8. Reyes
Reyes
The six o’clock deadline arrives like a death sentence.
I’m standing in the parking lot of The Black Crown with Tank, Grizz, Hawk, and four other brothers, watching the road for headlights.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the asphalt, and the air is so charged it’s hard to draw a clean breath.
Shannon stands beside me, Aiden’s small hand clutched in hers.
I didn’t want her here, wanted her safe in the truck with Rector, already miles down the highway.
But she insisted. Despite the plan. Despite our goodbye, she couldn't do it.
“I need to face him,” she’d said. “I need to tell him my choice so there’s no mistake. No claims of kidnapping.”
She was right, much as I hated it. This needed to end clean, with witnesses, leaving no room for Mason to twist the narrative.
Aiden presses closer to Shannon’s leg, his too-old eyes scanning the assembled bikers with curiosity instead of fear. Three weeks ago, he would have been terrified. Now he waves at Diesel, who winks back from his position near the bar’s entrance.
“Mama, why everyone look mad?” Aiden asks.
“They’re not mad, baby. They’re just… serious.” Shannon’s voice is steady, but the tension is a rigid line in her shoulders.
“Savior serious too?”
I crouch to his level, meeting the dark eyes so much like his mother’s. “Yeah, buddy. I’m serious. But not at you, okay? Never at you.”
He nods solemnly, then surprises me by stepping closer and wrapping his good arm around my neck in a quick hug. “I love you, Savior.”
The simple declaration is a punch to the gut. This kid, who’s been hurt by men and learned to fear uniforms, trusts me.
“I love you too, buddy,” I manage, my throat tight.
Shannon’s eyes glisten, but before either of us can speak, the rumble of approaching vehicles cuts through the evening air.
“Here we go,” Tank mutters, his hand moving instinctively to the gun at his hip.
But it’s not Mason’s convoy. A black pickup with Michigan plates pulls in, followed by three Harleys. Rector.
He climbs out of the truck—six-foot-two, graying beard, arms covered in ink that speaks of decades in the life. But his eyes are kind when they land on Shannon.
“Tank,” Rector says, approaching with a slight limp. “Been too long, brother.”
“Rector.” Tank clasps his hand. “Appreciate you getting staged nearby.”
“No problem. You said you had a feeling it would go sideways.” Rector’s gaze shifts to Shannon and Aiden. “Besides, Grace’s already planning which bedroom to put the little man in.”
The three Roarers with him spread out, a silent reinforcement. Now we’re eight Savage Kings, four Roarers, and one very determined woman against whatever Mason brings.
We don’t wait long.
Three black SUVs roll into the lot with federal precision. The lead vehicle doors open, and Mason emerges, with two military police officers at his sides. The other SUVs produce four more men in tactical gear—CID agents, their expressions grim.
Mason surveys the assembled bikers. When his gaze lands on Shannon, a predatory flicker crosses his face.
“Shannon,” he calls. “Time to go home.”
She steps forward, and I force myself to stay put. This is her moment.
“I’m here to tell you my choice, Mason,” she says, her voice steady and strong. “So there’s no mistake.”
“Choice?” His laugh is ugly. “You don’t get a choice, sweetheart. You’re a fugitive, and I’m here to bring you home.”
“I belong here,” she says, her voice carrying across the lot. “With him. With them. This is my family now.”
His facade cracks. “Family? These criminals? This piece of shit who’s been filling your head with lies?”
“The only one who lied was you.” She takes another step, her transformation from victim to survivor happening in real time. “You told me you cared about me, then you broke my son’s arm. You told me you wanted to protect us, then you threatened to destroy us.”
“I was trying to give you a better life—”
“By terrorizing a three-year-old because he spilled juice?” she fires back.
One of the MPs behind Mason shifts uncomfortably. Whatever briefing they got, it probably didn’t include child abuse.
“You’re being dramatic,” Mason says, desperation in his voice. “Aiden needed discipline. I was trying to be a father to him.”
“Fathers don’t break their children’s bones.”
The simple statement hangs in the air. The CID agents exchange glances; doubt is creeping in.
“Enough.” Mason’s mask slips completely. “You’re coming with me, Shannon. Now. Or I’ll have you arrested for kidnapping.”
“On what grounds?” Rector moves forward, his voice drawing everyone’s attention. “She’s the child’s mother. She has every right to take her son wherever she wants.”
