Chapter 49
DEAN
L aughter rings out across the backyard as the kids dart through the sprinklers, barefoot in bathing suits, wet hair plastered to their foreheads, red-white-and-blue popsicles dripping down their arms.
I wasn’t sure we’d be here like this. At least, not so soon.
I don’t think Ace fully remembers what happened three weeks ago, judging by the big smile on his face as he jumps through the curtain of oscillating water for the hundredth time.
He just knows he’s safe now, surrounded by family who will do anything to keep him that way.
I’m tempted to join the kids in the sprinklers. It’s the Fourth of July, and hot as hell in front of this grill. The scent of cooking meat, cut grass, and sunscreen fills the air and mingles with the soft classic rock music drifting from the outdoor speakers as I glance around the yard.
Axel, Chopper, Diesel, Dozer, Viper, and Derek are lounging in lawn chairs in the shade with beers, talking about motorcycles, MMA, and watching the kids play.
Vanna, Cherry, and Latisha just finished stringing the last few lanterns under the porch awning for later.
Rosita emerges from the back door with a star-spangled tablecloth and a couple of food containers tucked under her arm.
I hope one of them is that Mexican street corn salsa dish she made last year.
The smiling group of women makes their way in their festive sundresses to the long picnic table beneath the canopy I set up earlier this morning.
Vanna smiles when she catches me admiring the cling of said sundress and blows me a little kiss.
“ Less grinning, more grilling,” Viking grunts, emerging from the side of the house with another hose, dish soap, and what looks like a tarp in his hands. “Old school slip-and-slide.” He grins, and I chuckle, already imagining kids launching gleefully into the grass.
A few more beers in my crew, and the kids won’t be the only ones fucking up my lawn. It’ll turn into a competition to see who can fling themselves the furthest… or who can bowl a toddler the best . I glance at the packaged stack of red Solo cups on the table, already imagining the shenanigans.
“How are we doing over here, hot stuff?” Vanna teases, pushing the sunglasses up the bridge of her nose as she comes to stand beside me.
“Fuckin’ Aces, baby.” I grin, flipping and catching the stainless-steel spatula like a pro.
“Should I go grab the next batch of meat from the fridge?”
“Yeah, grab me a clean container for all this while you’re at it and some foil to cover the top. Viking should be too preoccupied with setting up the slip-and-slide to notice just yet.”
“Are the prospects and the patch chasers still coming? I texted Ford Focus to make sure he brings more buns with him. Maybe I should have delegated that to Trippy and Daniel. They should be here soon with Maddie, too.”
“If he doesn’t, Viking will waterboard him.”
Vanna giggles as if I’m joking and tucks herself beneath my arm, wrapping hers around my waist. “He seems happy,” she sighs, nodding toward Ace.
Our son has abandoned the sprinkler for the moment and has decided to assist Viking with his slip-and-slide project.
“What do we tell him when he asks?” She peers up at me, biting her bottom lip as if she expects some sort of outburst from me. “With everyone here, he’s going to.”
“I don’t know… Maybe that he went back to Hades.”
Her hold loosens, but she doesn’t move away.
“I’m sorry, doll,” I bite out. “I’m not as forgiving as you, Vanna.”
“It’s alright. I understand.” She slips from beneath my arm and stands before me. Pushing the sunglasses up into her hair, she looks up at me as if she’s got something important to say, when the back door swings open.
Maddie emerges and descends the steps, followed by Trippy and Daniel. She immediately runs up to us, carrying a bowl of fruit salad, which she hands to Vanna.
“Happy Independence Day!” She smiles before running off to join the other kids playing in the yard.
“Thanks for the invite,” Daniel says, gingerly slapping my back while Trippy and Vanna exchange a greeting hug. I note the Saviors MC cut he’s wearing, probably just to burn my ass.
“Everyone knows you got to weasel in with Maddie and Trippy.” I force a smile.
“Yeah, well, be that as it may,” Daniel goes on, seemingly unbothered by the dig. “There’s a guy out on the front porch asking for you. Pulled up just as we did.”
“A guy?” Vanna asks.
“Came in a cage. A Lincoln, I think. He’s wearing a suit. Has a briefcase with him. Looks, I don’t know, official ,” Daniel explains.
“Alright,” I say, handing him the spatula. “Take over. There’s a clean pan in the kitchen. This all needs to come off, and there’s more meat inside.”
