11. Crash
CRASH
The sun comes up on twenty-six bikes rolling through the clubhouse gate, and not one brother left behind.
Cassidy’s arms stay around me until I’ve parked next to the clubhouse. Even then, she doesn’t let go right away.
So I sit there in the gravel lot and let her take her time.
“Doc first,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“A truck slammed into your car, and you were zip-tied to a chair. Doc first.”
She slides off the bike with my help. She winces as soon as she touches the ground.
“Doc first,” she agrees.
Doc shines a penlight in her eyes, makes her track his finger, presses along her ribs until she hisses, checks the cut at her temple, and decides it doesn’t need stitches.
“Seatbelt bruising, banged-up ribs, a knot on her head the size of a walnut,” he says to me because I’m standing in the doorway and haven’t moved in twenty minutes. “Nothing broken. No concussion. Nothing permanent. She’ll be sore for a couple of weeks.”
“I’m right here,” Cassidy says.
“You are.” The doctor finally looks at her but doesn’t apologize. “Take the ibuprofen, kid. Don’t be a hero.”
She takes the ibuprofen. Over Doc’s shoulder, her eyes find mine, and the corner of her mouth comes up, and I’d burn that compound down a second time for that half a smile.
Behind me, the clubhouse fills back up. The Old Ladies and kids are home from the safehouse.
Shelby and Saber are talking in whispers and kissing in between words.
Violet holds Duke’s face in both hands, looking him over for damage, while their son, Leo, sits next to them with a toy motorcycle.
Eden is checking Viper for any injuries, and the big man stands still and lets her.
I don't know how long I stand there watching all of it. Long enough for the noise to thin out, for brothers to drift toward showers and beds, for Saber to untangle himself from Shelby and disappear down the hall with Razor.
“Crash.” Joker leans into the infirmary, tablet under his arm. “Church. Saber wants the rundown before anybody sleeps.”
I look at Cassidy.
“Go,” she says. “I’ll be upstairs.”
Church is full and loud until Saber takes his seat, and then it’s neither.
Joker walks us through what we took from the Warriors’ compound. Two laptops, a box of documents, and three phones.
National is sending riders to handle the cleanup, the surrendered Warriors, and any heat from the law. And that’s fine by me.
“Here’s the one you all want.” Joker spins the tablet to face the table.
A photo of a logbook page. “They knew about us sending away our Old Ladies and kids. They had a spotter. Some civilian they paid cash. He watched the caravan roll out and called it in. That’s also how they knew the day National left. ”
Nobody around the table hides their anger.
“The spotter is gone,” Joker says. “National has his name and his plate number. He’s their problem now.”
Church runs another hour. Wounded accounted for, Bear awake and bruised, the buyer rescheduled, the books square. All the loose ends are tied up.
Then Saber says, “We’re done. Get some sleep.” And as chairs scrape back. “Crash stays.”
Nobody looks at me on the way out. Everybody wants to.
The door shuts. The padlock hangs open against the frame. Saber sits at the head of the table, turning his lighter over in his fingers, and I take the chair I’ve sat in for years and wait for whatever is coming.
“I saw how you two look at each other,” he says. “Yesterday. Tonight. All of it.”
I wait. He’s not done.
“She told me she loves you, and I didn’t believe you felt the same.” He leans forward, forearms on the table. “Then I watched you walk into that compound for her without blinking. I was wrong. I don’t say that often, so enjoy it.”
I keep my mouth shut.
“Here’s how it is.” He pauses. “You treat her right. If she cries because of you, we have a different conversation. I won’t give a fuck about our history.
” He shifts in his seat. “No more sweetbutts. No waitresses, no barflies, no women whose names you can’t remember.
That life is over the day you claim her, or you don’t claim her. ”
“It’s already over. Been over since she walked through that door.”
He studies me, and whatever he’s looking for, he finds it.
“You’re the closest thing I have to a blood brother,” he says.
“Always have been. I spent yesterday wanting to kill you. But the whole time, some part of me kept thinking, if it had to be somebody, there’s only one man I’d trust with her.
” He stands, comes around the table, and puts his hand out. “I’m glad it’s you, Crash.”
I stand and take it. Then I pull him into a hug.
“Go on,” he says. “She’s waiting on you, and we both know it.”
I’m at the door when he adds, “Crash.”
I turn.
“Welcome to the family. Officially.” A beat. “It’s a nightmare. You’ll fit right in.”
Her door is locked again.
Good girl.
I knock twice. “It’s me,” I call out.
She opens it within seconds.
She’s showered. Wet hair, an old T-shirt, the seatbelt bruise coming up along her collarbone, the cut at her temple cleaned up. She looks like she went through a war, because she did.
And even with all the injuries, she’s still fucking beautiful.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
She steps back to let me in, and I shut the door and lock it, and then I just stand there looking at her. I rehearsed what I wanted to say, but I can’t remember a thing.
“You’re staring,” she says.
I shrug. “I’m allowed.”
“Oh, yeah? With whose permission?”
“Your brother, as of a few minutes ago.”
Her lips part, but for once she’s got nothing. This woman is never at a loss for words.
“Sit down,” I say. “Before you fall down.”
She sits on the edge of the bed. I crouch in front of her, take her hands, and turn them over in mine.
Zip-tie marks around both wrists, raw and red.
I run my thumb beside them, not on them, and the rage comes up my spine again.
I breathe it back down. The men who did it are dead. There’s nobody left to hurt for her.
There’s only this.
“He gave us his blessing,” I say.
She pulls one hand free and puts it against my face, careful of the bruise her brother left there. Her thumb moves along the swollen edge of it.
“You let him hit you,” she says. “You didn’t fight back.”
“I had it coming.”
“You didn’t.”
“I betrayed his trust. I had it coming.” I catch her hand and press my mouth to her palm, soft as I know how. “I said it wrong yesterday. So I’m saying it again, the way I wanted to.”
Her breathing changes.
“I love you, Cassidy. I’ve never said that to a woman in my life. You’re the first. You’re the only.”
“Crash,” she whispers.
“I’m not finished. I have a whole speech, and I’m getting through it.
” I stay down on her level, her hands in mine.
“I want you as my Old Lady. But only if you want it. And I want us out of this clubhouse. A house. Yours and mine. Someplace your brother has to knock to get into.” I huff a laugh.
“I’ve got money put away. A lot of money.
And nothing I ever wanted to spend it on.
Turns out I was saving it for you and didn’t know. ”
The first tear gets away from her, and I reach up and take it off her cheek with my thumb.
“You done?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s the speech.”
“It was a good speech.”
“I know. I’m good at speeches.”
She slides off the edge of the bed into my arms, carefully. We’re both injured.
“Yes,” she says, kissing my cheek. “To all of it. I want to be yours. I want the house. I want you. Yes.”
I hold her on the floor, both arms around her like she is the most important thing in the world, because as far as I’m concerned, she is.
She kisses me. Slow, careful of my split lip.
I get her into bed and get in behind her, boots off, gun on the nightstand, her back tucked against my chest. Her breathing goes long and even before mine does.
I’ve spent my whole life leaving before this part. Turns out this is the best part.