Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Jersey
A few days have passed since our sexathon when the kids went fishing with Icer, and I’ve been deliciously sore ever since.
Every movement I make in this garden is a slow, pulsing reminder of the way Slayer claimed me, a physical echo of the passion that finally shattered the last of my walls.
The creature comforts of tending to my small plot of land feels different now, grounded by the heavy weight of the promise we made to one another in the quiet of the night.
Twigs breaking in the background let me know somebody is coming up from behind me as I remove the weeds from my small garden.
I don’t immediately jump or look for a hiding spot, a testament to the safety I’ve finally found within these gates surrounding the Kings’ compound.
I glance up and notice Icer and Letti, hands entwined, come strolling up to me.
Seeing them together, the club’s most lethal enforcer and the woman who became his light, is a visual confirmation that even in the middle of anarchy, love can take root and thrive.
Letti offers a warm, knowing smile that reaches her eyes, while Icer maintains his usual stone-faced vigil, though the way he holds her hand suggests a tenderness he reserves only for her.
I wipe my dirt-stained hands on my jeans and stand up, my muscles protesting the stretch.
The conversation Icer mentioned days ago, the one Letti reportedly prompted, feels like it’s finally about to happen, and for the first time, I’m not terrified of the silence between us.
I watch in amusement as Letti elbows Icer, causing him to narrow his eyes and grunt.
It’s a familiar dance between them, the soft-hearted female warrior and her frozen mountain of a man.
Letti’s influence on him is unmistakable—she’s the only person on this compound who can make the club’s most lethal enforcer check his temper and mind his tongue.
“Fine,” he mumbles, his voice gruff. “Letti says you’ve got shit to say, so say it.”
“Viking,” Letti hisses, her eyes flashing with a warning that even he doesn’t dare ignore.
She snaps, “Manners.” Icer looks skyward, his jaw working as if he’s fighting the urge to retreat into his usual wall of silence, and I see his lips move as he visibly counts to ten.
It’s a grounding technique she must have taught him, a way to navigate a world that doesn’t involve his fists.
Finally, his beady, intense eyes latch onto mine, unblinking and expectant.
“I do need to talk to you,” I announce, clearing my throat to find the voice I’ve been practicing in the quiet of the trailer.
This conversation has been months in the making, a bridge I need to build between the girl I was, the one who saw him as a silent guardian in the dark, and the woman I am now.
I take a step forward, leaving the safety of the garden rows behind.
I need him to understand that his presence back then wasn’t a nuisance, it was a lifeline, and I need to clear the air so we can finally exist in the same space without the weight of the past pressing down on us.
His free hand moves across his chest, planting it there as he grunts, “I’m listening.”
I pull in a shallow, shaky breath, the scent of fresh soil and summer humidity filling my lungs as I prepare to dismantle the final barrier between us.
Letti squeezes his hand, her presence a silent encouragement for him to stay present and for me to be brave.
“When I was a kid,” I begin, my voice sounding more certain than I feel, “your silence was the only thing that made sense in a house full of loud, dangerous lies. You didn’t have to say a word to make me feel like I wasn’t invisible.
I need you to know that I’m not that scared little girl anymore, and I don’t want to be the reason you look away. ”
Icer leans forward, his eyes narrowing into shallow slits before he grinds out, “Explain more. Why were you my shadow, why couldn’t I walk down the hall without you being on my heels?
Why were you always looking around the corner with scared eyes?
What you said is a start, but it’s not good enough. ”
I flinch at the harsh edge in his voice, the raw demand for a truth I’ve spent years trying to keep behind locked doors.
Beside him, Letti’s hand tightens on his, a silent reminder for him to listen and not judge.
I look at my hands, still stained with the dark earth of the garden, and find a reservoir of strength I didn’t know I possessed.
I’m no longer the child navigating the predatory shadows of my parents’ estate, I’m a woman who has found a home among the Kings.
“I followed you because you were the only thing that felt real,” I whisper, the admission feeling like a heavy stone dropping into a dark well.
“In a house full of people who used words to lie and manipulate, your silence was a shield. You didn’t need to speak to tell me you weren’t like them.
I watched you from the corners because I was waiting for the mask to slip, for the predator to show his teeth, but you never did.
You just existed, solid and unyielding, and that made me feel safe in a way my own parents never could. ”
Icer’s jaw works as he absorbs my words, the flinty glint in his eyes softening just a fraction.
He looks at me, not as the nuisance who used to haunt his steps, but as a survivor who recognized a kindred spirit in the darkness.
The silence between us is no longer a barrier, but a bridge, built on the abuse of our shared histories.
“You were just a kid,” he finally mumbles, the gravelly rasp of his voice carrying a weight of regret that humbles me.
He looks away, focusing on the distant line of trees where the sun is beginning to bake the landscape.
“I didn’t know. I thought you were just another one of their spoiled brats, looking for a way to make fun of the hired help. ”
“I was never one of them,” I state, my voice firm. “I was the ghost they tried to forget, and you were the only one who didn’t look through me. I don’t want to be a shadow anymore, Icer. I want to be a King, just like you.”
He turns back to me, the ice in his gaze completely melted, replaced by a raw, unyielding respect.
“You are a King,” he acknowledges, the title feeling like a sacred brand being seared onto my soul.
