Chapter 5 - Wilder
I hadn't expected to find Evelyn in Emma's room. The two women turn toward me. Evelyn composed as always, Emma with a mixture of surprise and lingering hostility on her face. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Meeting's starting," I say, keeping my voice neutral. My arm throbs beneath the fresh bandage Blade applied, but the pain is manageable now. "Reaper wants everyone in the chapel."
Evelyn stands, smoothing her jeans. "I was just bringing Emma something to eat."
I notice the untouched sandwich on the desk. Emma hasn't moved from her perch on the edge of the bed, her red hair wet.
"Should I really be at this meeting?" Emma asks. "I'm not a member."
"I told you. You’re family. Besides, this is also about your safety," I say. "You need to know what we're up against."
Evelyn touches Emma's shoulder lightly as she passes. "I'll see you in there."
When she's gone, Emma finally reaches for the sandwich, taking a small bite. "I can’t believe she really was one of the trafficking victims. She seems so… confident.”
"Yes." I lean against the doorframe, mindful of my injured arm. "The Vultures MC had her for three months before your father found her."
"And now she's with him." Emma shakes her head. "It's just... strange."
"Life is strange," I offer. "Especially in our world."
She takes another bite
"We should go. Your father doesn't like to be kept waiting."
She sets down the half-eaten sandwich and stands, running fingers through her damp hair in a futile attempt to tame it. "Do I look like I've been crying? Because I haven't been."
I take in her slightly reddened eyes, the determined set of her jaw. "You look ready for war."
That earns me a hint of a smile. "Is that what this is? War?"
"It's what it's becoming." I hold the door open for her. "The Vultures MC don't take kindly to having their operation disrupted. Especially not by a smaller MC like ours."
We walk side by side down the corridor toward the main area of the clubhouse. The usual rowdy atmosphere has been replaced by a tense readiness that's palpable in the air
"How many of you are there?" Emma asks, taking it all in.
"Six patched members, including your father. Three prospects. A handful of hang-arounds who do odd jobs but aren't part of the inner circle." I nod toward where Ghost and Blade are conferring over a map spread across the bar. "We're small but effective."
"And the Vultures MC?"
"At least twenty to thirty that we know of. Maybe more if they hire mercenaries." I guide her toward the chapel. The club's meeting room where all major decisions are made. "They've called in reinforcements since your father disrupted their operation."
Inside the chapel, the club's wooden table dominates the center of the room.
Carved from a single piece of ancient pine, it's big enough to seat ten men comfortably.
Reaper sits at the head, as always, with Ghost to his right as VP.
Blade, Ace, and Viper occupy their usual spots.
Evelyn sits slightly apart, her presence in the chapel an exception to the usual rules.
All eyes turn to us as we enter. Reaper's gaze lands on his daughter, a complicated mixture of emotions crossing his face before he schools his features back to the hard mask of the president.
"Emma," he says with a nod. "Take a seat."
There's an empty chair beside Evelyn and another next to my usual spot. Emma hesitates only briefly before choosing the latter, sliding into the seat beside where I'll sit. I try not to read too much into that choice as I take my place at the table.
As Reaper begins speaking, I glance at Emma sitting beside me, her profile tense and wary.
She's trying so hard to appear unaffected, but I can see the slight tremble in her hand where it rests on the table.
Something changes inside me as I watch her—a fierce, overwhelming protectiveness that goes beyond duty or obligation to my president.
In this moment, I know with absolute certainty that I would do anything to keep her safe. Not because she's Reaper's daughter, but because she's Emma—stubborn, intelligent, wounded Emma who deserves a chance at life beyond this chaos.
This realization catches me off guard, and I force my attention back to the meeting.
Reaper wastes no time. "The Vultures MC made their move sooner than expected. They're getting desperate."
"And sloppy," Ghost adds, his voice rough from years of cigarettes and hard living. The VP's face bears the scars of countless fights, but his eyes remain sharp as ever. "Going after Emma in broad daylight was a tactical error."
