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Of a life filled with love, laughter, and acceptance.

A family.

A home.

Chapter 40

Crow

Watching the live footage streaming to my personal computer felt insufficient. As the coffin got lowered into a nondescript grave surrounded by the men I once called brothers, rage filled me. Reaper, the man who had claimed the title as my father, was confined to a wheelchair. My mother stood beside him, ever the devoted martyr. Seeing them suffering, crippled and broken, was the only satisfaction from the moment. But I needed more.

Fear…They needed to understand this wasn’t a flash in the pan or some childhood rebellion. This was merely an appetizer, a taste of what was to come. There was so much more I had planned for them. Tommy was collateral damage. I didn’t even know the kid. What I did know was that it would hurt Reaper’s ego to hurt someone he considered “family.”

Looking around the nondescript apartment I was holed up in, I couldn’t help but rage at the latest setbacks. I should have been there myself, so close that I could taste the pain radiating off those pussies.

Instead, I had to put my club first. Rebuilding and securing a new headquarters was the most important. Our spot in Canada was obviously blown, and we had to get creative with our next moves. My phone vibrated. And my instinct was to ignore it until I processed the number calling.

“What do you have for me?” I didn’t have the time to waste or the energy for small talk. Thankfully, my source understood that.

“Atlas is already back on the road, which means something is happening with the trail. They’re keeping things close to the vest, though. Whatever plans you had for the confirmed safe houses, I’d act on them now. He left before the funeral.”

Shit.

“Good work. Now, get back to the group before they notice you’re missing.” The call disconnected, and I sat, watching the monitor mindlessly as I decided what to do with the information.

As much as I had enjoyed shooting the man who paraded around as my father, part of me was grateful he survived. It meant I could prolong his suffering, watch as he was forced to sit on the sidelines, incapacitated. He was scrambling to recover and regroup, but I wouldn’t give him that chance.

Don’t they see? The entire club was built on a lie. Some storybook tale Reaper and Seph made up to validate their poor decisions. To excuse all their sins—the pain, the murder, the carnage. They destroyed families, taking the decision out of their hands and ripping kids out of homes they never knew they needed saving from.

Who are they to make that call?

Meeting my real family unleashed a part of me I didn’t realize existed. All that buried rage and fury were meant for something more. All that time, Reaper had forced me to leash them, to bury those feelings. He told me it was about mastering control, that it would make me stronger.

Lies. All of it. Untapped, all my efforts finally paid off. No longer bound by hypocritical laws established to make old men feel better about what crimes they committed and against who. I knew the truth, though: that was just a cover.

A thin veneer so they could claim they had boundaries fenced in by the ethics and morals they deemed worthy. It was all so they could feel above everyone else.

“Wyatt,” I answered, keeping my greeting short.

“Your source able to confirm the info about that safe house?”

“They’re already making moves. We gotta act now if we wanna get ahead of them.” The call disconnected, and a moment of unease washed through me. I knew Wyatt’s interests didn’t align with mine, as much as he was fueled by revenge our final goals differed.

I wanted to end The Reaper’s Guard. Force the club to disband, to stop this foolish endeavor they called Seph’s Trail. Their pride and joy; their way of pretending they mattered, that they gave back somehow. I wanted to attack where it would hurt the most, and I wanted to stop more families from getting separated. The club took the decision away from my family. They made that choice for my father and for me.

Wyatt, though…He saw something else. Each part of the route we discovered, each safe house we raided, each drop-off we intercepted, were checkmarks on a list I didn’t have access to. Those weren’t just blows to the competition; they were business decisions.

Women and children with brand-new IDs that rendered them untraceable. The club did half the job for us by erasing their past lives. Wyatt saw them as collateral—or even worse, stock. With no one looking for them, nowhere for them to turn for help they were easy to move around as needed. Where they wound up was in our hands.

Long nails painted black stroked up my arms, trailing over my shoulder before draping over my neck. Warm breath led to teasing kisses, a bite to my neck and ear before Raven finally spoke.

“You done watching your shows? I need you…” Raven and I had met in a random bar as we fled Edmonton. She was hustling the drunk locals at pool, and I stepped in when they were less than reluctant to pay what she was owed.

She took it upon herself to situate herself on the back of my bike and hadn’t left my side since. Raven was a free spirit, equally vicious and untethered as I was. We fucked and we fought, but we hadn’t separated. Not yet.

“What are you offering?” My arm was already shutting the laptop. I knew everything I needed to for the day. The Reapers had taken a serious blow. They were weak and licking their wounds. I had my people in place. We would take advantage of their lowered guards, then retreat, giving them the illusion of defense and safety before we finally delivered the next round of attacks.

Raven’s hands dipped lower, slowly undoing my belt buckle. Any thoughts of revenge, of Wyatt’s plans, of the Trail faded under her touch.