Chapter 5
FIVE
ROOK
The first text came through the club group chat a couple of hours ago while I was helping Knox move inventory into one of the storage buildings behind the clubhouse.
Piston: Bike behind us. Black touring Harley.
At first, nobody thinks much of it because people ride these roads every day, and ending up behind the same vehicle for a few miles isn't exactly unusual around Jackson. Then another message pops up in the group chat.
Piston: Pulled into diner. He left, but came back and parked. He’s in the diner.
By the time the next message comes through, Pres is already outside the clubhouse. Steele and Jax join him on the porch while Wyatt and Weston wander over from the garage. Knox and I follow a minute later, and before long most of the officers are standing around waiting for more information.
Piston Blackstone doesn't get rattled easily.
The man runs Blackstone Security, handles club business that would make most men sweat, and has spent decades dealing with problems before they become disasters.
If he's taking the time to update us from the road, something about the situation isn't sitting right with him.
The familiar sound of motorcycles finally echoes across the property, drawing everyone's attention toward the entrance. Two bikes come into view a few seconds later, and the second I recognize Scarlett riding behind her father, a knot forms low in my stomach.
Neither of them heads toward the Blackstone house. Instead, they come straight to the compound. That tells me everything I need to know. Something happened.
Piston leads them into the parking lot and kills his engine.
Scarlett follows suit before pulling off her helmet.
Wind has worked half her braid loose during the ride, leaving dark strands of hair framing her face.
Her fitted jeans hug long legs, and the biker boots she's wearing crunch against the gravel as she climbs off the bike.
Scarlett spots the group gathered outside the clubhouse and immediately narrows her eyes. "Seriously?"
Nobody answers, mostly because we're all looking at Piston.
He removes his helmet, scrubs a hand through his beard, and walks toward Pres.
"What happened?" Pres asks.
Piston hooks his helmet onto the handlebars of his Harley and exhales.
"The same rider followed us on our ride out of town.
When we stopped at the diner, he drove past, then circled back and came into the diner about ten minutes later.
When we left I spotted him again about twenty minutes into our ride back to town. "
"Your sure it’s the same guy?" Pres asks.
"Yeah."
"What happened at the diner?" Dagger asks.
Piston folds his arms across his chest. “Nothing. He came in and sat down. He didn’t make it obvious. Just ordered food and was still there when we left.”
“What did he look like?” Riot asks him.
“Late forties, early fifties maybe. Short brown hair with some grey in it. I have no idea who he was, but there was something about the guy that seemed familiar.”
"Familiar how?" Pres asks.
"Couldn't tell you."
Piston has spent most of his life around bikers, security personnel, law enforcement, and military veterans. If someone looks familiar and he can't place them, it means their paths crossed somewhere before. The question is where.
"Hold on." Scarlett plants her hands on her hips. "Hold on a goddamn minute. You knew some asshole was following us before we even stopped for lunch and you didn't tell me?"
Piston immediately gives her a sharp look, but says nothing.
"You should've said something," She snaps.
The argument explodes before anybody can stop it.
"What would've you done?" Piston demands.
Scarlett throws her hands into the air. "I don't know."
"Exactly." His voice cracks across the parking lot. "There was nothing for you to do."
"Nothing for me to do?" she repeats.
"No." His answer comes instantly. "If I told you, you would've marched your ass over there and confronted him."
She shrugs. "Maybe."
"You absolutely would've."
Scarlett points toward the highway. “Well, at least we would've learned something."
Piston's temper finally snaps. "What would've we learned?" The force of his voice silences everybody. "You walk up to some stranger in a parking lot and then what happens?"
Scarlett opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
Piston keeps going. "Best case scenario, he lies." His finger points toward the road. "Worst case scenario, he's dangerous. Maybe he pulls a gun, maybe he runs you off the road, either way you end up hurt."
"I can take care of myself."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
The answer comes immediately. "I was trying to keep you safe."
Some of the fight leaves Scarlett's eyes. "You still should've told me."
