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The sterile light in Eileen's hospital room casts a pale glow on her sleeping form, the creases of exhaustion etched into her face. I can't help but feel a pang of guilt for what she's been through. The air smells like a mix of sick and old people, and machines emit chirps and clicks at odd intervals. Nothing about this place feels right.
Owen, Natalie, and Bullet are with me, sitting on worn chairs that have seen better days. There’s a half-eaten tray of food sitting in front of Eileen. Just minutes ago, she ate some mushy peas, stale bread, and something the nurse said was meatloaf, but looked so terrible it probably had Eileen wishing the poison had finished the job, but now, she’s asleep, her body giving in to the need for rest. Looking around the room at all four of us gathered around her bed, I can't help but think about the important things in life.
"Nothing matters more than family," I say, my voice cracking slightly as I glance at each one of them. "We look out for each other. No matter what. We’re going to beat these developers, and we’re going to make sure no one messes with Eileen, or anyone else, ever again."
"Absolutely," Owen agrees, nodding solemnly. His eyes meet mine with a sense of understanding, knowing all too well the importance of unity in shaky times like these. "We're stronger together. We’ll beat this thing together."
Natalie clears her throat, drawing our attention to her. She’s been quiet a lot lately, but I don’t blame her; it’s hard to feel comfortable speaking up when the people you’re talking to—me, Owen, Bullet—problem-solve with guns and fists instead of words. "You know, that's why I pursued hard-hitting stories as a journalist," she says, hesitant. "I wanted to find information that would help make our town safer and better for the people who live in it. If you guys can get me anything at all aboutMar y Tierra, I can really make them hurt."
"Sis, we’ll bring you in, I promise, but we have to be careful. I don’t want anyone else to end up like grandma," Owen says. "Bullet, Thunder, me, we’re all here to take those bullets.”
“Yes, but also, I’d rather not,” I say, grinning.
“We’re soldiers. That’s what we do,” Owen says. “When I joined the military, I wanted to protect my country, my friends... everyone I care about. It’s the same thing here." He hesitates for a moment before continuing. "My grandfather did the same thing, too. He fought, he’d be fighting if he were still alive. He was in the same Marine unit as me. They called him Striker."
"Striker?" Bullet asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Yep," Owen nods. "He never backed down from a fight. Even when it was against someone bigger, stronger, or higher-ranking than him. He got disciplined a lot. I like to think I inherited some of that from him."
Bullet and I share a brief look of understanding; the Steel Reapers MC could use someone like Owen—someone with a strong sense of loyalty and duty.
"Owen," I say, holding out my hand to him. "How'd you like to join the Steel Reapers? We could use someone like you."
His eyes widen in surprise, but only for a moment. A grin spreads across his face as he reaches out andgrabsmy hand.
"I'd be honored, Marcus. Count me in."
“Do you have a ride?” Bullet says.
“My grandfather had an old ‘65 Electra-Glide. It’d need some work, but I can get it running again.”
Bullet and I both trade another look. This one says:if he doesn’t join, I call dibs on his bike.
"You’re in. Welcome to the family," Bullet adds with a smile, clapping Owen on the back.
“It’ll be great to have you in the club, brother,” I say. Giving him a hug.
“You know, my grandfather rode for an MC for a time. Kept his name from the Marine Corps as his road name. If you guys don’t object, I’d like to carry on with that name. Honor him.”
“No problem, Striker. But only if you can tell me how he earned his nickname. You said he punched one of his commanding officers?” Bullet says.
“He did more than punch him,” Owen begins. “He beat the snot out of him. It all started when…”
As Owen continues with his story, I can feel—no,see—the bonds between us growing stronger; smiles, shared looks, shared laughter. It feels good to expand our circle, to bring in others who share our values and understand the importance of loyalty, unity,and family. But there's still something missing from this moment—a piece of my heart that longs for Lia's presence.
Her laugh, her intelligence, her passion... I can't help but think how much more complete our family would be with her in it. As if pulled by an invisible thread, my hand drifts to my pocket, where my phone rests.
"Marcus," Bullet says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I reply, forcing a smile. "I was just thinking about how amazing this all is—having Owen join us, growing our family. But there's someone I should call first."
"Who?" Natalie asks, curiosity lighting up her face.
“Rook. You’re right. We can’t bring Owen in without him having a say,” Bullet says, being both completely right and completely wrong at the same time.
“I’ll take care of it,” I answer.
Stepping out of Eileen's hospital room, I pull out my phone and dial Rook's number. He picks up after a few rings.
