Page 61 of What They Say

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Mason

Mason stood just inside the war room doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching the low hum of activity slowly wind down. The clubhouse had that post-storm feel—brothers moving with purpose but without the sharp edge of imminent violence. His eyes kept drifting towards the corner couch where Chase sat tangled up with the girl.

Kath.

She looked small against his son’s broad frame, platinum hair tucked under Chase’s chin, but there was steel in the way she held on. Mason recognized that kind of quiet strength. He’d seen it in Willa. In too many old ladies who’d earned their place the hard way.

A heavy tread behind him pulled his attention. Bear filled the doorway, Slate a step behind, both of them wearing the satisfied-but-weary look of men who’d just finished dirty work.

“Report,” Mason said quietly, voice pitched low enough not to carry.

Bear jerked his chin towards the hall. “They’re handled. Hurley and Ruger drove the pair to the state line. Left ’em breathing, but they won’t be walking straight for a while. Myron wiped everything—phones, photos, the burner they used to scope her house. No trail back to us.”

Slate leaned a shoulder against the wall, arms folded. “The tall one, the asshole with the scar, finally cracked when Bear explained exactly whose girl he’d grabbed. Started singing about old Diamante connections. Said they thought she was just some sweetbutt riding a custom out of your garage. Figured it’d sting you without bringing the whole club down on ’em.”

Mason’s jaw tightened. Diamante. That name still tasted like ash after all these years. The old club had been a thorn in the Rebels’ side since before Chase was born—poisonous alliances, territory grabs, the kind of rot that got good men killed and families torn apart. They’d thought they’d burned the last of it out years ago. Apparently some embers still glowed.

“They know better now?” Mason asked, tone flat.

Bear gave a slow nod. “They know. We made it clear, crystal. You touch anyone under our protection, whether old lady, prospect’s girl, some brother’s dog walker, it doesn’t matter—we will come down with the full fury of the club. Means those Diamante ghosts get another generation of reasons to stay dead. Word’ll spread. The ones still clinging to the old patches won’t test us again anytime soon.”

Mason exhaled through his nose, the knot in his chest easing a fraction. His gaze returned to the couch. Chase had pulled a blanket over Kath’s shoulders and was murmuring something against her hair that made her lips curve, just a little. The boy looked...settled. Not the angry, watchful kid who’d shown up carrying Carrie’s lies like armor. This was a man who’d ridden out hot to bring his woman home, consequences be damned.

Pride and worry twisted together in Mason’s gut. Pride that Chase had stepped up. Worry that the life he’d chosen—for the music, for the girl—would keep pulling danger towards the people he loved.

“You did good tonight,” Mason said to Bear and Slate, meaning it. “All of you. Get some rest. We’ll circle back in the morning on any loose threads.”

Bear clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder as he passed. “Kid’s got your eyes and your stubborn streak. He’ll be all right.”

Slate lingered a moment longer. “He rode like he belonged out there. Didn’t hesitate.”

Mason gave a short nod. He already knew. He’d watched the feed from Myron’s drone. Watched his son kick in a door and pull the girl out while the rest of them handled the front. Reckless as hell. Exactly what Mason would’ve done at that age.

While the room finally cleared, Mason stayed where he was, letting the quiet settle. Chase glanced up, met his eyes across the space, and gave a small, grateful dip of his chin. No words needed. Not tonight.

Mason returned the nod, then turned towards the stairs leading up to the rooms where Willa waited. The club had protected its own. His son had claimed his woman and brought her home.

For tonight, that was enough.

The rest—the long talks, the explanations, the future they’d have to build carefully—could wait until morning.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kath

The Rebel Wayfarers MC clubhouse was louder and warmer than Kath had expected.

Voices rumbled around her—deep, serious conversations mixed with the occasional burst of relieved laughter. The place smelled like leather, coffee, and faintly of gun oil. She sat tucked against Chase’s side on a worn leather couch, one of his arms wrapped firmly around her shoulders like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

She didn’t mind.

Her head still throbbed, her wrists burned where the zip ties had cut in, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw those two men stepping into her living room. But Chase’s steady warmth kept the worst of the panic at bay.

Mason approached them again, this time with what looked like her boots.

Up close, the man was even more intimidating. He carried authority like a second skin. Kath instinctively straightened, trying not to look as small and shaken as she felt.