Chapter 26 #4
I straighten just enough to put every ounce of certainty I’ve got into the next words. “She’s mine.”
Nobody in the room moves. Nobody on the phone speaks.
I don’t stop. “That’s my old lady,” I say, voice hard and final. “And she’ll be treated like it. She’ll be respected, she’ll be taken care of, and she’ll be kept safe. The kid too. Both of them.”
The silence on the other end stretches long enough that I start wondering if Grinder hung up. Then he says, quieter now but no less dangerous, “That’s a hell of a thing to say about another chapter president’s daughter.”
“Then hear the rest of it,” I tell him. “I’m not asking.”
That one lands. I can feel it.
The difference between:
I want your blessing and I’m informing you of reality.
And because Grinder is who he is, he hears that difference exactly the way I mean it.
Logan, to his credit, stays the hell out of it.
Smart man.
Grinder lets out a slow breath through his nose. When he speaks again, some of the heat’s gone out of it. Not all. But enough. “She tell you everything?”
That question hits harder than I expect. Because no. She hasn’t. Not all of it.
I know enough to understand the shape of the monster she ran from. Enough to know Cal’s the kind of man who deserves a slow death and a deep hole. Enough to know Raven’s carrying more than she’s said out loud.
But the full story?
No. And I’m not stupid enough to pretend otherwise.
“She doesn’t owe me every scar before she’s ready to hand it over,” I say.
That gets me another long pause.
Then, rougher now, “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said so far.”
I don’t answer. Because this isn’t about winning. It’s about planting something permanent.
Grinder’s quiet for another beat before he says, “You hurt her, and I’ll bury you myself.”
That almost gets a laugh out of me. Not because it’s funny. Because fair enough. “You won’t have to.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Behind me, Blaze makes a sound suspiciously like he’s choking on his own amusement again.
I don’t turn around. If I do, I’m liable to throw something.
Grinder’s voice comes back lower now. Tired, maybe. Worn around the edges in a way that has nothing to do with club business and everything to do with being a father who had to send his daughter away to keep her alive. “I don’t have to like it,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “You don’t.”
Another beat. Then finally, grudging and heavy and still clearly pissing him off every second it leaves his mouth. “No one lays a hand on her.”
“No one,” I say.
“No one gets near the kid.”
“They won’t.”
“If she says jump, you ask how high.”
That one almost makes Logan snort.
I ignore him. “Already there.”
A long exhale crackles through the speaker. Then Grinder says, “Have her call me.”
That hits me differently than I expect. Not because it’s surprising. Because it’s not. Because under all the territorial father bullshit and chapter politics and whatever complicated mess Cal turned their relationship into, that’s still what this comes back to.
He wants to hear his daughter’s voice. He wants to know she’s okay.
I glance out the window again.
Raven’s laughing at something Lexi just did, one hand pressed over her mouth while the kid spins in a circle like she’s performing for the whole damn property.
Soft. Alive. Safe. For now.
“I’ll tell her,” I say.
Grinder’s quiet for one last second before he mutters, “You better.”
Then the line goes dead. The second it disconnects, the room stays silent for about half a heartbeat.
Then Blaze loses it. Absolutely fucking loses it. He doubles over laughing so hard he has to brace a hand on the doorframe.
“Oh my God,” he wheezes. “That’s my old lady?”
Shadow shoves him. “Shut the fuck up.”
Cain’s biting the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to laugh too, which is almost worse.
And Logan?
Logan leans back in his chair with the look of a man who just watched exactly the kind of train wreck he hoped for.
“That,” he says, pointing at me, “was the most romantic threat of bodily harm I’ve ever heard.”
I stare at all of them.
Slowly. Flatly. One by one.
“You’re all gonna die.”
That just makes Blaze laugh harder.
Shadow shakes his head, still grinning despite himself. “Brother, you are so fucking gone.”
Yeah.
That part’s not up for debate anymore. I don’t bother denying it. Because there’s no point.
Not after that call. Not after the look on Raven’s face this morning.
Not after the way Lexi stuck herself to my side at breakfast like I’d always been there.
Not after hearing another man, even her father, talk about her like she was anything less than what she is and feeling every violent instinct in me rise up to tear his throat out.
No.
There’s no denying it now. I’m in too deep to pretend otherwise.
And the worst part?
I don’t want out.
I push off Logan’s desk and head for the door before one of these assholes says something else I’ll have to physically respond to.
Logan calls after me just before I hit the hall. “Joker.”
I stop and glance back. His expression’s different now. Still amused around the edges, but steadier underneath it. More serious. “You mean what you said?”
That one doesn’t need clarification.
He’s not asking if I meant the threat. He knows I did. He’s asking if I meant the rest of it.
The old lady part. The permanence. The claim. The weight.
I hold his gaze for exactly one second before answering. “Every word.”
And then I walk out.
Because Raven’s outside.
And her father wants to hear her voice. And I’ve got exactly one thought burning low and hard in my chest as I head for the door.
Mine.