Scars and Promises (Book of Legion: Badlands MC #3)

Chapter 1

Everything slows down.

The way it always does when death enters the conversation.

The gun in my hand feels unusually light. Like three pounds of cold certainty against my palm belongs there. Has more right to be there than a spoon or a pen ever did.

The barrel points at Colt's forehead, dead center. I could put a hole right between his eyes from twice this distance.

My finger rests alongside the trigger guard—not on the trigger. Not yet.

But that's discipline, not mercy.

Behind me, I hear the clubhouse door creak open. Boots on gravel.

In front of me, Colt's eyes widen just enough to show he understands exactly how close he is to the end of his story.

My arm doesn't shake. Prison built these muscles layer by layer, cell by cell. Three years of push-ups and pull-ups until my body became a weapon that didn't need to be smuggled in.

Destiny clutches her baby tighter, the yellow blanket bright against the gathering dusk. "Legion, don't—"

"Shut up," I say, voice flat. Not angry. Just empty.

My focus narrows to Colt's face, but my mind splits open, falling backward through time.

Once upon a time, Destiny was my world. When she was small. Hours old. Days old. Weeks old. Hell, my fascination with Destiny Kane lasted several years. I was fifteen when she was born.

Before Destiny, it was just me and mama.

When Deacon, Destiny and Mercy's father, started hanging around, I thought things would never be good again.

Not that they were much better before, but a single boy to take care of is one thing.

A boy and two girls paints a very different picture of what it means to survive.

But it wasn’t all bad. Deacon didn't hang around much after Destiny was born. He worked, spent most of his money on gambling, came home at night to fuck my mama, sleep, and eat our food. But he helped, I guess.

Destiny was the most beautiful child ever. She's got a more exotic look to her compared to me. Dark hair, almost midnight black, where mine has always been blond. But we both have mama's blue eyes.

There were days back when she was small where I would just look at her. Get lost in that beauty. In my limited world of scrubland and lonely prairies, Destiny was a bluebell surrounded by dust.

Then Mercy came and it all fell apart.

One kid a single mother can handle. Even one like me.

Two… it's iffy.

Three breaks everythin’.

Deacon’s angry indifference, combined with the demands of hungry children—well, it was too much for her.

Did my mama kill herself? Did her car slip off that icy freeway overpass on purpose, or by accident?

Won’t ever know.

But did she choose to take enough oxy to kill a horse that same night, leave her newborn baby home alone, and then go out drivin’ in a blizzard?

That’s a resoundin’ yes, folks.

I won’t let Destiny’s life end up being so worthless.

I can’t do it. I won’t be able to live with myself if her end is nothin’ but a repeat of the woman who brought her into this world.

The wind picks up, blowing grit across the parking lot. It stings my eyes, but I don't blink. The late afternoon sun sits heavy and gold on the horizon, casting long shadows across Colt's face. Sweat beads along my hairline, trickling down my temple.

My world has always been about choices with no good options.

Prison or my sisters.

Club or Savannah.

Now this—Destiny with Colt's baby, my gun, my sister, my woman, my club.

Thirty-nine men behind these walls just voted to protect what's mine. But Destiny's mine too. Blood of my blood. The one I failed by going inside, by not being there when she needed me.

I don't need to ask to know that every member of Badlands is rethinking that decision now.

Even Diesel. He’s my best friend, but this right here—this intrusion, this drama, this… impossible situation with Destiny and Colt…

Church, and the decisions that come out of it, aren’t about friendship.

They’re about survival.

The skin between my shoulder blades prickles and I can feel those eight pairs of dissenting eyes boring into my back like bullet holes. I don't need to turn around to know exactly who's watching—because everyone is watching.

The shift in the air behind me is subtle. The moment when respect starts bleeding into doubt. Every second this gun stays raised, I'm burning through the goodwill my three years inside earned me.

The brand on my chest throbs with my heartbeat, still raw, still healing.

What does it mean, it's asking.

What am I willing to give up to respect that brand.

I'm at a crossroads here. Every single member of Badlands is watching. Waiting to see which Legion Kane I really am.

The disciplined soldier who earned his patch in blood and silence?

Or a fool who'll burn it all down for a woman and a sister?

The fact is, in this moment, I'm not really sure.

"Give me one reason," I say to Colt, "why I shouldn't paint this parking lot with whatever's inside your skull."