“She crossed state lines without my permission—”
“Your permission?” Rector’s eyebrows rise. “And what legal standing do you have to grant that?”
Mason’s jaw ticks. “We’re in a relationship. I’ve been acting as Aiden’s father—”
“For two months,” Shannon interrupts. “We dated for six weeks. In what world does that give you parental rights?”
The number lands like a bomb. The agents now look openly skeptical.
“It’s more complicated—” Mason insists, but he’s losing control.
“No, it’s not.” Her voice cuts through his bluster like a blade. “It’s very simple. I choose him. I choose this family. And I choose to never see you again.”
Silence stretches. Then Mason’s control snaps.
“You stupid bitch,” he snarls, his hand moving toward his sidearm. “You think these criminals can protect you from me?”
The word is barely out before I’m moving, but Tank’s hand on my arm stops me.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Let him hang himself.”
And Mason does. “I own you,” he continues, rage building. “You and that little bastard both. And when I’m done with you, you’ll come crawling back begging me to take you home.”
The MPs behind him are staring in shock. This isn't the officer they know.
“That’s enough,” one of them says. “Captain, maybe we should—”
“Shut up.” Mason whirls on his own man. “I’m in command here.”
But he’s not. Not anymore. Everyone here has just seen the real Mason Holt. His rage hangs in the air, his hand twitching. Before he can dig himself deeper, Rector steps forward.
“Captain Mason Holt,” he says calmly. “When Tank called me a few days ago, he had a hunch you might be dirty. So I looked into you.”
Mason goes very still. “What?”
“I’ve got friends in interesting places.” Rector reaches into his jacket and produces a manila folder. “Friends who’ve been wondering how certain shipments keep making it through base security.”
The life drains from Mason’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.” Rector opens the folder. “Fort Carson, right? You’re in charge of prisoner transport and contraband searches. Must be nice.”
“You’re fishing,” Mason says, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Am I?” Rector holds up an eight-by-ten glossy. Even from across the lot, I see Mason in uniform next to a transport vehicle. “That’s you, three weeks ago, removing a duffel bag from a prisoner transport. And that’s you passing it to Carlos Mendez, a known associate of the Torrino crime family.”
One of the MPs takes an involuntary step back. “Captain, what is this?”
“Lies,” Mason snarls.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.” Rector produces another document. “My friends were curious about your bank accounts, too. Funny how a captain’s salary can suddenly include thirty-thousand-dollar cash deposits.”
The lead CID agent moves forward, his hand going to his radio. “Agent Morrison—”
“Wait,” Rector holds up a hand. “There’s more. I’ve got three different prisoners willing to testify about the smuggling arrangements you made. I also have testimony from Staff Sergeant Jennifer Walsh, who witnessed you removing contraband from the evidence locker.”
Mason’s face goes white. “Jenny wouldn’t—”
“Oh, but she did. Seems she’s been keeping records for months.” Rector closes the folder with a snap. “Brave woman. Especially, considering the abuse you subjected her to.”
The lead MP steps forward, his hand hovering over his weapon. “Captain Holt, you need to come with us.”
“This is bullshit!” Mason explodes. “A setup!”
“With federal surveillance photos?” the agent’s voice is deadly calm. “With testimony from your own subordinates? Bank records?”
Mason’s gaze darts around, a trapped animal. It lands on me, pure hatred. “This is about her,” he snarls, pointing at Shannon. “You’re all protecting a whore—”
“Captain.” The lead agent’s voice cuts through his rant. “You need to stop talking. Now.”
But Mason is too far gone. “I gave her everything. A home, security, a father for her bastard son. And she throws it away for some ex-con biker?”
“Actually,” Rector says conversationally, “his discharge was honorable. Took my guy a couple days to find the real records, but seems there was a clerical error. Turns out when you save three civilians from an IED, the Army tends to overlook a few bar fights.”
The revelation hollows out my chest. Honorable discharge. After all these years believing I’d been thrown away, that I’d failed the only family I’d ever known…
“How does twenty years in military prison sound, Mason?” Rector’s voice brings me back.
Mason’s legs give out, and he slides down the side of his SUV to the asphalt. The fight leaves him. “I was trying to help her,” he whispers.
“By breaking her son’s arm?” The question comes from one of his own MPs, disgust in the man’s voice.
