15. Trap
Bones
S ome kind of bug knocked me on my ass for two miserable fucking days. I barely made it two towns over from Silverpine before I had to pull into a rundown motel and ride it out, locked in a battle between cold sweats and barely-contained rage. I hate being weak. I hate being out of commission.
Tank had the same shit. Probably caught it from that godforsaken motel in Silverpine. We'll need a new place next time. First thing I told him when I could speak without my voice shaking was, " I don't care if you have to wear a fucking diaper — keep your goddamn eyes on Ely. "
She said she wouldn't run, but I saw the glint in her eyes. It could've been a lie, a way to throw me off while she plots her next move.
After seven hours on the road, I finally pull into the clubhouse. The brothers are already waiting, sensing the shift in the air before I even say a word.
I step inside, don't waste a second before barking out the only word that matters.
"Church!"
The ranked brothers file into the secure room, silent, waiting. They know something big is coming.
I take my seat at the head of the long table, the weight of the decision already settled in my mind.
"I'm moving the mother chapter to Silverpine."
The words drop like a hammer to concrete.
"There will still be an Iron Vultures chapter here in Driftwood," I continue, voice steady, unshakable. "Anyone who wants to stay, stays. Anyone who wants to come with me, comes. You can try to change my mind, but it'll be a waste of breath."
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair before adding, "You all know how long I've been waiting to find Ely. You know what happened. She's never coming back here, and she has every goddamn reason not to. So I'm moving. It's the only way I have a shot at convincing her to take me back."
Silence. No one argues.
I glance at each of them, my brothers who have watched me unravel piece by piece for four years.
"The Romanos will follow me," I say, stating the inevitable. "They don't want to deal with the club unless it's through me. Reframing the entire operation will fall on me — none of the brothers who move will pay a dime. Sigma," I say, locking eyes with our financial guy, "I need you to put together a full report. We need to know where the club stands, what we need to restructure, and how to divide it between both chapters."
Sigma, our Treasurer, nods. No questions. No pushback.
I lean forward, scanning the table. "Now, who wants to step up as Prez for the Iron Vultures MC — Driftwood Chapter?"
The brothers exchange looks, but no one speaks. I turn to Ghost.
He holds my gaze, shakes his head subtly.
A small pang of disappointment cuts through me, but I get it. Prison changed him. Five years locked up because of Adora — there’s still too much bullshit battling inside his head.
I shift my focus to Reaper. Our Sergeant at Arms for the last three years.
He blinks at me. Points at himself, like I just grew a second head.
I nod. Yeah, asshole. You.
Reaper exhales like I just handed him a lifetime sentence. He clears his throat and leans back, looking around the room before muttering in the most bored, uninterested tone possible, "I guess I'll be the sacrificial lamb. But if any of you fuckers start whining about bringing in more club girls, throwing bigger parties, or stocking more imported beer—" he shoots a pointed glare at Fang, one of our Enforcers — "I will end you."
Fang scoffs, crossing his arms. "Why are you looking at me, asshole? Just for that, I'm moving to Silverpine. Bet they'll have better beer there anyway."
I cut in before this turns into a full-blown bitchfest. "Now that we've got that settled, let's hear the complaints."
Silence.
I raise a brow. "No one? Really?"
Reaper leans forward, voice softer than before. "We saw what losing Ely did to you. You haven't been yourself for four years."
I clench my jaw, not ready for this conversation.
"We honestly thought we'd find you with a bullet in your head one day," he continues. No malice. Just fact. "Losing Ely was on you. But if you have even the smallest chance to fight and get her back, then so be it." He exhales, glancing away. "If I can help with that, just let me know. She probably hates me now anyway."
I scan the room, my brothers — these ruthless bastards who have stood by me through everything — and realize they all feel the same.
They want me to get her back.
I exhale sharply, clearing my throat. "You fuckers."
A beat. Then, in a rougher voice, "Figure out who's staying and who's coming. We need a meeting with the full membership next. Tomorrow."