"They're escalating," Reaper continues. "The attack at the diner proves they're willing to risk exposure to get to us where it hurts."
"Where what hurts?" Emma interjects. "Me? Because I'm your weakness?"
The room goes silent. Challenging Reaper during chapel is unheard of, even for his own daughter. But instead of the anger I expect, something like respect flickers in his eyes.
"Yes," he says simply. "You are my weakness. And they know it."
Emma blinks, clearly not expecting such a direct answer. "So what's the plan? Hide me here until you kill them all?"
"The plan," Reaper says, "is to eliminate the threat permanently. Charles runs his operation from a compound outside Ridgecrest, about forty miles north. Our intel suggests he's there now, coordinating the search for you and Evelyn."
"Both of us?" Emma glances at Evelyn.
"Both of you," Reaper confirms. "Evelyn can identify several of their members. She's as much a target as you are."
I watch Emma process this. The reality that she's not the only one in danger seems to shift something in her perspective.
"So what's the play?" I ask, bringing the focus back to strategy.
Reaper nods to Ghost, who unfolds a map across the table. "We hit them before they hit us. Tonight."
"All of us?" Blade asks.
"All except Wilder," Reaper says, looking at me. "You stay here, guard the women."
I straighten in my chair. "Prez, with all due respect—"
"Your arm's fucked," he cuts me off. "And you're the only one I trust to keep them safe if things go sideways."
The decision stings my pride, but I know he's right. With my injury, I'd be a liability in a direct assault. And more importantly, someone needs to protect Emma and Evelyn if the Vultures MC have a counter-strategy we haven't anticipated.
"Copy that," I say, accepting the assignment despite my desire to be in the fight.
Ghost outlines the plan—a coordinated strike on Charles's compound using the element of surprise. It's bold, dangerous, and exactly the kind of high-risk operation the Outlaw Order specializes in. As he speaks, I find my attention drifting to Emma beside me.
She listens intently, her face a mask of forced calm, but I can see the slight tremor in her hands where they rest on the table. This isn't her world. She shouldn't have to sit in a room full of outlaws planning what amounts to a paramilitary assault.
"What if you fail?" she asks when Ghost finishes.
"We won't," Reaper says with the absolute certainty that's made men follow him into hell and back.
"But if you do," she persists. "What happens to us?"
Reaper's eyes meet mine across the table. "Wilder has a contingency plan. Don't you, brother?"
I nod, understanding what he's asking. "If things go wrong, I get them out. Take them somewhere the Vultures MC can't find them."
"Where?" Emma demands.
"Better you don't know the details," I tell her. "Safer that way."
She opens her mouth to argue, but Reaper stands, signaling the end of the discussion. "We move at midnight. Blade, check the weapons. Ghost, go over the approach route again with Ace and Viper. Everyone clear on their roles?"
The brothers nod in unison. As they begin to file out of the chapel, Reaper catches my eye. "Wilder, a word."
I stay behind as the others leave, including Emma, who follows Evelyn with visible reluctance. When we're alone, Reaper circles the table to stand in front of me.
"How's the arm?" he asks, nodding toward my bandaged wound.
"I'll live." I flex my fingers to demonstrate. "Blade did a good job with the stitches."
"If this goes sideways," he says, lowering his voice despite the empty room, "you get my daughter as far from here as possible. The cabin at Blackwater Lake. No one knows about it except all six members."
"What about Evelyn?"
A shadow crosses his face. "She goes too. Understand?"
"I understand." I meet his gaze steadily. "But it won't come to that. You'll take out Charles, end this thing."
"From your lips to God's ears." He doesn't sound convinced. "Emma... she hates me, doesn't she?"
The question catches me off guard. Not the content, but the vulnerability behind it. In the year I've known Reaper, I've never heard him express doubt about anything, especially not personal matters.
"She's angry," I tell him. "Confused. Finding out about Evelyn didn't help."
