Chapter 3
THREE
ROOK
I fucking hate parties. I hate crowds, small talk, and standing around pretending to enjoy myself while people get drunk and tell the same stories they've been telling for years. Which is exactly why I'm three hours late. The only reason I showed up at all is because Piston asked me to.
Actually, asked isn't the right word. Piston doesn't really ask for anything. He just gives you a look, and somehow you find yourself doing whatever it is he wanted in the first place.
The clubhouse comes into view as I pull into the lot. Bikes line the gravel, and music spills through the walls. Even from outside I can hear people laughing and carrying on. I kill the engine and sit there for a second, staring at the building. The older I get, the more I appreciate silence.
Eventually, I climb off of my bike and head inside.
The second I step through the door, the noise hits me from every direction.
Music blares through the speakers, people talk over each other, and pool balls crack somewhere in the back.
The smell of beer, food, and too many bodies packed into one room hangs in the air.
My eyes automatically sweep the room as I walk through the clubhouse. It's a habit that's been drilled into me for years. Know who's here, identify the exits, and figure out where trouble might come from if things go sideways.
Most of the faces are familiar. Brothers.
Family. Men I've known for years. A few prospects linger near the bar while some of the older members are gathered around tables talking.
My gaze keeps moving until it lands on Piston standing with Pres, Dagger, my VP, and a couple of the senior members near the back of the room.
I head straight for them, hoping to reach them before somebody stops me.
The last thing I want is to spend the next twenty minutes making small talk or explaining where the hell I've been.
Piston notices me first and a grin spreads across his face as he pushes away from the table and starts toward me. "Well look what the cat dragged in."
I snort and grab his forearm when he reaches me. He pulls me into one of those half-handshake, half-hugs before stepping back. "You're late," he says.
"I know."
"You missed dinner?"
"Did it on purpose."
Pres barks out a laugh from behind him and shakes his head. "Some things never change."
Piston gestures toward the buffet table set up along the wall. "Food's still there if you're hungry."
"I'm good." It's a lie, I'm starving. But if I head toward that food, I'll get stopped every five feet by somebody wanting to catch up, ask questions, or tell me some story I don't care about. I'd rather go hungry.
Judging by the look on Piston's face, he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "Still antisocial as shit," he says with a laugh.
I shrug. "It works for me."
Dagger laughs into his beer while Pres shakes his head and points a finger at me.
"I don't know why we keep you around."
"Because I'm pretty."
That earns another round of laughter.
Even Piston rolls his eyes.
"Pretty isn't the word I'd use."
"Jealousy isn't a good look on you, old man."
Piston flips me off while Dagger nearly chokes on his beer and Pres starts laughing all over again.
The sound blends into the noise of the clubhouse.
This right here is why I showed up. Not for the party, the food, or the celebration.
I came because of these men. They're the closest thing I've ever had to family, and somewhere along the way they became brothers, fathers, mentors, and friends all rolled into one.
No matter how much I hate crowds, there are a handful of people I'd always show up for, and every one of them is standing around this table.
The conversation shifts, and I mostly listen while keeping one eye on the room. Then I spot her, Scarlett Blackstone. I haven't seen her in years. She's different now. Older. More polished. Like she belongs in one of those country club magazines instead of sitting at the Iron Reapers bar.
Her dark hair falls over one shoulder as she laughs at something Tiny says, and the girls immediately lose their minds. She throws her head back laughing, and for a second it's easy to see why everyone is so damn happy she's home.
Then I remember who I'm looking at. The biker princess who couldn't wait to get the hell out of here.
Maybe that's harsh, but it's how I've always seen it.
She spent years surrounded by people who loved her, people who would've done anything for her, and the first chance she got, she left.
Maybe there was more to it than that. Maybe there wasn't. Either way, it doesn't change the fact that she walked away and never looked back, until she had to.
The girl grew up surrounded by people who would've walked through fire for her. Piston and Jenny practically worship her. Wyatt and Weston adored her. The club would've handed her the moon if she'd asked for it.
And she left anyway. Hell, if you ask me, she was gone long before she physically left town.
By her senior year, everything revolved around Ethan Hayes.
Conversations always seemed to circle back to him, and every plan or decision was based on what he wanted or where he was going next.
Then he got drafted, and she followed him right out the door without so much as a backward glance.
What really gets me is that nobody seems to care.
The second Scarlett walked through those clubhouse doors, everybody welcomed her back like she'd never left.
There wasn't any anger, resentment, or hard feelings.
Just hugs, smiles, and people telling her how happy they were that she was home.
Watching it makes me feel like I'm the only one who remembers what those eight years actually looked like.
Maybe they're better people than I am. Because I remember Piston talking about how much he missed his daughter, and I remember Jenny pretending she wasn't disappointed every time Scarlett skipped another holiday or family gathering.
I remember the empty chair at the table and the excuses everyone made for her.
Most of all, I remember all the years she chose somebody else over the people who would've done anything for her.
Maybe that's why I've never understood how someone can have that much love in their life and still walk away from it.