I let my words settle before adding, "There will be rule changes in Silverpine. We're not repeating what happened that night with Ely. We're putting in a system — if a ranked brother doesn't agree with a decision, he can bring it to a vote in Church. No one should have blind fucking loyalty. Not anymore."
A few nods. No resistance.
"And while we're at it," I continue, "let's vote on Reaper as Prez for Driftwood."
I raise my hand.
One by one, all the brothers follow. Unanimous.
Reaper lets out an exaggerated sigh, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. "I love you all, too, you stupid assholes."
Losing two days to that goddamn bug pissed me off more than I could put into words. Two fucking days. Instead of rolling into Silverpine on Saturday, it's Monday evening by the time I pull into town, my patience already threadbare, my mood souring by the second.
I told Tank to find us a place — short-term rent, something low-key, nothing that screamed 'hey, we're setting up shop here, come ask questions.'
And yet, when I pull up to the address he gave me, my jaw damn near hits the ground.
A fucking luxury mountain lodge.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows, massive timber beams, a wraparound deck that probably has the best goddamn view of the mountains. This isn't a rental — this is some billionaire's vacation home.
Tank is already waiting on the front steps, grinning like a smug little shit.
I park, kill the engine, and stomp toward him, already seeing red.
"What the fuck, Tank? What is this? Are we some fucking twenty-year-old socialites vacationing in Aspen now?"
Tank just spreads his arms wide, looking like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Bones, don't be a downer! Some dumbass thought this area was gonna blow up with tourists because of the slopes nearby, but it never happened. This place is a steal! Huge as fuck, and I think we could actually buy it and make it our clubhouse. Look around, man — ten acres of land. Ten! And this cabin alone? Eight thousand square feet. Twelve rooms just for sleeping, all with their own fucking bathrooms."
I narrow my eyes. "So... bedrooms?"
Tank glares. "Shut the fuck up, asshole. Listen, this place has everything — land, easy road access, and we can even build small, single room cabins around the lodge. We could set up our bike and auto shop, a tattoo place, everything we need right here."
I look around, really look this time.
Tank might actually be onto something. The terrain isn't typical for a mountain property — it's flat, cleared land at the base of the range, with direct access to the main road. No steep cliffs, no pain-in-the-ass logistics. Plenty of room to build. Plenty of space to turn this into a real home for the club.
I turn back to him, skeptical but intrigued. "How the hell did you find this place?"
Tank suddenly looks a little guilty. Too guilty.
"Uh... had a little emergency," he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. "Had to run into that coffee shop's bathroom real quick, the Belladonna Brew. And guess what? They got an announcement board in there, right inside the bathroom stall. The cabin was listed for sale — with or without the land. And the price? It's a goddamn steal."
I blink. "You found our potential clubhouse while taking a shit?"
Tank grins proudly. "Sometimes inspiration strikes in weird places, man."
I shake my head, exhaling sharply. Fucking hell.
"Set up a call with the owner or the agency. See what we can negotiate. Good find, Tank."
His grin widens, but it fades just as fast when I level him with my next question. "Now, how's Ely?"
He sobers immediately. "Same routine. Work, home, and she spends a lot of time with that cute little friend of hers from the coffee shop."
I frown. "Friend from the coffee shop?"
Tank nods. "Yeah, the tiny blonde. They seem tight — like best friends or something. Always together when they've got free time."
My stomach tightens. Belladonna Brew.
The coffee I bought from that place. From Ely's friend.
Fuck.
Doesn't matter now. Doesn't fucking matter.
I don't have time to dwell on it. I've got bigger things to focus on — fixing what I broke, making her see that I'm not leaving, and turning this place into something permanent.
Because Ely is here. And that means this is where I stay.
First thing I do the next morning is call the cabin's owner. The deal is already set, price agreed on. No escrow, no waiting. We’re paying in full, signing the contracts today. The guy was practically pissing himself with excitement that someone wanted his forgotten mountain paradise.
The lawyer is flying in, and by tonight, we'll have the keys.
But before that? I have a wildcat to see.
