Chapter Twenty-Seven
Slaughter
Reaper’s hand tightened on my shoulder, his grip firm but not painful. “First, you are actually marrying Hope. Not in front of a judge or priest, but in front of the club. A real ceremony, a real commitment. That lie you threw out gets legitimized before her brothers find out it was fiction.”
I stared at him, my mind struggling to process his words through the fog of pain and exhaustion. “Not sure if you realize this, Prez, but we are in Diamondback country. It’s not like Stella can whip up a Golden Wedding here in Oklahoma.”
Reaper glared at me, his jaw tightening. The look in his eyes told me he didn’t give a single fuck about logistics or geography or the complications of hosting a Golden Skulls’ ceremony on rival territory.
I quickly nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You do that,” he grumbled, releasing my shoulder and stepping back. “And when you’re fucking ready to ride, I want you and your new bride back in Tennessee. Understood?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got enough shit on my plate without adding you to the fucking mix.”
I winced as I shifted on the bed, trying to find a position that didn’t make my ribs scream. “How bad is it, really?”
“Fucking bad,” Reaper said, pacing the small room like a caged animal.
His boots thudded against the worn floorboards with each step.
“Ravage went off the rails, and now I have the Brotherhood breathing down my neck. The Death Dogs are moving closer to Nebraska. Luc is losing his shit ’cause Logic has gone radio silent.
Kansas is dragging his feet regarding Pence.
The Geek Squad is taking their fucking time with that fucking thumb drive, and Montana is actually starting to make sense, which scares the living fuck out of me.
So yeah, shit’s gettin’ real fucking bad.
So do me a solid and just do what I fucking say, okay? ”
I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of everything he’d just laid out. The Brotherhood. The Death Dogs. Code Helix. Ravage in danger. And now I was supposed to somehow pull off a legitimate club wedding while recovering from broken ribs and a concussion.
“I’ll talk to Hope and get everything taken care of.”
Reaper let out a loud sigh and nodded. “Good. I’m gonna get Digger and Sandman to ride out with you to the Owens Farm. And before you say shit, Ghost is under strict orders not to kill you.“
I raised an eyebrow despite the pain it caused. “What about Shadow?”
“Yeah, good luck with that one.” Reaper smirked, and I flipped him off as he headed for the door. “Won’t say I envy you, Slaughter, but if I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open in that house.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the throbbing pain radiating through every inch of my body.
Marry Hope.
The words echoed in my mind, and I realized with startling clarity that the command didn’t fill me with dread or resentment. It filled me with something else entirely.
Want.
I wanted to marry her. Not because Reaper ordered it. Not because it was the only way to keep my cut and avoid the Golden Line-Up. But because Hope was mine, and I was hers, and making that official in front of the club felt right in a way nothing else had since Julie died.
The thought should have made me feel guilty. Should have made me feel like I was betraying Julie’s memory.
But it didn’t.
Julie would have wanted this for me. She would have wanted me to find someone who could love me despite the darkness, someone who could stand beside me and not flinch when the truth of what I was came to light.
Hope was that person.
And I’d be damned if I let Ghost or Shadow or anyone else take her from me.
The trip to the Owens Farm was painful. Not because of my injuries, but because my brother Digger and Sandman didn’t give two shits about my injuries.
Every bump in the road sent fresh waves of agony through my broken ribs. Every turn made my head throb. By the time we pulled up in front of the farmhouse, I was gritting my teeth so hard my jaw ached.
The second we pulled up in front of the farmhouse, Sandman took off without a word, his bike roaring to life and disappearing down the gravel drive. I watched him go, envying his ability to just leave.
Digger cut his engine and swung off his bike, stretching his arms over his head like he had just finished a leisurely Sunday ride instead of escorting his half-dead brother across Oklahoma.
“You good?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.
“Fuck off,” I muttered, trying to swing my leg over the bike without passing out.
The movement pulled at my ribs, and I hissed, freezing halfway through the dismount. Pain radiated through my torso, sharp and vicious, stealing my breath.
“Jesus Christ,” Digger said, shaking his head. “You look like shit, brother.”
“Thanks for the observation.”
“Need help?”
“No.”
“You sure? ‘Cause you’re kinda just... sittin’ there.”
I shot him a glare that would’ve made lesser men back off. Digger just grinned.
“Stubborn asshole,” he muttered, but he didn’t move to help. He knew better. I would rather collapse on the gravel than accept his pity.
It took me three tries, but I finally managed to get off the bike. My legs wobbled beneath me, and for a terrifying moment, I thought I might actually fall. But I locked my knees and stayed upright, breathing through the pain.
The front door of the farmhouse opened, and Hope appeared on the porch. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she was down the steps and across the yard before I could blink.
“Chapman,” she breathed, her hands hovering near my arms like she wanted to touch me but was afraid she would hurt me. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You’re not fine. You can barely stand.”
“I’m standing, aren’t I?”
She looked at Digger, her expression somewhere between exasperated and furious. “You just let him ride like this?”
Digger held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I offered to help. He told me to fuck off.”
“Of course he did,” Hope muttered. She turned back to me, her eyes softening. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
If it wasn’t for Hope and her sister Faith, I would still be sitting on the front porch.
