Chapter 38
Kayla
The cemetery was quiet, somber, as we laid Gunner to rest. Now back at the clubhouse, there’s a different energy in the air.
Grief is still there, but there’s something else too.
Everyone is ready to celebrate a life well-lived.
My black dress feels too formal now, out of place among the leather cuts and jeans that most have changed into.
But no one seems to notice or care as I weave through the gathering crowd, finding a spot near the edge where I can observe without being in the way.
It’s been a week since the warehouse. A week since Naomi died, since Todd revealed himself as FBI, since Gunner was shot trying to protect Molly and me.
The bullet that tore through his chest took his life.
Another life claimed because of Naomi’s obsession.
Another person I’ll never be able to thank or apologize to.
The smell of charcoal and meat fills the air as prospects man the grills, flipping burgers and turning steaks.
Tables groan under the weight of picnic salads and desserts, all brought by old ladies and club friends.
In another context, it might look like any summer barbecue.
But the somber faces, the occasional quiet sobs, the heavy silence that falls when Dragon steps up to speak remind everyone why we’re gathered.
Dragon stands on a small platform that’s been set up near the clubhouse doors. He’s not wearing his usual flannel shirt today, but a simple black button-up, with his leather cut on top. In his hand, he holds a bottle of beer. The yard falls silent as he clears his throat.
“Gunner joined this club ten years ago,” Dragon begins, his voice strong and steady despite the emotion I can see in his eyes.
“He came to us as a prospect, skinny and eager to prove himself. I remember telling him, he didn’t have the muscle for this life.
” A small smile crosses Dragon’s face. “He told me muscles weren’t what made a man, and then proceeded to outride, outdrink, and outwork every other prospect we had. ”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd. I see nods and sad smiles as brothers remember.
“Gunner was loyal,” Dragon continues. “Loyal to this club, loyal to his brothers, loyal to his beliefs. He was the kind of man who would give you the shirt off his back and then apologize that it wasn’t a better shirt.
” This earns a few chuckles. “He loved this club. He loved his brothers. And above all, he loved his wife.”
Dragon’s eyes find Gunner’s widow Nicole in the crowd. She stands surrounded by the other old ladies, her face a mask of grief. Even from where I stand, I can see the trembling in her shoulders, the way she holds on to the woman next to her like a lifeline.
“Nicole,” Dragon says her name softly, “Gunner talked about you every day. Every damn day. The guys used to give him shit about it, but he never cared. He’d just smile that smile of his and say, ‘When you find your person, you’ll understand.’”
A muffled sob escapes Nicole. My throat tightens in sympathy. I can’t imagine her pain, the gaping hole that’s been left in her life.
Roman’s arm slides around my waist and I lean into him, allowing myself this comfort. Since the warehouse, he’s been a constant, steady presence, there when I need him, giving me space when I don’t, never pushing for more than I’m ready to give.
“Gunner died protecting our family,” Dragon says, his voice dropping lower.
“He died as he lived, putting others before himself, standing between danger and those he cared about.” Dragon’s eyes find mine momentarily, and I feel a wave of guilt wash over me.
Gunner died because of me, because I walked out that back door.
As if sensing my thoughts, Roman’s arm tightens slightly around me. I look up at him, meeting his blue eyes. He gives me a small shake of his head, as if to say, ‘Don’t blame yourself.’ It’s easier said than done.
“I’ve lost a brother,” Dragon continues.
“We’ve all lost a brother. Nicole has lost her husband.
The world has lost a good man.” He pauses, taking a deep breath.
“But Gunner wouldn’t want us to dwell on what we’ve lost. He’d want us to remember what we had.
He’d want us to celebrate his life, not mourn his death. ”
Dragon raises his beer bottle high. “So that’s what we’re going to do.
We’re going to eat, and drink, and tell stories about Gunner, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
” This earns a ripple of laughter. “We’re going to remember our brother the way he deserves to be remembered — with love, with respect, and with a cold beer in hand. ”
He lifts his bottle higher. “To Gunner!”
“To Gunner!” The response comes from every throat, including mine and Roman’s, as bottles and cups are raised toward the sky. The sound echoes across the clubhouse yard, a refusal to let grief overshadow memory.
“You okay?” Roman asks, his voice low near my ear.
I nod, not trusting my voice just yet. Am I okay? I don’t know. But I will be. Somehow, surrounded by these people who have become unexpected friends, I believe that I will be.
