I didn’t blame them. I would have done the same thing in their position.
Slowly, carefully, I pushed myself up off the floor and made my way to the cot bolted against the far wall. The cell was small—maybe eight by ten feet—with concrete walls, a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a metal toilet in the corner. Nowindows. No way out except through the locked door. A holding cell. A place to keep brothers who fucked up until the club decided what to do with them.
I sat down on the cot, my body protesting every movement, and leaned back against the wall. The cold concrete felt good against my overheated skin. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. Shallow, careful breaths that didn’t make my ribs scream.
Hope.Her name was a prayer and a curse all at once. I could still smell her on my skin. Jasmine and honey and the sweet musk of sex. Could still feel the ghost of her body beneath mine, the way she clung to me, the way she whispered my name like it was something sacred.
Chapman. Chapman. Chapman.
She had seen me. Really seen me. And she chose me anyway, and now she was being destroyed because of it. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. Shadow had dragged her out of that motel room, and he was tearing her apart with words sharper than any blade. Telling her she was stupid, reckless, and naïve. Telling her she had thrown away her future for a man who would never be good enough for her.
And the funny thing was, I knew he was right. Hope was kind and strong, and brave. She looked at me—a killer, a widower, a man drowning in grief—and she had seen something worth saving. She had given me her body, her trust, her heart. And I took it all. Gladly. Greedily. Without hesitation. Because I was a selfish bastard who had known exactly what the consequences would be and I had done it anyway.
I broke the Golden Rule.
The rule that said sisters were off-limits unless you went through the proper channels. Unless you talked to her family first, got permission, and proved you were worthy. Unless you did everything the right way, with respect and honor and all thebullshit protocol that kept the MC world from descending into chaos.
I skipped all of it. I had taken Hope’s virginity while calling her another woman’s name. I watched her from afar for two weeks, like a stalker. I cornered her at the diner and demanded answers. I courted her in secret, hiding our relationship from everyone who mattered. And then I took her to a motel room and fucked her until dawn, marking her body with my hands and mouth and cock, claiming her in the most primal way possible.
I’d known what I was doing. Known what it would cost, and I did it anyway. Because the alternative—walking away from her, denying what we had, pretending she didn’t matter—would have destroyed us both.
At least this way, she would know the truth. That I loved her. That I chose her. That I would burn the whole fucking world down before I let anyone make her feel like she was less than everything. Even if it killed me.
Especiallyif it killed me.
I opened my eyes and stared at the bare bulb overhead, watching it sway slightly in the air current from the ventilation system. The light was harsh and unforgiving, as it cast sharp shadows across the concrete walls.
This was it, then. The end of the road.
Reaper would come. Ghost would come. They would sit in judgment, and Shadow would demand retribution. The Golden Line-Up. I would be taken back to the Mother Chapter where every brother in the club would take their turn beating the shit out of me until I couldn’t stand anymore. Until I was broken and bloody and barely breathing.
Death by a thousand fists. It was the price for violating the Golden Rule. The price for disrespecting a sister, for taking what wasn’t freely given through proper channels, for putting my own desires above the club’s protocols. Except Hopehadgivenherself freely. She had chosen me. Wanted me. Loved me. But that wouldn’t matter to the club. All they would see was a Golden Skulls’ brother who touched a sister without permission. Who fucked her in secret and exposed her to shame and judgment. Who ruined her. The thought made my chest tighten with something that had nothing to do with broken ribs.
I didn’t ruin her, I thought fiercely.I love her.
But would that be enough? Would she believe it when Shadow was in her ear? Or would she do what I feared most, and walk away, shut down, convince herself that loving me was a mistake?
I didn’t know, and that uncertainty was worse than any beating.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the cell. Heavy boots on concrete. I didn’t move, didn’t tense—just waited as the footsteps stopped outside the door.
A key turned in the lock. The door swung open, and Kansas Aaron Stone stepped inside, carrying a folding chair. He set it down a few feet from the cot and sat, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression unreadable.
For a long moment, we just looked at each other.
Kansas was a big man. Not as tall as me, but broad-shouldered and solid, with the kind of presence that commanded respect without demanding it. He had dark hair, sharp blue eyes, and a scar running from his left eyebrow to his cheekbone. A warrior’s face. A survivor’s face.
A man who had seen his share of shit and come out the other side.
“Jesus fuck, Slaughter,” he said finally, his voice rough. “You sure stirred up a hornet’s nest.”
I said nothing. Just waited.
Kansas sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve got brothers demanding retribution. Two bodies to burn from yourlittle stunt at Joey’s. My V.P. is sitting in county lockup because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, and now Reaper is threatening sanctions if we so much as touch you before he gets here.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “And that was all before I had my coffee this morning.”
“Sorry about that,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I expected. My throat was dry, my mouth tasting of blood.
Kansas snorted. “No, you’re not.”
