Shadow (Shotgun Saints MC #1)

Prologue

Shadow

A Few Years Ago…

The rain hammers against the tin roof of the clubhouse like bullets, each drop a sharp crack in the heavy Texas night.

I'm in the back office, going through supply invoices that should've been handled weeks ago, when I hear it.

A sound that cuts through the storm and the scratch of my pen on paper.

A gunshot.

I'm on my feet before my brain fully processes what I heard, my hand already reaching for the Glock holstered at my hip.

Training and instinct take over—weapon drawn, safety off, moving fast and quiet through the hallway.

The clubhouse is nearly empty tonight.

Phantom took most of the boys on a run to Dallas, some supply pickup that required numbers.

I stayed behind to watch the ranch and make sure nothing goes sideways while the Prez is gone.

It's just me, Shiver—Phantom's son, Grace's older brother—and Bronco.

Bronco. The newly patched VP.

The man Phantom just arranged to marry his daughter.

My jaw clenches at the thought, but I shove it down.

Not my business. Not my place to question the Prez's decisions about his family.

Even when those decisions make my stomach turn.

I round the corner into the main room and freeze.

Bronco's on the floor, a neat hole between his eyes, blood pooling beneath his head.

His expression is frozen in surprise, like he didn't see it coming. Like he thought he was untouchable.

Shiver's standing over the body, gun still in his hand, smoke curling from the barrel.

His chest is heaving, knuckles bloody and split, face carved from stone and rage.

There's blood on his shirt—some of it his, some of it probably Bronco's from whatever fight happened before the shot.

But Grace isn't here.

The room is empty except for Shiver and the corpse.

"What the fuck happened?" My voice comes out low, deadly calm.

Shiver's eyes snap to me, wild and unfocused for a moment before recognition sets in.

His gun hand is shaking now, the adrenaline starting to wear off.

"He raped her." Three words. Flat. Final. "My sister. That piece of shit raped Grace."

The air leaves my lungs.

I look at Bronco's body, then back at Shiver.

The bloody knuckles. The torn shirt. The absolute fury still radiating off him in waves.

"Where is she?" I ask, holstering my weapon.

"Upstairs. Her room. She locked herself in after..." He swallows hard, his throat working. "After he was done with her. I heard her crying, and found this bastard down here looking pleased with himself. We fought. He didn't even try to deny it. Said she was his. Said he bought her."

My vision tunnels.

The edges go red and hazy, and for a moment, all I can see is Bronco's corpse on the floor.

Not dead enough.

I want to shoot him again.

Want to empty an entire magazine into his skull until there's nothing left but pulp and bone fragments.

Want to make him hurt the way Grace is hurting.

But he's already gone, and Shiver beat me to it.

"Good," I manage, my voice rough. "He deserved worse."

Shiver lets out a bitter laugh. "I should've made it slower. Should've made him suffer. But he started talking about her, about what he did, and I just..." He looks down at the gun in his hand like he's surprised to find it there. "I pulled the trigger."

I move closer, taking in the scene.

There are signs of a struggle—overturned chairs, blood spatter on the wall that's not from the gunshot, broken glass.

They fought hard before Shiver ended it.

"We need to move him," I say, already planning. "Stage it. Make it look like something else."

Shiver's eyes meet mine, and I see the question there.

The uncertainty. "You're gonna help me?"

"Yeah." No hesitation. "I am."

"Why?"

Because Grace is eighteen years old and just had the worst thing that can happen to a woman happen to her.

Because her father arranged her marriage to the man who ultimately raped her.

Because if we tell Phantom the truth, she'll have to relive it, explain it, and watch her father tear himself apart with guilt.

"Because he deserved to die," I say instead. "And because Grace doesn't deserve to have this follow her for the rest of her life."

Shiver nods slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "She made me promise not to tell Dad. She was upstairs, begging me through the door not to say anything."

"Then we don't say anything." I look at Bronco's body. "We could say it’s a rival club. Break-in while everyone was on the run. We heard the commotion, came running, and he was already dead."

"No, that doesn’t work. Dad will ask more questions, want blood for another club taking our own. I have to tell him I killed Bronco."

"Brother, I understand what you’re saying, but there are plenty of other clubs we can go after.

Too many people have started shit. Why not do this my way, then the secret dies with me.

" I meet his gaze. "No one will ever know I was part of this.

You shot an intruder defending the clubhouse. I backed you up. That's the story."