"Jesus Christ, baby girl." The anger disappears from Piston's voice, replaced by something that makes my chest tighten. "I was trying to protect you."
Silence settles over the group. Nobody interrupts because every man standing here understands exactly what he's saying. Piston Blackstone would gladly put himself in danger if it meant keeping his daughter out of it.
Scarlett sees it too and her shoulders drop. "Daddy..."
Before she can say anything else, Piston reaches out and pulls her into his arms. The hug is fierce. Protective. The kind only fathers get away with. "It's my job to protect you."
Scarlett wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him back. "I know, but finding out in the middle of our ride that something was wrong and not knowing what freaked me out more."
His hand slides over the back of her head. "I know, baby girl. I was kind of hoping you didn’t realize anything was wrong, but I guess I taught you better than that."
For a few seconds, nobody says anything. The moment feels private despite the fact that we're all standing here watching it happen.
My gaze drifts toward the road beyond the compound as a bad feeling settles deeper in my gut. This isn’t over.
"I need a drink." Scarlett doesn't wait for a response. She turns and heads toward the clubhouse while the rest of us watch her go. Honestly, I don't blame her. Finding out somebody spent half the day following them around tends to ruin a person's mood.
The group slowly breaks apart and follows her inside. Conversation starts up again as everyone processes what just happened, but there's an edge beneath it now. Nobody is laughing as easily. Nobody is completely relaxed.
The clubhouse doors swing open, and familiar sounds immediately spill over us. Music plays from the speakers while a game flashes across one of the televisions mounted on the wall. The place is busy enough to feel normal. Everyone gravitates toward Perdition.
The bar has always been the heart of the clubhouse.
Good news gets celebrated here. Bad news gets discussed here.
Most problems start or end sitting on one of these stools.
Today feels like the latter. I move behind the bar automatically while everyone grabs seats.
Beer bottles come out of the cooler. Caps hit the trash can.
A few guys settle into booths while others spread out around the room.
Scarlett disappears toward the women's bathroom before I can hand her anything. Probably a good thing. She looks like she's still deciding whether she wants to punch somebody.
By the time she comes back out, the room has changed. Mason and Dagger have disappeared into his office with Piston, Riot, and Tank.
Jax and Knox drift toward one of the pool tables. Steele disappears outside to make a phone call. Wyatt and Weston grab a booth near the far wall. Nobody says anything. Everybody understands. The real conversation is happening behind that door.
I'm still standing behind the bar when Scarlett walks back into the room. Her eyes immediately sweep the clubhouse. Searching. The moment she notices who's missing, I know exactly what she's about to ask.
"Pres pulled him into his office to talk."
A small sigh leaves her. "Thanks."
Reaching into the cooler, I grab a beer and set it in front of her. She twists the cap off and takes a long drink. The stool creaks softly as she settles onto it. "This is ridiculous."
I lean against the back counter. "What part?"
Her eyes narrow. "All of it. I come home after my life explodes and suddenly some random creep is following us around."
Scarlett takes another drink and keeps her eyes fixed on Pres’s office door. The irritation rolling off her hasn't faded since the parking lot. If anything, it's gotten worse.
Honestly, I'm getting tired of it. I understand being pissed that somebody followed them. What I don't understand is why she's acting like Piston committed some great betrayal by trying to keep her safe. "Take it easy on your dad."
“Excuse me?”
“I said take it easy on your dad. You getting all pissy because he didn’t tell you what was going on isn’t going to help anything.”
“So you think him lying to me all afternoon was okay?” She asks.
“I think him assessing the situation and deciding on a course of action that led to you and him coming back safe was the right thing to do.
“I can’t believe this,” she mutters, sliding off the stool. She takes one last drink of her beer then turns to leave.
“So the little princess can’t handle the truth so she runs away. You do that a lot now don’t you.”
She turns around and marches straight for me. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t know me and you have no right commenting on my life”
“Oh, I think I know enough. Tell me, are you more pissed that your boyfriend stuck his dick into someone else’s pussy or that you found out about it and that meant your free ride was over?”
