanted to tell. I’d lived enough of it to know what was real, and no-one was rewriting that history for me—not even Iron.
He drummed the fingers of his other hand on the worn table, the sound hollow and unsure.
“Because I’m dying.” His words hung in the air, yet I couldn’t even pretend to be surprised.
I guess I saw it coming. “Got the big C. The bastard finally caught up with me. Maybe six months—a year if I’m lucky.
” He sniffed, then took a breath, letting his shoulders relax.
The words hit like an icy hand around the throat, but I didn’t flinch. Instead, I kept my composure, though my mind raced with the implications of what it meant for the Ridge Riders. Loyalty shifting. The entire club scrambling for control like rats on a sinking ship.
“That’s rough. Sorry to hear,” I said, attempting to force a small amount of empathy into my tone. It fell short.
For all I knew Iron could have been trying a new tactic to get inside my head .
He huffed out a laugh. “I doubt that.” There was no malice in his words. Just a raw honesty I hadn’t heard from him ever.
I didn’t even realise he had an honest bone in his body.
I half-shrugged, folding my arms over my chest. “Not sure what you want me to say. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I want things changed around here.”
If he thought I would sit back and watch the empire go to shit without me making a move, he had another thing coming.
“Snake.” One word. He ran a hand through his grey hair like he was trying to brush away more than the last few decades. “He’s certainly made a mess of things.”
“I’m going to take him out,” I said, unflinching. “Just thought I’d give you the heads up.”
He met my eyes, nodding. “Fair enough.” He took a drag from the cigar and blew the smoke out slowly, the silence dragging.
“But before you do that, I want you to have something.” He shoved a hand into the inner pocket of his cut and fished out a USB stick, its red plastic worn and scuffed.
“It won’t make everything better, but you’ll understand why things happened the way they did.
” He slid the item across the table—a burden he couldn’t wait to get rid of.
I didn’t reach for it. Not yet. It could’ve been answers. Or just another set of chains. And I wasn’t sure which would be worse.
“What is it?” I said, eyeing it like it was a fucking bomb.
Iron sighed. “Something I should have given you years ago.” His voice cracked, and his fingers trembled as he tapped the cigar against the side of the ashtray again.
“You’ll want Sadie to see what’s on it. But—just a heads up—it’s going to change everything.
Make sure you’re there for her. She’s going to need you. You’re going to need each other.”
Jaw clenched, I reached over and snatched up the USB, turning it over in my hand. Light as it was, it felt like it weighed a hundred kilos—the truth always did.
“What are you playing at?” I said, my scepticism getting the better of me.
I had no room for riddles or bullshit, and this felt like both. We’d played this game a hundred times before, and I was fucking done.
Iron had always been stone—unmovable, unreadable. This crack in his armour wasn’t just new. It was dangerous. But what was worse was I knew whatever was on that USB, was going to change everything.
Iron exhaled sharply and ground the cigar into the ashtray. Then he stood, his old bones cracking under the movement. He didn’t quite stretch to his full height, the set of his jaw a sign that being upright was more painful than he’d ever let on.
He shuffled over, pausing beside me, and placed a hand on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze—half comfort, half goodbye.
“I never wanted it to be like this, Rowan.” He lingered there, his touch like a dying man’s last attempt at anything real.
“If you don’t believe any other words out of my mouth, at least believe those. ”
I didn’t say anything, just sat there in silence, letting him believe that maybe I did give a shit. There was a time when I would have cared enough to appease him, to hold on to whatever half-truths he was feeding me. That time was long gone, buried with the rest of it.
With a slight nod of his head, he gave me a tight smile, then disappeared out of the room.