Chapter Fourteen
Ravage
King was jabbering on like a magpie about something I didn’t give two shits about as we walked out of his office.
All I cared about was seeing Karlyn. I needed to make sure she was okay, and being in this clubhouse wouldn’t make that easy.
Bad enough King had dropped the ‘we’re brothers’ bomb, but knowing how the women were in this club, I knew getting Karlyn away from them would be damn near impossible.
There was just something about the Silver Shadows’ old ladies that once they accepted you, I knew they would never let you go. Don’t get me wrong, I had mad respect for any old lady who had the balls to live this life and stand up for what they believed in, but Karlyn was different.
She wasn’t Silver Shadows.
She was Golden and, more importantly, she was mine.
Mine to love.
Mine to protect.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I blinked, realizing King had been talking the whole walk down the hallway.
His words washed over me, but none of it landed.
My mind spun with images of Karlyn—her small, stubborn chin, the way her fingers fidgeted when she was nervous, the softness in her eyes that she tried to hide behind a tough veneer.
I could feel the pulse of worry under my skin, making my steps faster as I headed for the rec room where I’d last seen her.
If anyone laid a finger on her, I’d tear this place apart.
It didn’t matter that I was under King’s roof, or that his rules supposedly kept the peace—I’d burn every bridge and every patch if it meant keeping her safe.
Looking around the large room, I saw Nav motion for me.
Frowning, I nodded quickly before turning to King and saying, “Fuck no. When you have something important to say, then I’ll listen.
” Then I walked away, ignoring his curses as I followed Nav down another hallway.
Entering another room, I spotted Eros and Indigo as the door closed behind me.
“Where’s Karlyn?”
“Brandy and Grace took her upstairs to shower and rest. Brandy said she’d stay with her until you got there,” Nav explained, walking around his desk and taking a seat.
“Why all the cloak-and-dagger shit? Did something happen?” I asked, looking around the room as Eros and Indigo both shrugged. When neither man uttered a word, I turned to Nav, who was typing on his computer before he turned the screen toward me.
“Do you recognize this man?”
Taking a good look at the old, weathered face staring back at me, I shook my head. “No. Should I?”
Nav sighed, leaning back in his chair. “His name is Zephyr. He’s the soon-to-be-dead fuck who killed my mother.
He’s also the stupid motherfucker who outed Firestride to the Brotherhood and informed the underworld who you were but, more importantly, he was the fucker who spied on Morpheus and facilitated your extraction from your birth mother. ”
Taking a seat, I groaned. “So King was right.”
“Yeah.” Nav nodded. “About everything.”
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know. When Morpheus learned Zephyr was responsible for everything, he locked him down in the icebox. From what Cerberus told me, the Brotherhood had been working him over good.”
“But?”
“But when the Death Dogs attacked the Brotherhood, they took Zephyr.”
“So let me guess.” I smirked. “Your old man wants me to track the fucker and kill him?”
“No.” Nav shook his head. “Morpheus wants that pleasure.”
“Then why tell him that shit?” Indigo asked.
Nav sighed. “Because I believe Zephyr knows about all of us.”
Indigo and Eros both stiffened as Eros asked, “What the fuck are you talking about, Nav?”
“Think about it,” our brother said, leaning forward. “He outed Firestride. The Brotherhood now knows that Joshua is the true bastard son of Kalden Baudelaire. The rightful president of the Brotherhood. The underworld now knows that Jackson is the son of Morpheus.”
“My bastard of a father was just a club brother. A nobody,” Indigo stated firmly. “Fucker died of colon cancer several years ago in a fucking hospital in Seattle, Washington.”
Nav took a deep breath, then said, “I don’t think he was your father.”
Indigo growled, taking a step forward.
Holding his hand up, Nav continued, “Hear me out before you kill me. We all have ties to the Brotherhood, right? And all of us were groomed with a very distinct, specific set of skills. Jackson is the best tracker around, I’m good with computers, Heath, you’ve been trained in hand-to-hand combat, Joshua is one of the best sharpshooters in the world, and Gage, you are hands down one of the best demo guys in the business.
