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I’d done my fair share of stupid shit and had my head pretty far up my damn ass during my teen years, thinking I was untouchable, invincible. I was the son of one of the most notorious men in the MC world, and for a long time, I thought that had given me a free pass to act like a fucking idiot, spending my time drinking too much and fucking anything that moved.
The slap in the face I needed was having to watch my twin brother be handed his prospect cut while my father told me I wasn’t ready.
I had to earn it.
To fight for it.
I needed to prove to my family and the club that I was worthy of their respect instead of demanding it.
It had taken a few months, but eventually, I’d proven myself, and now I was close to a year prospecting, and one day in the next few months, I’d have a full patch and a seat at a table I’d wanted to sit at since I was old enough to understand its importance.
Hopefully, with a strong Old Lady by my side.
An Old Lady like my mom who would stand by me but also be willing to fight for our family.
Like Stella had today.
“You ready to go?” Blizzard called as he threw his leg over his ride and kicked up the stand.
I did the same, starting my engine and rolling my shoulders back.
“Ready.”
“Let’s ride.”
CHAPTER 3
STELLA
The slamming of two car doors was the first indication that Principal Graft had called my parents while I was walking home from school. The second indication was that it was a little after four o’clock, and they were both meant to be working at the hospital until close to midnight tonight—my mom in the emergency room, my father in a complicated surgery.
That had been my life for years.
Parents who were relentlessly off saving lives—on-call shifts, emergency surgeries, baby deliveries. They were forever rushing off to rescue someone, meaning they were always forgiven for hardly ever being around for the life they’d actually created and brought into the world.
Mine.
But your mom and dad do so much good for the community!
Oh, aren’t you so proud of everything they’ve achieved!
How does it feel to have superheroes for parents?
Honestly?
How did I feel?
Exhausted.
Constantly disappointed.
And completely inadequate.
“Stella?” Dad called, a flurry of footsteps hurrying through our tiled entryway.
“I’m in the kitchen!” I called back reluctantly, the angry stomping suddenly growing louder as they made their way down the hall toward me.
When they appeared, I expected silence for a moment, even just for a second, as they both caught their breath, but I was wrong. “What the hell were you thinking?” Dad demanded, storming in and slamming his palms on the kitchen counter. I jumped a little, shocked by the outburst of anger. My dad had always been reasonably reserved and extremely work-focused, often leaving the parenting and discipline to Mom.
