Chapter 3 - Wilder
"Blood isn't exactly new to me."
There's so much history in those six words: a childhood I can only imagine, marked by the same violence that nearly got us killed today.
"Your old man never wanted that for you," I say, keeping my eyes on the road. The pain in my arm is sharpening as adrenaline fades, but I've had worse. Much worse.
"What my father wanted and what he created are two very different things." She finishes with the bandage and sits back in her seat, wiping her bloodied hands on another antiseptic wipe. "Is it always like this? People shooting at you in broad daylight?"
"Not always." I check the mirrors again. No sign of pursuit, but that doesn't mean we're clear. "Sometimes it's worse."
She makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren't so hollow. "Fantastic. And you chose this life?"
The question hangs between us as I push the Charger harder, putting more distance between us and the Vultures MC back at the diner. Did I choose this? Yes and no. The outlaw life chose me long before I found the Outlaw Order.
"The club gave me something I needed," I finally answer. "Brotherhood. Purpose. A way to protect what matters."
"And what matters to you, Wilder?" Her voice has lost its sharp edge, genuine curiosity replacing the sarcasm.
"My sister. This town." I glance at her. "And now, you."
Color rises in her cheeks, and she looks away. "Because my father ordered it."
"Because it's the right thing to do." I flex my injured arm, testing the bandage she applied. It's solid work. "You're innocent in all this. You deserve protection."
"I'm hardly innocent," she mutters. "I knew exactly who my father was when I cut him out of my life."
That surprises me. Most of the club assumes Emma distanced herself because she couldn't handle the MC lifestyle. But the way she says it sounds more like a deliberate rejection.
"What happened between you two?" I ask, then quickly add, "You don't have to answer that."
She's quiet for so long I think she's ignoring the question. Then she sighs, staring out at the pine forests flashing past.
"I was sixteen. Dad had been arrested again.
Some bullshit RICO charges that eventually got dropped.
While he was inside, my mom found someone else.
Some accountant with a golf membership and a house in the suburbs.
" Her voice remains steady, but her fingers twist together in her lap.
"When Dad got out, she told him she was leaving, taking me with her. He lost it."
I can imagine. Reaper's temper is legendary, even among outlaws.
"What happened?" I keep my voice neutral, though my grip on the wheel tightens.
"Nothing like what you're thinking. He didn't hurt her." She shakes her head. "He just... shut down. Told her to go, that he wouldn't fight her for custody. Then he walked out and spent three days on a bender."
"And you went with your mom?"
"For a while." She laughs without humor.
"Turns out suburban life with Mom and her accountant wasn't the dream she sold me.
He wanted his perfect ready-made family, and I was anything but perfect.
I was angry, rebellious, failing school.
After six months of fighting, I ran away, crashed with friends until I graduated early. "
I nod, filling in the blanks. "And your dad?"
"Called me every week like clockwork. Sent money I never asked for. Showed up for my high school graduation in his cut, scaring the shit out of everyone." Her mouth twists in what might be a smile. "I couldn't forgive him for giving up so easily. For choosing the club over fighting for us."
It's a familiar story in the MC world. Families torn apart by the life, but something doesn't add up. Reaper isn't the type to surrender without a fight, especially not where his daughter is concerned.
"Maybe he thought letting you go was the best way to protect you," I suggest, remembering the fear in Reaper's eyes when he sent me to get her.
"That's what he said." She turns to look at me. "But I needed a father more than I needed protection."
I want to defend Reaper, explain that sometimes the choices we make for those we love look like abandonment from the outside. But it's not my place. And the truth is, I understand her anger all too well.
"My parents walked out when I was young," I say instead. "Left me to raise my little sister. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone one morning."
Her amber eyes widen slightly. "I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago." I shrug my good shoulder. "Made me who I am."
"Which is?"
"Someone who doesn't walk away." I meet her gaze briefly before returning my attention to the road. "Ever."
She glances at me with new interest, like she's seeing past the cut and the road name for the first time.
"Your sister," she says. "Is she in Pine Haven too?"
"Moved here a few weeks ago. She's opening a daycare." I can't help the pride that creeps into my voice. "Maya's the smart one. College degree, business plan, the whole thing."
"And she's okay with... what you do?"
"She hates it." I smile despite myself. "Reminds me every chance she gets. But she understands why I'm in the life."
"Which is?"
"Same reason your father is. Because sometimes the only way to protect what you love is to become what others fear."
Emma falls silent, absorbing this. I check the mirrors again out of habit, scanning for any vehicle that might be following. The highway stretches empty behind us, but experience has taught me that safety is often an illusion.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text. I nod toward it in Emma's lap. "Can you check that? Probably Reaper."
She picks up the phone, reading the message. "It's someone named Ghost. Says 'Clubhouse secure. Vultures MC spotted at the county line. Watch your six.'"
I clench my good fist. "Tell him we're thirty minutes out. Taking the forest route."
As she types the response, I make a sharp turn onto a barely visible access road cutting through the dense pines.
The Charger's suspension protests as we bounce over the uneven terrain, but this route will get us to Pine Haven through the back country, avoiding the main roads where the Vultures MC might be watching.