And the Brotherhood uses us only when needed.
You, Jackson, Joshua and Gage are F.I.R.E. ”
“Get to the fucking point,” I growled, not liking where Nav was going with this.
“I can’t be positive, but my warning bells are pinging.
I think Zephyr knows more than he’s letting on, and that’s why the Death Dogs attacked both clubhouses.
Skinner hit the Silver Shadows’ clubhouse because he wanted to get his hands on Indie, Mimic’s woman.
But my guess, their primary target wasn’t just the Brotherhood.
They wanted Zephyr, and they got him. But Banshee told us they knew the Gods of Mayhem were here.
Skinner likely assumed Firestride wouldn’t make it out of the Tumbleweed, and he knew Eros was here. ”
“What does Cerberus say?” Eros quietly asked.
“I didn’t tell him. It’s only a hunch, but my hunches have never been wrong.”
“So what do you want us to do with this information?” I asked. “Because I can guarantee you that if I walk into the Brotherhood, Morpheus won’t let me leave.”
Shaking his head, Nav said, “There is only one person on the planet who can get us what we need. The problem is, if I tell him what I know, I’m a dead man. I can’t be the one to ask.”
I smirked. “So you want to throw me under the bus?”
Nav grinned as Eros and Indigo both chuckled.
“I fucking hate you all,” I groaned, rubbing my hands down my face. “Fine. Where is the little shit?”
“In Lincoln, Nebraska. He’s setting up the original clubhouse. It should be operational in a few weeks.”
“If I agree to do this, you are going with me.”
“Just as long as I’m not the one doing the asking.” Nav smiled happily.
Walking into my room, I spotted the club girl Brandy sitting on my bed when I heard the shower running.
“She just went in,” Brandy said, getting to her feet. “I’ll leave and give you two your privacy.”
“Thank you for staying with her.”
The club girl nodded before closing the door behind her.
Removing my cut, I laid it on a chair near the door and kicked off my boots before walking over to the bed and sitting down.
There was so much I wanted to say to Karlyn—no, I needed to say, to explain what was going on, but I didn’t know where to start.
The words felt like jagged rocks in my throat, each one a potential betrayal.
Contrary to everyone’s belief, while I did claim Karlyn as my woman, our relationship wasn’t typical.
My gut twisted just thinking about it.
Was this restraint a strength, or a profound weakness? Was I protecting her, or was I just a coward, afraid to shatter the fragile peace we’d built?
Yes, I’d kissed her, hugged her, and shared a bed with her, but that was it.
No sex. The thought made my skin crawl with a desperate, conflicting urge.
Dear God, I wanted her, with a raw, primal hunger that clawed at my insides, yet the image of her pain, the ghost of her suffering, held me captive.
My body screamed for what felt like a natural progression, a claiming that everyone expected, that I expected of myself.
But my mind recoiled, a guardian built of guilt and fear.
To take her now felt like a violation of the silent promise I’d made to her, to myself, to the memory of her near-death.
How could I, the one who swore to protect her from further harm, inflict even the slightest discomfort, the faintest echo of what she’d endured?
This abstinence, I told myself, was a testament to my love, my respect for her.
But a darker voice whispered that it was a selfish act, a way to preserve my own fragile sense of virtue, to avoid facing the true implications of my desire.
I knew about her past, what she suffered, endured at the hands of Steele.
I saw the stretch marks marring her stomach from when she carried Wrenly.
I had seen the cesarean scar from giving birth, but mainly I saw the bruises, the multitude of scrapes, cut marks, belt marks, whip marks that covered her body.
Each scar was a fresh wound to my conscience.
I witnessed the devastating aftermath of what those sick fucks did to her before they left her for dead.
And when I carried her lifeless body back to the Tennessee clubhouse, I couldn’t look my brother Ink in the eyes, knowing I had failed him, only to realize that somehow, by the grace of God, she’d survived.
The memory still burned, a brand on my soul.
I was supposed to be the shield, the protector.
My failure felt like a betrayal of everything I stood for, of the brotherhood, of the very oath I’d taken.