“Come on,” Roman says, gently turning me toward the food tables. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
I follow his lead, moving through the crowd of leather-clad mourners. Life continues, even in the face of death.
The bench creaks as Maddie sits down beside me, setting her plate on the table with a weary sigh. Her normally bright expression is subdued, dark circles visible beneath her eyes.
“How are you holding up?” I ask, turning toward her.
She attempts a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m managing.” She pushes potato salad around her plate without taking a bite. “It’s been rough, though. Especially on Dragon.”
I set down my burger, giving her my full attention. “How’s he doing?”
“Not good.” Maddie glances across the yard to where Dragon stands, talking with several club members.
Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides.
“He blames himself. Says he should have known there was a snake in our midst.” She shakes her head.
“He keeps saying if he hadn’t been at that warehouse, if he’d been at the clubhouse instead, Gunner would still be alive. ”
The guilt Dragon is feeling is painfully familiar. I’ve been carrying my own version of it since that night. If I hadn’t gone outside alone, if I’d somehow managed to warn Gunner that David had a gun…
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Maddie continues, her voice dropping.
“Dragon’s always been the strong one, the one who holds everything together.
But this…” She trails off, pushing her food around some more.
“He’s not sleeping. Every night he’s up going through security footage, checking our vetting procedures, trying to figure out how David got past all our safeguards. ”
“It wasn’t his fault,” I say softly. “David fooled everyone.”
“I know that. You know that.” Maddie sighs. “Dragon knows it intellectually, but getting him to believe it here—” she taps her chest over her heart, “—that’s another story.”
My eyes drift across the yard to where Nicole sits with Gigi and several other old ladies. Her face is pale, her movements slow and mechanical as she takes tiny bites of food someone must have insisted she eat.
Maddie follows my gaze. “Poor Nicole,” she says, her voice heavy with sympathy. “She and Gunner were high school sweet hearts.”
“That’s a long time,” I murmur, trying to imagine the depth of such a loss. Nicole and Gunner had built their entire adult lives around each other. What happens when half of such a tight unit is suddenly gone?
“Dragon assigned her a new room at the clubhouse,” Maddie continues. “She couldn’t face using their old one.” She takes a small bite of her potato salad, chewing thoughtfully. “She has a sister in New York and her mother lives in a retirement community in Arizona. But there’s no one close by.”
“That has to be hard.” I murmur. “Has she said what she wants to do?”
A small, sad smile touches Maddie’s lips.
“She wants to stay here. Dragon already told her she could stay with the club as long as she needs. Forever, if that’s what she wants.
” She glances over at Dragon again. “He sat with her that first night, when you all got back from the warehouse. Told her that Gunner was his brother, which makes her his sister, and that she’ll always have a home here, always be taken care of. ”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at this. For all his intimidating presence, for all the violence I know he’s capable of, Dragon’s care for his people is undeniable.
“That’s really good of him,” I say, meaning it. After two years of thinking of MC clubs as dangerous and violent, and to be fair, they certainly can be, I’ve seen another side of them during my stay here. The loyalty, the fierce protection they offer to those they consider family.
Maddie’s expression softens, a smile replacing her earlier strained one. “We take care of our people,” she says simply, as if this explains everything. And in a way, it does.
Those five words encapsulate what I’ve observed over these past weeks.
Despite the violence, despite the danger, despite operating outside the boundaries of normal society, there’s a code here.
A set of values that, while different from what most would consider mainstream, creates a tight-knit community that protects its own.
That stands together in the face of both joy and grief.
That refuses to let one of its own face the darkness alone.
I think about my life back in Billings; my job, my house, my routine.
I had colleagues I was friends with, neighbors I waved to, men I dated.
But if something had happened to me, who would have gathered to remember my life?
Who would have promised to take care of my cats, to make sure they were fed and loved?
Before Roman came back into my life, before I was brought into this world of cuts and brotherhood, the answer might have been nobody.
“Yeah,” I say softly, watching as Gigi pats Nicole’s hand, as Dragon moves to stand protectively near them both. “I’m starting to see that.”
Maddie reaches over and squeezes my hand once, then returns to her food. We eat in companionable silence, both lost in our own thoughts as the celebration of Gunner’s life continues around us, the club taking care of its own in the only way it knows how — together.