Chapter 25
North
The ride out is quiet in that way only bikers understand. No music. No talking. Just the deep, steady rumble of our engines eating the road, the night air whipping past, the smell of cold dirt and oil clinging to us.
We’re not going far. But we’re going far enough.
The clearing is already lit by the high beams from the brothers’ bikes, the light slicing through the dark. A fresh-dug pit yawns in the middle, the dirt piled high beside it.
And there’s Myka.
He’s on his knees, zip ties biting into his wrists, duct tape hanging loose from where Cutter ripped it off his mouth earlier. His face is a mess, purple, swollen, blood caked along his jaw. Still, he’s breathing. Barely.
Iron meets my eyes and tips his chin toward him. “He’s yours, Prez.”
I step forward, my boots crunching on gravel. Myka lifts his head and the stupid bastard smirks. “North,” he croaks, “you look like shit.”
I swing before I think, my fist cracks against his cheekbone. The satisfying thunk of knuckles on bone echoes. He hits the dirt, coughing, spitting blood.
Soul grins behind me, stepping in only to kick his face. “Guess we’re skipping the warm welcome.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Rook mutters, but there’s a grin in his voice too while he kicks him in the stomach.
I grab Myka by the back of his neck and haul him upright. His breath reeks of blood and fear. “She lived,” I tell him, my voice low enough that he has to strain to hear. “You won’t.”
He spits a red glob at my boots. “She’ll never be rid of me.”
I slam my forehead into his. His skull cracks against mine and pain lances down my neck, but I don’t stop. I drag him to the edge of the pit. The dirt smells raw, damp. Like it’s hungry.
“Face down,” I order.
He hesitates, so Rook steps forward, shoving him hard enough he stumbles in. Myka lands on his side, groaning. I toss the first shovel of dirt over him, the earth pattering against his back.
When Myka tries to push himself up, Cutter slams the flat of the shovel into his spine. “Stay down, motherfucker.”
The dirt rises. Myka’s curses grow muffled. Soon, the only sound left is our breathing and the scrape of shovels.
Soul takes the next one without a word. Then Rook. Then Iron. We work in silence, one shovel, then another, the pit filling slow but steady. My arms ache. My ribs burn. My jaw throbs. But every scoop feels like putting something back in order.
When the last mound is leveled, Iron tosses his shovel aside and looks at me. “We done here?”
I stare at the spot where he’s buried. My heartbeat slows, the rage curling in on itself. “Yeah,” I say. “We’re done.”
Iron eyes me up and down, then smirks. “You stink like roadkill, Prez. Get a shower before someone puts you outta your misery.”
“Fuck you, Iron.” I huff a laugh.
The engines roar to life as we tear out of the clearing, the night swallowing the pit behind us.
I’m not leaving her waiting any longer.
The ride back from the clearing is a blur of exhaust, dirt, and the pounding in my skull. My brothers peel off one by one, the rumble of their engines fading into the night. No questions. No words. They know what we just did stays between us and the dirt.
Iron’s voice from earlier echoes in my head and I swing by my place for a quick shower, scrubbing hard enough to take skin with the grime. When I step back out into the garage, Soul’s leaning against my bike like he owns it.
He’s holding something.
“Don’t tell me you went through her stuff,” I growl.
He smirks, the bastard. “Didn’t have to. I made it. Been working on it since the night she tore Myka apart with those knuckles. She’s family.”
I take it from him, rough leather warm in my hands. The back patch—Saints' MC—feels heavier than any weapon I’ve carried.
“She is,” I say, voice low, final. “She’s my ol’ lady. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.”
Soul’s grin widens. “She’s gonna set you on fire when she finds out.”
“She already does.”
Iron’s voice cuts in from behind me. “About time you grew a pair, Prez.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I shoot back, but there’s no heat in it. My brothers laugh, the sound sharp and full of the kind of loyalty you can’t buy or fake.
I tuck the cut under my arm, swing my leg over my bike, and gun the engine.
By the time I pull into the hospital lot, it’s pitch black. My body aches like I’ve been run over twice but it doesn’t matter. There’s only one thing I need to see. Her.
The sliding doors hiss open, flooding me with too-bright light. Nurses glance up, I ignore them. My boots thud against the tile, echoing in the sterile quiet of the night.