I don't bother going to the coffee shop. Not fucking yet. Instead, I stop by a florist in town, picking out a big, ridiculous bouquet of whatever the hell looks expensive and beautiful. I don't think flowers are going to do shit to soften Ely up, but I'll take any advantage I can get.
When I knock on her door, I brace for war. For curses, for the door slamming in my face, for that fire she keeps loaded just for me.
Instead, she opens the door with a fucking smile.
And my brain? Short circuits.
She's standing there, dressed like a goddamn wet dream in a red bodycon dress that hugs her like sin, her lips curved in something dangerously close to sweet.
"Bones!" she pouts, voice dripping with something I don't trust for a second. "I thought you were coming back Saturday. It's Tuesday. Why were you late?"
I narrow my eyes. Suspicion burns through me. Alarm bells blare in my head. This isn't right. Not even a little bit.
"I, uh—" What the fuck? I swallow hard, mind fogging like a dumbass. Her fucking smile. It's been years since she's looked at me like that.
"Things ran longer than expected in Driftwood," I finally manage, handing her the flowers like a fucking idiot. "Here. Hope you like them."
She takes them gracefully, smoothly. Like she was expecting this, like she already knows how the next few minutes are going to play out.
Then she steps back and smiles again, all teeth this time.
"Would you like to come in?" she asks, tilting her head, all soft and welcoming. "I don't have much time before work. I leave in fifteen minutes."
This is a setup. But I don't care.
"I'd actually love to," I say, stepping inside like the fool that I am.
I follow her to the kitchen, watching as she puts the flowers in water. Every step, every movement — too easy, too smooth.
"Would you like some coffee?" she offers, turning to me with something glinting in her eyes. Something that tells me I should say no.
But I don't.
"I'd love one," I say instead. I think I know exactly what's happening here, but I really don't care.
She hands me the cup, watching me too closely. Waiting.
"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," I start, taking the first sip without a hint of hesitation. Like I have no idea my insides will be melting soon. "But there's no time now. Let's have dinner. Not a date. I know you wouldn't want that. But there's shit happening, and I want to tell you in person."
She blinks, tilts her head. Acts surprised.
"Oh, really?" she says, all sweet and fake innocence. The worst actress I've ever seen. "Sure. I have time Friday night. But there's nowhere in town with decent food."
She pauses, then smiles again. The smile of a predator.
"Just come here," she says. "I'll make dinner. How does that sound?"
I stare at her, coffee warm against my palm, her lie blinking at me in neon fucking lights. She would've been permanently unemployed in Hollywood. How the hell did I ever think she played me before? I'm the biggest fucking dumbass in the universe.
She blinks three times in quick succession. She's definitely planning something.
And still — I walk right the fuck into it.
"I'd love to have dinner with you, Ely." Soft. Willing. No hesitation.
Her grin sharpens, but she doesn't break character. She's playing a role, and she's committing.
"Good," she says smoothly. "I can't wait. We have a lot to talk about. I know I acted angry before, but I had time to think and maybe we can find some middle ground in the future. We had some amazing months together, didn't we?"
Her voice is syrupy sweet, fake as hell. I take another sip of coffee, swallowing down the taste of my own damn downfall. Instead of calling her out, instead of pushing, I walk closer. Her body goes stiff. That smile dies.
She thinks I'm about to touch her. And she looks like she'd rather set herself on fire than let that happen.
The thought cuts me in a way I don't have time to process.
Instead, I hold the empty cup out, my voice low. "I'll see you later, beautiful."
Then I turn and leave.
Two hours later, I'm fucking dying.
Whatever was in that coffee is tearing me apart from the inside.
I barely last through the meeting, barely manage to sign the papers for the cabin before I'm bolting, leaving Tank to wrap things up while I run like a goddamn maniac.
She definitely poisoned me. And I let her.
But if this is what it takes for Ely to forgive me, even a little bit, I'll fucking take it.
Famous last words.
Ely
"Hook, line, and sinker," I murmur to myself, watching Bones walk out of my home, completely unaware of the storm he just stepped into.
He'll wish he never fucking came back.