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With the last ounce of strength in me, I looked over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of the wall of bodies that filled the open doors of the church—a blur of leather, tattoos, and denim.
One moved toward me, but I struggled to focus, unable to make out anything but the advancing shadows.
Everything that represented the devil.
“Come on, kid,” he murmured, scooping my body into his arms and walking out with me as Prophet Andrew screamed something unintelligible. “Hang in there, don’t give up yet.”
Was this him?
Was this it?
Was I in Hell?
Because if it was really Hell, then why did I feel so at home?
HAWK
“You’re late.”
I reached for an empty plate, only to be slapped on the back of my hand with a bright pink spatula. The sharp sting had me jerking back, crinkling my nose at my baby cousin, Calliope. “I’ve been down at Backroad, helping them finish shit.”
For extra impact, I scuffed my hand through my hair, letting dust sprinkle out onto the floor. The club’s new sports bar was still very much under construction. I’d spent the last four hours or so sawing, hammering, and sanding, so it would be ready for the painters to come in a couple of days. Most of the boys were down there helping because the place was meant to be opening in three damn weeks.
Calli huffed loudly and rolled her eyes at me across the table. “You gonna clean that up?”
“You gonna force your favorite cousin to starve?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’ll take that,” I answered, grabbing a clean plate, this time without being assaulted. An asshole was far from the worst thing Calli had ever called me. Though, the way her shoulders sagged and a smile finally formed reminded me that it was all in love. “Now, can I eat? I’m fucking starved.”
She pointed the pretty pink spatula at me. “You’re late again next week, and I’m feeding your share to the dog next door.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She’d say the same thing again next week when I was late.
And the week after that too.
Sunday lunch had been a thing since well before Bishop, my uncle and Exiled Eight MC President, showed up at The Valley and rescued me.
Bishop’s Old Lady, Lucy, had been doing it since the two of them had what Bishop thought was a one-night stand twenty years ago, only to find her feeding his brothers the next morning. He always said when it came to women, and you knew she was it, you fucking knew.
And he never let her leave.
At least, not willingly.
A heart defect she’d had since she was a baby eventually caught up with her, and ten years ago, it finally gave in.
I watched Bishop almost give in too.
If it hadn’t been for Calliope, he just might have. The kid was only seven when she watched her mom die. We buried Lucy on a Sunday morning, and Calli was in the kitchen that same day, continuing the legacy her mom left behind.
“Where’s your dad?”
Calli pulled another tray of cookies from the oven, placing them on the counter. “He’s out the back. There are some guys out there I haven’t met before,” she answered, now far more focused on the feast she was preparing, though it didn’t stop the visible shudder that moved down her spine. “The big one creeps me out.”
I paused with my plate full, a deep frown knotting my brow.