Her floor is still, the air too clean, too cold. I pass a few rooms without looking in, because I know if I see anyone else on a bed, I’ll think of her.
When I reach her door, I stop.
It’s cracked open just enough for me to catch the steady beep of a heart monitor.
I push it open.
There she is.
The monitor’s beeping keeps time with the pounding in my chest, proof that she’s still here. Yesterday they took out the oxygen tube saying she’s breathing normally.
I drag the chair closer and drop into it, elbows on my knees, my head hanging. “You stubborn, reckless little shit,” I rasp. “I should be pissed. Should tell you that you’re never pulling that crap again. But your words… they’re stuck in my head, and I can’t get them out.”
My hand finds hers. She’s warm. Alive. My thumb brushes over her knuckles, careful of the bandages.
“I love you, Firefly.” I lay my head on the edge of the bed, and before I can stop it, a tear slips free. I don’t know how long I stay like that. Time stops meaning anything.
Then the soft pressure happens.
Her fingers closes around mine.
My head snaps up. Her eyes are half-open, glassy but aware, a weak, lopsided smile tugging at her mouth.
“Don’t…” My voice cracks, and I don’t care. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Her lips part. “You… you’re…worth dying for.”
I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in like I’ve been drowning. “Then I guess we’re both fucked,” I whisper. “’Cause you’re worth living for.”
The doctor and nurses rush in and since they need to check her up I’ve been asked to leave.
Like I never saw that beauty all naked already.
I could map every inch of her body. I’ve been pacing like a caged animal for what seems hours, the leather folded over my arm.
My brothers think I’m waiting for the right moment. Truth is, I’m trying not to fuck it up.
Iron’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like he knows exactly what’s about to happen. Soul’s beside him, smirking, and Colt’s got a fifty tucked between his fingers.
“She’s gonna throw that cut right back at him,” Soul mutters.
Iron shakes his head. “Nah. She’s gonna cry first, then throw something.”
“Fifty says she keeps it.”
“Deal.” Tornado nods.
I push the door open after the doctor leaves before I say something that costs me money.
She’s sitting up, the thin blanket pulled over her lap. Her hair’s messy, bandages stark against her skin, but her eyes are locked on me like she’s already bracing for whatever trouble I’m about to bring.
“You gonna wear a hole in the floor?” she asks, voice still scratchy but carrying that bite I know too well.
“Maybe,” I step inside. “Or maybe I’m just waiting for you to stop glaring at me like you’re gonna shake me down for answers.”
Her lips twitch, almost a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah. But so are you.”
I drop the cut onto her lap. The leather lands with a heavy thud, the scent of it rising between us. She frowns, fingertips brushing over the patch like it’s a trap.
“What is this?”
“It’s yours,” I tell her. “Means you’re family. Means no one breathes in your direction without knowing they’ll answer to me. Means you’re my ol’ lady.”
Her eyes widen. “Your what?”
I take a step closer, slow, crowding her space until there’s nowhere for her to look but up at me.
“Ol’ lady. My woman. Mine. And you didn’t become that in the warehouse, you’ve been that since the moment you trusted me enough to walk away from your nightmare.
Don’t bother arguing. I don’t change my mind. ”
Her fingers curl into the leather. “North…”
“Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. Just wear it.”
I lift it from her lap, sliding it over her shoulders. The weight of it seems to sink into her bones, grounding her. It’s a little loose, she’s still too thin, but it looks right. Feels right.
Her hand drifts up to touch the patch, like she’s making sure it’s real. “You didn’t ask me,” she says softly.
“Didn’t have to.”
I kiss her before she can say anything else, slow, deep, a claim and a promise in one. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers. “You belong to me, Firefly. And I sure as hell belong to you.”
There’s a muffled noise outside the door. Soul’s voice. “Shit, she’s keeping it.”
“Told you.” Iron grins.
Rook chuckles, “Hand over the fifty.”
I smirk and glance toward the hall. “You hear that? Even my brothers know it’s a done deal.”
She narrows her eyes, but I see it, the way her mouth wants to curve into a smile. “You’re insufferable.”
“Maybe. But I’m yours. And now you’re wearing the proof.”