“You got it, bro.” Daniel smiles like this delegation was born from something other than necessity.
Trippy follows us inside as far as the kitchen to grab the pan, tin foil, and meat from the fridge, while Vanna and I join the suit on the front porch.
He’s a man in his mid-thirties, already sweating through his collar and wearing a blazer too stiff for summer. He’s clutching a briefcase like it’s a lifeline. “Mr. and Mrs. Keegan?”
“That’s us,” I reply.
“My name is Kirk Creed. I’m sorry to interrupt the festivities, but do you have a moment to talk?” He lifts the briefcase and pats the leather. “This is all pretty straightforward. I just need a few signatures on a couple of documents to file.”
“What for?” Vanna asks.
“I’m an attorney…the…executor of an estate.”
My stomach sinks when I feel Vanna tense beside me. “W-whose estate?” she barely manages to whisper. We both already know.
Creed’s voice softens when he tells her, “Damien Kane’s, ma’am.”
His name still hits like a punch, despite the fact that I’ve been expecting something. “I didn’t realize the investigation turned up any DNA. We were told the remains of the bodies recovered were burned beyond identification.”
Legion’s lawyer clears his throat. “My client had… prior arrangements. A conditional delivery, triggered either upon confirmation of death, or after twenty-one days of no contact.”
A goddamn kill switch. Of course, Legion still had one. The demonic prick always played every angle.
“Do you have a few moments to go over the documents?” Creed asks, glancing nervously between us. “All I need you to sign today is a statement that you received them.”
I step aside, reluctant and eager to be done with it at the same time. “Yeah. Come in.”
We lead him over to the dining table before Vanna veers off to the kitchen cupboard. “Can I get you something to drink? Sweet tea?”
“Thank you, but no,” Creed says politely and lowers himself into a chair at the table.
Vanna rejoins me, and we sit across from him. She slips her hand into mine. “ Don’t hate me if I cry ,” she whispers shakily.
I squeeze her hand in silent reassurance that I won’t. I could never hate her, not even the little sliver of her that loved Legion.
Kirk Creed sets the briefcase on the table and pops the latches, lifting the lid with a composed breath. He removes the files, eyes scanning the documents like he’s double-checking every line before he speaks.
“To your son,” he begins, “Erik Ace Keegan… Mr. Damien Kane left a trust in the amount of seventy-five thousand dollars.”
Jesus fuck…
Vanna lets out a breath, sharp and fragile, and holds my hand a little tighter.
“Mr. Damien Kane’s instructions were specific,” Creed continues.
“Educational or entrepreneurial purposes only. Not to be accessed until age twenty-one unless otherwise approved by both parents, or guardians in the case of an emergency.” He sets those documents aside and picks up another file.
“To the Saviors Motorcycle Club, he left three million dollars in unrestricted funds, though he expressed a desire that the money be used toward long-term mission goals, security, and legacy infrastructure.”
I blink and run a hand over my stubbled jaw, unable to say a word. Vanna is just as stunned into silence.
“There’s more,” Creed says, flipping to another page. “He also left the deed to thirty acres of rural land off Highway 17 to the MC.”
“ The Demons’ Den ,” Vanna whispers.
The realization makes my heart lurch as I recall a rare, civil conversation we had about my derailed plans for the MC.
Creed nods. “Mr. Damien Kane suggested in his accompanying documents that it be considered for a future compound or a safehouse site. It seems the original structure burned down a few years ago, but there are still water lines and a septic system where the former structure stood.” He shifts in his seat and clears his throat.
“And to Mrs. Keegan…” he pauses to retrieve another document and places the folder on the table in front of her. “He left the deed to a property in Wilmington, a newly constructed Victorian-style house built to strict historical code, though it’s zoned strictly for commercial use.”
Her free hand quickly gravitates to her mouth, and the tears come, just like she warned me they would. “It was Legion…” she whispers. “He was the anonymous buyer Laura mentioned.” She flips the file open to reveal the documents and photos of the resurrected Ametrine Cauldron.
“He wrote that it was a gift and an apology,” Legion’s lawyer adds, reaching into the briefcase once more. This time, he pulls out a sealed envelope and slides it toward us. “There’s one more thing. He left this for your eyes only.”
The envelope is black with a wax seal stamped with a pentacle.