I remembered standing in shock when Bones, Stitch, and Jonah laid out all her injuries in great detail, unable to understand how she survived it all.
How could anyone? And then I sat by her side for almost a year, watching as time removed the evidence of her captivity, holding her hand as I waited for her to wake up.
The waiting was a slow, agonizing torment.
Every shallow breath she took, every flicker of her eyelids, brought a surge of desperate hope, followed by the crushing weight of fear.
To have her so close, yet so distant, was a different kind of torture.
And when she woke, and I looked into her beautiful blue eyes, I knew she was mine.
It was a day I would never forget. Or was it?
Was she truly mine to claim, or was I merely clinging to a phantom, a desperate hope born from my own inability to let her go?
My possessive thought warred with the memory of her vulnerability, of her need for freedom.
Could I be her salvation, or would my love become another nightmare, however distorted?
The choice gnawed at me, a constant, distracting unease.
To act was to risk everything; to not act was to condemn us both to a half-life.
Another explosion rocked the clubhouse as I glared at Digger, who smirked, shrugging his shoulders.
“Slaughter finished the three to the south. He’s moving east now,” Sypher informed.
“Well, I ain’t just gonna sit here and let him have all the fun,” Digger said, cocking his shotgun. “Let’s show these fuckers how us Tennessee boys like to play.”
Nodding, Whiskey opened the front doors as my cousins rushed out, firing at will.
I was just about to follow when I heard her soft, angelic voice.
“Where am I?”
The sound of her voice, soft and laced with confusion, cut through the roar of gunfire and explosions. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The shattered hallway, the stench of gunpowder, the panicked shouts of my brothers—it all faded as I turned to face her.
Karlyn.
Standing there, blinking in the dim light, her eyes wide and confused, was the anchor I’d been desperately searching for my entire life. With one look, she stripped me bare.
I was hers.
She was mine.
The year spent by her side, watching her heal, had been a testament to her strength, a quiet battle waged in the heart of our shared trauma.
Hers fighting for survival; mine trying to reconcile the fact I couldn’t get to her sooner.
The scars, both visible and hidden, were a part of her, a roadmap of her resilience, not a mark of weakness.
And in that moment, as she looked at me, I saw not the broken girl I’d carried back from the brink of death, but a woman who had found her way back to life, back to herself.
“Karlyn,” I breathed, the name a prayer, a plea.
The urgency of the battle outside warred with the overwhelming need to hold her, to pull her into the safety of my arms and shield her from the chaos. But trouble was at our doorstep, and it demanded my attention.
“Where am I?”
The second I took a step toward her, she flinched and retreated two steps. Taking a deep breath, I held up my hands and calmly said, “Karlyn, my name is Jackson Williams. I’m a brother in the Golden Skulls MC. Your brother Karl is my brother Ink. Baby, you’ve been asleep for a very long time.”
“Where is Karl?”
“In California, and after my brothers and I take care of a little pest control, I will happily take you to him, but right now, I need you somewhere safe.” My voice was rough, raspy, a stark contrast to the calm I tried to project.
The instinct to protect her, honed over countless nights of vigilance and whispered reassurances, surged through me.
Another explosion rocked the clubhouse, and I cringed, wanting to strangle Digger to death. Fucker was determined to blow up another clubhouse.
“What’s happening?” Her voice, laced with fear, was a physical blow.
The innocence of her question, her genuine bewilderment, tore at me.
She was the reason I fought, the reason I endured the relentless chase, the constant threat.
Her safety was my ultimate objective, the beacon that guided me through the darkness for months as I slowly and systematically hunted and killed members of the Satan’s Angels, vowing not to rest until I removed every threat to her.
“Please don’t ask me that, baby. I don’t want to lie to you.”
More gunshots rang out.
She stiffened as her eyes widened with terror. “It’s them. They’re here for me.”
Rushing over to her, I gathered her gently in my arms and whispered, “Never. They will have to kill me first, and trust me, baby. I’m not easy to kill.”
And I meant it.
Every damn word.