Mason looks up at Shannon, his expression hardening one last time. “You were nothing when I found you. I was going to make you respectable.”
Shannon moves forward, her voice carrying the strength of a woman who has found her power. “I was never nothing,” she says quietly. “I was just waiting for the right man to see my worth.” She moves beside me, taking my hand. “And I found him.”
The simple gesture, her choosing me publicly, means more than any declaration of love. Mason stares at our joined hands and laughs bitterly. “He’s a worthless as you are.”
“No,” Shannon says with absolute certainty. “He isn’t.”
The lead agent steps forward, handcuffs ready. “Captain Mason Holt, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to distribute controlled substances, abuse of authority, and trafficking in narcotics.”
As they read him his rights, he starts shouting, going ballistic as the officer reaches for him. “This isn’t over! You hear me, Shannon? You were nothing but a low-life whore when I found you, and that’s all you’ll ever be!”
The words are a slap. Shannon flinches. A dark, violent rage ignites in my chest.
I’m moving before my brain can stop me. The lead CID agent starts to step between us but catches Tank’s eye. The agent hesitates, gives a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, and turns his attention pointedly back to his other men.
That’s all the opening I need.
I grab Mason by his shirt, hauling him closer. My fist connects with his jaw with a satisfying crunch of bone.
“That’s for calling her a whore,” I snarl.
My next punch breaks his nose. Blood explodes across his face.
“That’s for touching her kid.”
I slam him against the side of the vehicle. “And this,” I lean in close, “is for making her think she was worth less than the dirt under my boots.”
I drive my fist into his gut, then drag his limp and groaning body across the lot and drop him at the lead agent’s feet. “Here’s your garbage. Get it off our property.”
Agent Morrison looks down at Mason, then at me. A flicker of something that might be approval crosses his face. “He’ll live,” he says simply. “Probably wishes he wouldn’t when he wakes up.”
Within minutes, the SUVs are gone, taking Mason Holt out of our lives forever. The silence that follows is like the aftermath of a thunderstorm—clean, fresh.
“Well,” Rector says. “That was entertaining.”
Tank flips his coin, catching it with a satisfied smile. “Justice comes in many forms.”
I turn to Shannon, my knuckles already swelling. She’s standing where I left her, her eyes wide with something that looks like awe.
“You okay?” I ask, a sudden worry hitting me that the violence might have triggered bad memories.
She steps closer, cupping my face in her hands. “I’m perfect,” she says, wonder in her voice. “You defended me. My honor. Like I was worth fighting for.”
“You are worth fighting for.” I cover her hands with mine, the warmth of her palms seeping into my skin. “You’re worth everything, Shannon.”
“I love you,” she whispers, and the words land in a way nothing ever has before.
“Shannon—”
“I love you,” she repeats, louder. “I love your strength, your gentleness, the way you see me as something precious instead of broken. I love how you read bedtime stories to my son and beat up bad guys who threaten our family.”
Our family . The words settle into my chest as if they were always meant to be there.
“I love you too,” I say, the most important confession I’ve ever made. “I love your courage, your fire, the way you chose me over the easy path.” I lean down until our foreheads touch. “I love that you trusted me with your heart.”
“So what happens now?” she asks.
“Now we build the life we want. Here. We get married, give Aiden the stable home he deserves.”
“Married?” Her eyes go wide.
“Eventually. When you’re ready.” I smile, feeling lighter than I have in years. “But I’m not letting you go. Ever. You’re mine now, and I’m yours.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I seal the words with a kiss that tastes like forever.
When we break apart, Aiden is tugging on my jeans. “Savior? Bad man gone?”
I crouch to his level. “Yeah, buddy. Bad man’s gone. He’s never coming back.”
“Good.” He nods, then throws his good arm around my neck. “Now we stay together? All three?”
The simple, trusting question nearly undoes me. “Yeah,” I manage. “We stay together. All three.”
As the sun sets over the Colorado mountains, as my brothers head home and Rector prepares for his drive back to Michigan, I look at everything we fought for.
Shannon’s hand in mine, warm and certain.
Aiden chattering about motorcycles. Tank nodding his approval from across the lot.
The safehouse waiting for us, no longer a hiding place but a home.
Mason Holt tried to destroy us. He forgot one crucial thing.
Some things are worth fighting for. And the Savage Kings never back down from a fight. Especially when family is on the line.