"I should have prepared her for that." He runs a hand over his face, suddenly looking every one of his forty-three years. "When I called her to come home, all I could think about was keeping her safe. Didn't consider what she'd think about Evelyn and me."
"She'll come around." I'm not sure if I believe it, but he needs to hear it. "She's your daughter. Kane blood runs deep."
He clasps my shoulder with his strong hand. "Watch over her, Wilder. She matters more than anything."
"With my life," I promise. "You know that."
With that, he leaves me alone in the chapel, my thoughts in turmoil. The responsibility weighing on my shoulders feels suddenly heavier. It's no longer just about protecting my president's daughter. It's about protecting Emma, who's somehow worked her way under my skin in the span of a few hours.
I find her in the common room, sitting alone at the bar with a glass of what looks like whiskey in front of her. She stares into the amber liquid without drinking it, lost in thought.
"Should you be drinking that?" I ask, sliding onto the stool beside her.
"Probably not." She pushes the glass away. "I don't even like whiskey. It just seemed appropriate, given the circumstances."
"Understandable." I signal to the prospect behind the bar for water instead. "How are you holding up?"
"How do you think?" She turns to face me. "My father and his merry band of outlaws are about to launch an assault on their enemies while I sit here waiting to find out if I'll be running for my life by morning."
"When you put it that way..." I accept the water from the prospect with a nod of thanks.
"Is he always like this?" she asks after a moment. "So... certain?"
"Your father? Yeah, pretty much. It's why men follow him."
"Even to their deaths?"
I consider this. "Especially then. He never asks anyone to take a risk he wouldn't take himself. Usually, he takes the biggest risks."
"Like tonight." It's not a question.
"Like tonight," I confirm. "He'll be the first through the door at Charles's compound."
She's quiet for a moment, absently tracing patterns in the condensation on the bar. "I keep telling myself I don't care what happens to him. That he made his choices, and I made mine."
"But?"
"But I don't want him to die." The admission seems to cost her something. "How pathetic is that? After everything, I still care whether he lives or dies."
"That's not pathetic, Emma. That's human."
She looks at me then like she's trying to see past the cut and the road name to the man beneath. "Are you? Human, I mean. Sometimes I wonder about the men in this life."
"Last I checked." I attempt a smile. "Still bleed red, still feel pain."
Her eyes drift to my bandaged arm. "I'm sorry about that. About what happened at the diner."
"Not your fault."
"It kind of is, though." She gestures vaguely. "If I wasn't Reaper Kane's daughter, you wouldn't have a knife wound right now."
"If you weren't Reaper Kane's daughter, I wouldn't have met you at all." The words come out before I can stop them, more revealing than I intended.
She blinks, caught off guard by my candor. A faint blush colors her cheeks, but she doesn't look away. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing, in your estimation?"
"Good," I say without hesitation. "Definitely good."
"You might be the first person I've met who thinks being connected to my father is a positive."
"I see the world differently than most people."
"Because you're Wilder," she says, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "The death-defying stuntman."
"Something like that." I take a drink of water to hide my own smile. "Want to get some air? It's going to be a long night of waiting."
She nods, sliding off the barstool. "Lead the way."
I guide her through the clubhouse to a side door that opens onto a small courtyard enclosed by the high compound walls.
It's one of the few quiet spots in the compound, with a couple of wooden benches and potted plants that my sister insisted on adding the last time she visited.
The evening air is cool, scented with pine from the surrounding forest.
Emma takes a deep breath as we step outside. "So, this is the fortress I'm trapped in for the foreseeable future."
"It's not so bad," I say, sitting on one of the benches. "At least the company's decent."
"Is it?" She remains standing, arms crossed. "A bunch of criminals planning a hit on other criminals doesn't exactly qualify as 'decent company' in my book."
"I meant me," I clarify with a half-smile. "But point taken."
That draws a reluctant laugh from her. "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"Not always." I lean back, looking up at the darkening sky. "Right now, for instance, I'm second-guessing every decision that led me to this moment."