“Oh shit,” someone says from across the bar.
“Fuck you!” She hisses. “What is your problem with me?”
I let out a low, bitter laugh and drag a hand down my face, trying to keep my shit together.
“My problem?” I step closer. “My problem is you didn't come back here because you missed your family.
You came back because Ethan didn't want you anymore... Newsflash princess, that shit happens every day. Deal with it and move the fuck on.”
For a second her face goes pale, then flushes deep red with fury. “Move the fuck on?” she repeats, voice shaking with rage. “You arrogant prick. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I keep going, even though part of me hates the words coming out of my mouth.
“I know enough. You spent years playing house with some rich asshole who treated you like a trophy, and the second he got his dick wet somewhere else, you ran straight back to Daddy and the club. Now you’re pissed at the world because we’re not tiptoeing around your broken little heart. ”
She shoves me hard in the chest with both hands.
This time I rock back a step, but only because I let her.
“You think that’s what this is about?” Her voice rises, drawing more eyes from around the bar.
“You think I’m crying over Ethan because he cheated?
Fuck him. He can rot in hell. I’m pissed because my dad, the one man who’s supposed to be honest with me, looked me in the eye all afternoon and lied.
And now you, some asshole who barely spoke to me for years, thinks he can stand here and lecture me about how I should just suck it up? ”
I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to pull her against me and shut her up the wrong way. “I’m not lecturing you. I’m telling you to stop acting like a spoiled brat.”
“God, I hate you right now,” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I lean in closer, voice dropping to a rough growl only she can hear. “Good. Hate me all you want.”
Before she can fire back, the office door opens. Piston steps out, his sharp gaze landing on the two of us like a goddamn spotlight. “What the hell is going on out here?”
Scarlett spins toward him, still fuming. “Ask your attack dog.”
I don’t back down, crossing my arms over my chest as I meet Pres’s stare head-on. “She was ripping into you about keeping her in the dark earlier. Figured someone should say what everyone else is thinking. She’s acting like the whole club owes her an apology for trying to keep her safe.”
Piston rubs a hand over his beard, looking tired as hell. “Scarlett—”
“No,” she cuts him off, voice sharp. “Don’t ‘Scarlett’ me, Dad. You lied to me all afternoon. Then this asshole jumps in like he’s got some right to lecture me about my life. Who the hell does he think he is?”
I scoff. “I’m the guy who’s known you since you were a nosy nine-year-old who wouldn’t leave me alone.
I was already back from the Army when you took off chasing that fancy life with your ballplayer.
I watched you distance yourself from the club, from your dad, from everything here.
And now you roll back in expecting everyone to drop what they’re doing and coddle you because your perfect little world blew up. ”
Her head whips back toward me, eyes blazing. “You condescending prick. You don’t get to reduce my entire relationship to ‘poor little Scarlett got cheated on.’ You have no clue what the last few years were like.”
“Yeah? Enlighten me then,” I challenge, shrugging like I don’t give a shit.
“Because from where I’m standing it looks like you had it easy until it wasn’t easy anymore.
You ran straight home the second shit got real.
Meanwhile your dad’s been dealing with actual threats.
Piston’s got enough on his plate without you throwing a goddamn tantrum every time he tries to protect you. ”
Piston sighs heavily, stepping between us. “Enough, Rook. She’s my daughter. I’ll handle this.”
Scarlett glares at both of us, betrayal and anger written all over her face. “Handle this? Forget it. I’m done.” She turns on her heel and starts storming toward the door.
I shake my head, muttering under my breath, “There she goes again. Running away when things get uncomfortable. Typical.”
She freezes mid-step, then slowly turns back around. “You know what, Rook? Go to hell. You don’t know me, you never did. Dad, see you at home.”
Piston glares at me and goes after Scarlett. “Wait, you can’t go home alone. Not with that guy out there. I’m coming with you.”