As it was now, I was laid out on the couch in the living room, while Hope bustled about making sure I was comfortable. Stella and Faith barked orders at Digger, Charity, and Joy like drill sergeants commanding their troops.
“Digger, get the pillows from the hall closet!”
“Charity, bring the heating pad from upstairs!”
“Joy, make tea. Chamomile, not black!”
I watched the chaos unfold around me, feeling strangely detached from it all. The pain was a constant presence, throbbing in time with my heartbeat, but Hope’s hands on my shoulders grounded me.
She kneeled beside the couch, her fingers gentle as she helped me ease back against the pillows Digger had dumped unceremoniously beside me.
“Careful,” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “Don’t twist. Just lean back slowly.”
I did as she said, biting back a groan as my ribs protested the movement. When I was finally settled, she pulled a blanket over me, tucking it around my legs with the kind of care that made my chest ache for reasons that had nothing to do with broken bones.
“Better?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Thanks.”
She smiled, and the sight of it eased some of the tension coiled tight in my chest. “I’ll get you some tea. Faith made soup earlier. I’ll heat some up for you.”
“Hope—”
“Don’t argue,” she said firmly. “You need to eat, and you need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”
I wanted to tell her I didn’t need to be coddled. That I’d survived worse than a few broken ribs and a concussion. But the truth was, I liked being taken care of by her. Liked the way she fussed over me, the way her hands lingered on my skin, the way she looked at me like I was something precious.
So I nodded and let her go.
Stella appeared in my line of sight, her hands on her hips and a knowing smirk on her face. “Well, well, well. Look at you, all domesticated and shit.”
“Shut up, Stella.”
“Make me.” She dropped into the chair across from the couch, crossing her legs and studying me with sharp eyes. “You look like hell, by the way.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Ghost did a number on you.”
“Yeah.”
“Good thing Digger was there to save your ass.”
I glanced at my brother, who was currently being bossed around by Faith as she directed him to move a side table closer to the couch. He caught my eye and grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos.
“Yeah,” I said again. “Good thing.”
Stella leaned forward, her expression turning serious. “You really going to marry her?”
I met her gaze, unflinching. “Yeah.”
“You love her?”
The question should have made me hesitate. Should have made me second-guess everything. But it didn’t.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I do.”
Stella’s smirk softened into something that almost looked like approval. “Good. She deserves someone who’ll fight for her. And you deserve someone who’ll fight for you.”
Before I could respond, Hope returned with a steaming mug of tea. She set it on the side table Digger had just moved, then perched on the edge of the couch beside me.
“Careful,” she said, wrapping my hands around the mug. “It’s hot.”
I took a sip, the warmth spreading through my chest and easing some of the lingering chill from the ride.
The chamomile tea was sweet, with a hint of something floral.
Jasmine, I realized, and the scent of it brought back memories of the pond, of her skin beneath my hands, of the way she had whispered my name in the darkness.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice rough.
She smiled and brushed a strand of hair back from my forehead. “You’re welcome.”
For a moment, the room fell quiet. Stella and Faith exchanged a look. Digger stood near the doorway, watching us with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Charity and Joy hovered near the kitchen, whispering to each other.
And then the front door slammed open.
Ghost walked through, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He took one look at me laid out on the couch, at Hope sitting beside me with her hand still resting on my arm, and his entire body went rigid.
His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists. And his eyes, dark and furious, locked onto mine.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Ghost growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Hope stood, placing herself between me and her brother. “He’s hurt, Balthazar. He needs to rest.”
“I don’t give a fuck what he needs.” Ghost’s gaze didn’t leave mine. “He shouldn’t be here.”
“I want him here,” Hope said firmly. “And this is my home. Not yours.”
Ghost’s eyes flicked to her, and for a moment, I saw something crack in his expression. Pain. Betrayal. Anger. He shook his head, his jaw working like he was trying to hold back words that would only make things worse. Then he turned on his heel and stormed toward the kitchen, shouting for Faith.
“Faith! Get your ass in here! We need to talk!”
Faith sighed, shot me an apologetic look, and followed him into the kitchen. The door swung shut behind them, but I could still hear Ghost’s raised voice, muffled but unmistakable.
Hope sank back down onto the couch beside me, her shoulders tense. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “He’s just—”
“Protective,” I finished. “I get it.”
She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. “Are you okay?”
I wanted to tell her I was fine. That Ghost’s anger didn’t bother me. That I could handle whatever her brothers threw at me.
But the truth was, I was exhausted. My body hurt. My head throbbed. And the weight of everything Reaper had told me—the war, the conspiracy, the danger closing in on all of us—pressed down on me like a physical thing.
“I will be,” I said instead.
She took my hand, her fingers lacing through mine. “We’ll figure this out, Chapman. Together.”
I squeezed her hand gently, careful not to hurt her. “Yeah. We will.”
Because I had to marry her. Not just to legitimize the lie I told Reaper. Not just to keep my cut and avoid the Golden Line-Up.
But because she was mine.
And I would be damned if I let anyone, not Ghost, Shadow, or the entire fucking MC world, take her from me.