"Whoa," Emma grabs the dashboard to steady herself. "Little warning next time?"
"Sorry." I ease off the gas slightly. "Need to change our approach. They're watching the highways."
The forest closes around us, the road narrowing to little more than a dirt track winding between towering pines. Shadows dapple the path, making it hard to spot obstacles until we're nearly upon them. I drive slower, mindful of the sporty Charger's low clearance.
"How do you even know this road exists?" Emma asks, peering into the dense woods surrounding us.
"Grew up exploring these forests." I swerve to avoid a fallen branch. "Used to race dirt bikes through here as a kid."
"Let me guess… That's how you got your road name? Wilder?"
I smile slightly. "Something like that. I had a reputation for stunts most people wouldn't attempt. Death-defying, they called it."
"And here you are, still defying death." She gestures to my bandaged arm.
"So far, so good." I wince as we hit a particularly deep rut.
The pain in my arm flares, but I keep it off my face.
"Reaper recruited me after seeing me jump my bike over the quarry gap last year.
Said anyone crazy enough to attempt that jump had the kind of courage the club needed.
That, and seeing me fight two guys that were being too handsy with a woman. "
"My father has a unique perspective on what constitutes courage," she says dryly.
"He's not wrong, though. The life requires a certain comfort with risk."
"Is that what today was? Just risk?"
Her question catches me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"You put yourself between me and an armed man." Her voice is quieter now. "You got stabbed protecting me. That's not just risk-taking. That's... something else."
I don't know how to respond to that. How to explain that the moment those Vultures MC appeared, nothing mattered except getting her out alive. Not because she's Reaper's daughter, but because something about her fierce independence and wounded eyes speaks to something in me.
"It's what anyone would do," I say finally.
"No, it's not." She shakes her head. "Most people would run. Save themselves."
"I'm not most people."
"Clearly." She stares at me with those penetrating amber eyes. "Thank you. For what you did back there."
"You're welcome."
The forest track widens slightly as we approach the outskirts of Pine Haven. Through the trees, I can make out the water tower that stands sentinel over the small town. Nearly home.
"We'll be at the clubhouse in ten," I tell her, checking the mirrors one last time. "Once we're inside, you'll be safe. The compound is fortified."
"Like a prison," she murmurs.
"Like a fortress," I correct her. "There's a difference."
"Not if you can't leave."
I consider her words. "Your father won't keep you there forever. Just until we handle the Vultures problem."
"And how exactly do you plan to 'handle' it?" She makes air quotes around the word. "More violence, more blood, escalating until one side is wiped out?"
"That's usually how it works," I admit. "But we didn't start this fight, Emma. We stepped in to stop something horrific. Women were being sold like cattle. Girls younger than you."
Her expression softens slightly. "I know. I just... wish there was another way."
"So do I." And I mean it. The constant state of war is exhausting, even for someone like me who's built for the fight. "But men like our enemies only understand one language."
She nods, a resigned acceptance in her eyes that makes her look older than her nineteen years. "Just promise me something?"
"What's that?"
"Don't die doing my father's dirty work." She says it lightly, but I catch the genuine concern beneath the words. "I'd hate to have patched you up for nothing."
I smile despite the seriousness of our situation. "I'll do my best."
The trees thin out as we approach the edge of town. Pine Haven sprawls below us—a small logging community nestled in the valley, population barely ten thousand. From up here, it looks peaceful, ordinary. No one would guess that beneath its surface, a war is brewing.
I take a roundabout route through the back streets, avoiding the main thoroughfare where we might be spotted. The clubhouse sits on three acres at the edge of town, a converted lumber mill surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire. To outsiders, it looks like a fortress. To us, it's home.
As we approach the gate, I see our prospects standing guard, assault rifles visible.
They recognize the Charger and swing the gate open, closing it immediately behind us.
The compound beyond is a hive of activity.
Brothers moving with purpose, strengthening defenses, readying for whatever comes next.
I park in front of the main building, a two-story structure of weathered brick and steel. The Outlaw Order logo, a stylized grim reaper holding scales of justice, is painted across one wall, our colors declaring ownership to anyone who approaches.
"We're here," I tell Emma, who's gone quiet, taking in the scene before her. "Ready to see your father?"
She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders. "As ready as I'll ever be."
I exit the car, scanning the compound out of habit. Reaper stands at the clubhouse door, his imposing figure unmistakable even at a distance. Beside him is a petite woman with long dark hair - Evelyn. The woman who's brought Reaper back to life.
Emma hasn't noticed them yet as she steps out of the car, retrieving her backpack from the floor. When she straightens and turns toward the clubhouse, she freezes, her eyes locked on her father.
And the woman standing beside him.
"Who is that?" she asks, voice barely audible.
"That's Evelyn," I say quietly. "The woman I mentioned. The one who stayed."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "The one from the trafficking ring."
"Yes."
"And she's with my father? Really? She's beautiful." The question contains a universe of emotions—confusion, suspicion, perhaps a hint of hurt.
"They found each other in the middle of all this. She's good for him, Emma. She's brought back parts of him I don't think even he knew were still there."