“You’re a sister now, Jersey. My mom scrubbed your mom’s floors, she did y’all’s laundry, she worked her fingers to the bone for a family that talked down to her and berated her, I thought you were keeping an eye on me at school to report back to your folks so they could find a way to take an abused woman and destroy her more than her husband did. ”
The revelation of his perspective shatters the last of my assumptions.
We had both been trapped in a house, enduring different brands of the same hell, watching each other through a lens of filtered suspicion.
Letti reaches out, her hand finding mine and squeezing it, her eyes wet with tears for the children we used to be.
In this small garden, with the Texas heat pressing in, the distance between two scared kids finally vanishes, replaced by the iron-clad bond of the patch we both now serve, just in different ways.
“You made my life bearable in school, Icer. You were so strong, nothing hurt you. I admired that, wanted to be like that, and used you to make me feel that way. You were the only steady thing I had outside of Charles and his in-home teacher, Yolanda. While my parents were busy parading me around like a prize or ignoring me completely, I’d watch you from a distance and try to mimic that steel you carried in your spine.
It was a survival tactic, a way to build my own fortress in a world that felt like it was constantly shifting beneath my feet. ”
Icer’s expression doesn’t crumble, but the hardness in his gaze fractures, replaced by a raw, somber recognition of the shared history we both tried to bury.
He stands there, a guardian who once felt like an unreachable titan, and for the first time, the silence between us isn’t a wall—it’s a sanctuary.
Letti’s hand remains in his, her presence the catalyst that finally allows this bridge to be built over the ruins of our childhoods.
We aren’t just the help and the trophy anymore, we’re survivors standing in the light of the Kings, finally clearing the air of the shadows that followed us from the town that broke us both in one way or another.
“I didn’t realize I was your safety net, Jersey,” he finally rumbles, the depth of his voice carrying a weight of unexpected humility.
“I was too busy trying to keep my own head above water and keep my mother safe from my family and yours. They were tyrants to me and my mom. If I’d known you were looking to me for a shield, I would’ve stood a little taller.
” The admission is a groundbreaking shift in our dynamic—a final dismantling of the suspicion that kept us apart for years.
I realize that Icer is the only other person who truly understands the language of my isolation.
“You were more than that, you were somebody I looked up to, admired, found silent strength in when it felt like the bottom of my world was ready to open up and swallow me whole,” I admit, my voice catching on the weight of the memory.
I look him in the eye, wanting him to see the truth of it.
“When the men my parents brought home got too close, or when the house felt too large and empty, I’d find where you were working.
I didn’t need you to say anything, I just needed to know that someone like you, someone unbreakable, was there.
You were the only proof I had that a person could walk through that much filth and still come out with their soul intact. ”
Icer’s jaw works as he processes the depth of my reliance on him, a responsibility he never asked for but carried, nonetheless.
“You’re safe here, Jersey. Not just because of Slayer or the club, but because you’re one of us.
You don’t have to look around corners anymore.
If those people ever come looking for you, they’ll find me standing in the way again, only this time, I’ll know why I’m doing it.
” The promise in his voice is solid, and I feel the last of the old fear finally begin to dissolve.
The heavy atmosphere of our shared confession is suddenly broken when Letti begins giggling, her bright laughter cutting through the tension. She leans into Icer’s side before stating, “He thought you were a patch chaser.”
“He thought I was a what?” I probe, her unexpected admittance stealing the very breath from my lungs.
The absurdity of the term, applied to the girl who spent her life trying to be invisible, is almost too much to process.
I glance up at Icer with accusation, searching for a denial, and as our eyes meet, he simply shrugs, his silent confirmation speaking volumes about the barriers we’ve finally managed to tear down.
“The shoe fit,” he mumbles, the rumbly rasp of his voice carrying a hint of sheepishness that I never expected to hear from him. He shifts his weight, his large hands finding a resting place on his belt, but he doesn’t look away this time.
“It most certainly did not,” I harrumph, planting my fist on my hips as I find a well of righteous indignation.
I think of the terrified child following him through the corridors of not only my parents' house but the halls of the school, just looking for a shred of reality in a world of deceit. “That shoe was far too big for my feet. I wasn’t chasing a patch, Icer, I was chasing the only person who looked like they knew how to survive with his head held high.”
“I see that now,” he conveys. “Didn’t then because I was too busy trying to avoid anything and anyone outside of my own survival. I thought every person in that house was a predator, Jersey. I didn't realize one of them was a victim looking for protection.”
The weight of his admission settles over me like a thick blanket. I look at the man who has spent his life as the Kings’ most lethal weapon and realize we were just two different brands of broken. “Did the men hurt you too?” I ask, my voice whisper-light, almost afraid of the answer.
“No, never gave them the chance,” he grunts, his jaw tightening. “I avoided the partying and stuck to doing the chores my mom gave me. I stayed in the dirt and the grease, where the gentlemen your parents invited over wouldn’t bother looking for a target.”
“He was too busy navigating his own brand of hell at home to pay attention to yours,” Letti states, looking up at Icer with a fierce, insulative love.
She looks between the two of us, her eyes wet with the shared history of survivors, herself included.
“You guys were like two ships passing in the night. You were both there, but neither one of you saw the other.”
I tentatively offer my hand, the gesture an archway over decades of misunderstanding, and ask, “Friends?”
He pauses, his unyielding gaze searching mine before his massive palm finally swallows my hand in a grip that vibrates with a newfound respect. “Friends.”