The baby makes a small sound—not quite a cry, just a reminder it exists. That it didn't ask to be born into this war.

Destiny Kane used to be all sharp edges—black eyeliner so thick it looked painted on with a Sharpie, red lipstick smeared like a wound, hair dyed whatever color she could steal from the drugstore that week. A walking "fuck you" to the world that made her.

This girl standing in front of me looks like she walked straight off Savannah's Instagram.

Her hair is clean and shiny, falling over her shoulders in soft waves.

No makeup except something that makes her skin glow.

She's wearing a white sundress with tiny flowers on it.

Like motherhood washed all the rage out of her and left something fragile behind.

She's thinner though. Hollow in the cheeks where there should be fullness. Her eyes dart between my face and the gun I'm still holding on Colt.

The baby protests again, and Destiny shifts the bundle in her arms. "Do you want to meet your niece?" Her voice is quiet, careful. Not the Destiny I remember at all.

I don't answer. Can't answer. But she takes a step forward anyway, pulling back the yellow blanket.

"Her name's Marigold. Marigold Ashby."

The baby blinks up at me with dark blue eyes. Blonde wisps of hair catch the light. She doesn't look anything like my sister.

She looks like Savannah.

Something twists in my chest, hard and painful. This child isn't a Kane. She's an Ashby through and through. Golden and perfect where we've always been dirt and struggle.

Even me. This gold hair of mine has always been the other side of clean. Never bright like the sun, but tinted with shadows.

My eyes snap back to Colt, and I breathe through my anger. "She's seventeen, you piece of shit.You fucking preyed on my little sister while I was locked up? While she was alone? What kind of goddamn animal—"

"Legion." Destiny's voice cuts through my rage. "I'm eighteen now." I look at her, but my aim stays true on Colt's forehead. "Why do you think I waited until today to come find you?" she continues, bouncing the baby gently when she starts to fuss. "I'm legal now. That part of the drama is over."

Eighteen now…

It takes me a moment to understand what she's really saying.

Eighteen now…

Today is her birthday.

And I forgot.

I've been so wrapped up in Savannah, in the club, in my own shit that I didn't even remember my own sister's birthday.

Hell, I didn't even go look for her. Didn't even ride down to the damn truck stop and look around.

The weight of my failure sits heavy on my shoulders. I was supposed to protect her. Keep her safe. Instead, I went to prison and left her alone, and an Ashby—a fucking Ashby—stepped in to take my place.

I look at the baby again. My niece. Conceived while I was still inside, counting days on a cinder block wall.

I want to hate this child. Want to see her as proof of everything I couldn't prevent.

But she's just a baby. Innocent. Perfect little fingers curling against the blanket. A Kane by blood, no matter what her last name is.

And despite everything, despite the gun in my hand and the rage in my chest, I feel something protective unfurl inside me at the sight of her tiny face.

"Why'd you run, Des?" My voice is quieter now, but I keep the gun steady on Colt. "Why'd you just disappear?"

She glances at Colt before answering. "Cash found out. About the baby. About us." Her hand tightens on the blanket. "He came to the trailer one night when you were inside. Said some things."

"What things?" These words fall out as rage.

"That no Kane was gonna dilute Ashby blood. That he'd make sure I never kept it." Her eyes harden, and there's my sister again, buried beneath the sundress. "Said he'd take care of it personally."

My finger twitches against the trigger. Colt must notice because he raises his hands slightly higher. "I stepped in. Got her out—"

"You got her out?" I am nothing but demons now.

"You got her out? You piece of shit! You knocked her up.

How fucking old—" I do some quick math. Seventeen minus three years inside equals… rage, that’s what it equals.

"Fourteen,” I say. She was fourteen when I went in.

" I'm growling now. "She was a child and you—"

"Child," Destiny sneers. "Stop it. I haven't been a child since Mama died when I was eight. You left me.” She’s the one growlin’ now. “For them.” She nods her head at the men behind me.

Fuck.

"You did time for them, Legion. Time you didn't even owe. Time they stole, not just from you, but from me."

"Shut up, Destiny."

"Shut up, Destiny," she mocks back. "No, Legion. I will not shut up."

"Can I just explain," Colt says.

"Fuck off," I snarl. "No one's talking to you, Colt."