Most people would kill for what she had. I know I would've. At seventeen I would've traded damn near anything for a family like hers. Instead, I got an abusive, alcoholic father and a junkie mother.
Scarlett had it all she threw it all away to play baseball girlfriend. That doesn't earn a lot of respect from me. And now she's back.
Good for Piston. Honestly. The old man deserves this. He loves his daughter more than anything, and seeing him smile again is worth sitting through a party I don't want to attend. But that's where my investment in this ends. I'm here for him. Not her.
"What are you glaring at?" Dagger asks as he steps up beside me.
I glance over before looking back toward the bar where Scarlett and the youngbloods are huddled around laughing.
Dagger follows my gaze and immediately shakes his head. "Good."
"What?" I ask, my head snapping up.
"That she's laughing."
I don't say anything. Dagger takes a drink from his beer before leaning against the table. "Jenny told Chloe she barely came out of her room the first couple days."
My eyes drift back toward the bar. Hard to imagine now. The whole damn group is laughing so loud half the clubhouse can hear them.
"Ethan really did a number on her." Dagger's expression darkens. "If that boy was standing in front of me right now, we'd be having a different conversation."
I snort. "I'm sure you would."
"No. I'm serious." He points toward Scarlett. "That girl grew up in this clubhouse. She's practically my niece."
There's real anger in his voice now. Not club business anger. Dad anger. The kind Steele gets from him. The kind that comes from watching somebody hurt one of your own. Dagger shakes his head. "Never liked that baseball player."
"You ever meet him?" I ask.
"Twice." He says, holding up two of his fingers.
"And?"
"Thought he was a smug little prick both times." That gets a laugh out of me. Dagger grins.
Before I can say anything, Revolver waves us over. Pres is standing with Piston near one of the back tables, both of them looking serious. That immediately gets my attention. Club business doesn't stop because there's a party happening.
Dagger and I make our way over.
"What's up?" I ask.
Pres folds his arms across his chest. "We got word this afternoon."
My jaw tightens. "About?"
"The run tomorrow." The room suddenly feels a little less relaxed.
The run tomorrow wasn't supposed to be anything special.
Just a transport run through territory near the state line.
Dagger's easygoing expression disappears as soon as the conversation turns to club business. "The prospect confirm it?" he asks.
Pres nods once. "An hour ago."
"Shit." That gets my attention.
Piston folds his arms across his chest. "How many?"
"Nobody knows for sure," Mason says. "But they're sniffing around the route."
The room suddenly feels a little smaller.
The run tomorrow wasn't supposed to be complicated. Pick up the shipment, bring it back, and call it a day.
Dagger rubs his jaw. "I knew those bastards were getting too comfortable."
For the last few months, the Southside Kings had been pushing boundaries. Nothing major. Nothing worth starting a war over. Just enough bullshit to make everybody pay attention.
We'd already had issues with the Southside Kings a few months back when one of their members, a piece of shit from Tessa's past, rolled into town and took her.
We got her back and handled the situation before it turned into something bigger.
At the time, we figured it was isolated.
A handful of members causing problems without the club's blessing.
Nothing that justified starting a war over.
But listening to Pres and Dagger talk now, I'm starting to wonder if we were wrong.
Maybe getting Tessa back didn't end things.
Maybe all it did was put the Iron Reapers on the Southside Kings' radar.
Pres's gaze settles on me. "I need you on this run."
Dagger doesn't even look surprised, neither does Piston. That alone tells me everything I need to know. Nobody asks for me when things are easy. They call me when they expect problems. When they need somebody to keep a situation from turning into a disaster. Or finish it if it already has.
"You got me."
"Good," Pres says.
"If the Southside Kings decide to test us, I want Rook there."
The table goes quiet. Because everybody knows exactly what that means.
Pres immediately agrees. "That was the plan."
Piston lets out a curse under his breath. "That's exactly why I should be there."
"No," Pres says.
Piston's eyes narrow. "No?"
"You've got your daughter back after eight damn years."
"And?"
"And I'd like you alive to enjoy it."
Dagger points his beer bottle toward him. "For once, he's right."
Piston shoots him a look. "Don't start."
"I'm serious." Dagger sets the bottle down on the table. "You missed enough with Scarlett already. Let us handle this one."
Pres sighs. "Dagger's right."
A grin tugs at his mouth. "Careful. Say that too many times and people will think you're getting soft on us, Mase."
Pres glares down at Dagger. "Keep talking and I'll replace you."
"With who?" Dagger laughs. "Nobody else wants the job."
Despite himself, Piston snorts. The tension eases a little, not much, but just enough.
Pres looks back at me. "Seven o'clock. Full tanks. Weapons checked. I want everybody ready for trouble."
"I'll be here."
The conversation shifts into planning after that. Routes. Stops. Backup plans. Who rides point, who rides sweep, and where we regroup if things go sideways. Standard club business. The kind of conversation I've had a thousand times. The kind that usually means tomorrow is going to suck.