Page 6 of Property of Quake

I close my eyes and mentally ‘turn around’, and that’s when it hits me. Ryan spent his life believing he’d been abandoned, believing he’d been thrown away and that the answer to his pain existed somewhere else, somewhere bigger or better. But in the end, he discovered that what he’d been looking for had been here all along.

Love.

Family.

Acceptance.

Purpose.

God.

A sob catches in my throat, not because Ryan was wrong, but because he was right.

I think about Sister Beatrice sitting beside children after they had a nightmare, about Father James listening to broken hearts in the chapel, and about the nuns giving their lives to children no one else wanted. I think about Emma and every other little girl who arrived terrified and alone. I think about the children who walked into the home after me, the ones who needed someone to tell them that they mattered, to show them that they were loved, to simply… stay.

The longer I think, the calmer I feel. Peace settles over me with such ferocity that my shoulders relax for the first time in years.

Sacred Haven isn’t just the place where I grew up. It’s my home. Yes, it’s where my parents left me, but it’s also where God found me, where I found God.

The realization is overwhelming, and I instinctively reach for Sister Beatrice’s hand.

“What is it, child?” she asks.

I glance around the chapel, my eyes landing briefly on the cross before focusing on the woman who’s loved me for thirteen years without asking for anything in return.

“I know what I’m supposed to do,” I whisper.

“What’s that?”

I smile. “I’m going to stay.”

Her breath catches, but she remains silent. Shifting my gaze back to the cross above the altar, my heart feels lighter than ever before. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel unwanted.

I feel chosen.

“I’m going to become a nun.”

1

QUAKE

PRESENT DAY…

“It’s time.”

I glance up from my task to see Lyric, my president, leaning against the doorframe of the clubhouse’s armory. I’ve got a cleaning cloth draped over my shoulder and a partially disassembled pistol sitting in front of me. As the Sergeant at Arms of Kings of Anarchy MC: Washington chapter, part of my job is to keep all club weapons clean and ready to go.

I stare at him, and he stares back. For a second, I wonder if he’s talking about church, a run, some club business I’m forgetting.

When he doesn’t elaborate, I ask, “Time for what?”

One corner of his mouth tips up into an infuriating smirk, one that he gets when he knows something others don’t.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” I glance down to see if I’ve got something other than grease on my shirt, but there’s nothing.

Lyric pushes off the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s time,” he repeats.

“I’m gonna need more than that, pres.”