For a moment, I think Shiver’s gonna go along with it, but he doesn’t.

He shakes his head, “No. I’ll tell him I killed Bronco, but I won’t give him the reason.”

I’m frustrated, but I understand why he’s doing this.

All I can think about is Grace—eighteen years old and locked in her room, traumatized and alone.

Needing a break, I wash up in the clubhouse bathroom, scrubbing until the water runs clear.

When I come back out, Shiver's standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the second floor.

"I gotta call Dad," he says quietly. "Tell him what happened. He'll want to come back, see the scene."

"Yeah."

"And I..." He swallows hard. "I have a feeling this isn't gonna end well for me. Dad's gonna be furious his own son killed his VP. He's gonna ask questions."

He's right.

Phantom's going to be furious about losing Bronco, and Shiver's the one who was here.

Even with a damn good reason, there will be consequences.

Exile, most likely.

"Before I make that call," Shiver says, turning to look at me. "Will you check on her? Grace. She won't open the door for me anymore. But maybe she'll let you in."

"Yeah," I say, already heading for the stairs. "I'll check on her."

I take the steps two at a time, my heart hammering harder than it did when I heard the gunshot.

Grace's room is at the end of the hall—I know which one it is from the Sunday dinners I've attended here, from watching her disappear upstairs to take phone calls or escape the noise.

I stop outside her door and knock softly. "Grace? It's Shadow."

Silence.

"Shiver asked me to check on you." I keep my voice gentle. "I'm not gonna hurt you, darlin'. I just want to make sure you're okay."

More silence, then a sound that breaks my heart—a choked sob.

"I'm not okay," comes her voice, muffled through the door. Small and broken and nothing like the confident girl who argued with her father about going to vet school just last month.

"I know." I lean my forehead against the door. "Can you let me in? Please?"

There's a long pause. Then I hear movement. The lock clicks.

The door opens a crack, and Grace peers out at me with red-rimmed eyes, mascara streaked down her face in black rivers.

She's changed clothes—wearing an oversized t-shirt now instead of whatever she had on before.

Her hair is wet, like she just showered. Trying to wash it away.

It doesn't work like that. I wish it did.

"Can I come in?" I ask.

She nods, stepping back to let me enter.

Her room is exactly what I'd expect—organized chaos.

Rodeo ribbons on the wall, stuffed animals from childhood mixed with veterinary textbooks, posters of horses alongside college acceptance letters.

She's caught between being a girl and becoming a woman.

She shouldn't have been forced into womanhood like this.

Grace sits on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around herself.

She's shivering despite the heat.

I stay near the door, giving her space. "Shiver told me what happened."

She flinches at the words. "Is he... is Bronco really dead?"

"Yeah. He's dead."

"Good." The venom in her voice surprises me. "I hope he rots in hell."

"He will." I'm certain of that.

She looks up at me, and I see the fear in her eyes. The shame. The guilt that she shouldn't be feeling but is anyway. "My dad's going to be so angry."

"At Bronco, yeah."

"No." She shakes her head. "At me. For ruining the deal. For losing the ranch four million dollars. For—"

"Stop." I can't help it—I move closer, crouching down in front of her so we're eye level. "Grace, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You understand? None of it."

"But—"

"No." My voice is firm. "What he did to you was wrong. It doesn't matter that your dad arranged the marriage. It doesn't matter what his family paid. You don't owe anyone access to your body. Not for any amount of money. Not for any reason."

Tears spill over, and she covers her face with her hands. "Shiver killed him because of me."

"Shiver killed him because he deserved to die."

"Dad's going to find out. He's going to know I—"

"He's not." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and take her hands in mine. They're ice cold. "Shiver is taking the heat for this. He won’t say a word."

She stares at our joined hands. "Why would he do that, and why would you go along with it?"

Because above all things, Shiver loves his baby sister.

I'm not entirely sure how to answer.

Because I've been watching you for years, even when I shouldn't have been.

Because you're Phantom's daughter and off-limits, but that never stopped me from noticing you.

Because you're eighteen and I'm thirty-eight and I have no business feeling protective of you the way I do.

Because tonight, knowing what happened to you, something inside me cracked.

"Because you deserve to heal in peace," I say instead. "Because what happened to you was traumatic enough without having to explain it to your father and the whole club."

She studies my face in the dim light from her bedside lamp. "Shiver made me promise something."

"What's that?"