Page 139 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

“You’re right. But you’ve got one up on me. You’re loaded.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I snark.

“Oh, you bet your ass we are.” His voice hardens. “Sting operations are everywhere now. Gangsters looking for hungry bikers to run bad deals all the time. The club needs its leader, Cade. One who can look a dodgy arms deal in the face and tell it to take a hike.”

I grunt noncommittally, but he’s not done. He glances at my scuffed boots. “You’re rolling in it, yet do you even spend ten dollars a month on yourself?”

“Oh, I think I spend a little over that,” I mutter, thinking of my bikes, jets, the network of informants, and expensive lodgings. And Scar. Always Scar.

Phoenix bulldozes past my sarcasm. “Dammit, Cade, if you want to be a savior so bad, come and do it right here! And if you think Harmony is too small, maybe you’d want to go to Chicago—”

“And do what?” I sit up sharply, daring him to say it. Ever since his daughter married Nico, Phoenix has relocated the entire galaxy above the bastard’s head.

“You can do so much with Nico in the Outfit—”

“I hunt and kill men like Nico Vitelli, Phoenix,” I growl. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I break bread with that piece of shit.”

Phoenix studies me, his expression unreadable. “Well then, it’s too bad he’s your brother now, isn’t it?”

“A fucking shame,” I mutter, just as a burst of laughter cuts through the evening air, drawing my attention like a magnet.

Through the window, I spot Luna. Head thrown back, dark hair cascading like a waterfall. She’s a goddamn supernova, sucking up all the energy in the room. My rough-looking brothers gawk at her, completely enthralled. She could be selling them tin bikes, and they’d be lapping it up.

Longing coils inside me, and suddenly, I can’t take another second of this conversation. I stand and pat Phoenix’s back, the leather of his cut rough under my palm. “I better go get my woman before she has those bikers voting you out and her in as Prez.”

“She’s welcome to try.” Phoenix grunts but his hand catches my arm in a strong grip, stopping me from leaving. “The club will wait until you’re done with your tantrum.”

The words hang between us like smoke, and for a long moment, I say nothing. Finally, I go for complete honesty. “Afraid I can’t say when that will be.”

His shoulders sag, and he nods once, the sadness in his eyes betraying his breaking heart. “Live free . . . ,” he begins, invoking the Reaper Druids’ farewell.

“Die with your boots on,” I finish, sealing my fate.

Phoenix’s gaze search mine, as though looking for a crack in the armor I’ve spent years building. “I sure hope that woman in there understands that your life is in an hourglass.”

I glance back at Luna again. “She understands better than most.”

“Does she?” Phoenix’s eyes drift inward, distant. There’s pain and distrust there—old, buried, but never forgotten. The kind that tells a story of unrequited love. Love that was never enough. “You’re a lot of things, son. Stupid isn’t one of them.”

42

Luna

“So, how long have you been in Harmony?” I ask, leveling Maria with a wary look. She sits across from me in her tight black jeans, her dark hair swept up into a high ponytail.

She’s the last person I thought I’d sit with after this afternoon. But with Cade off talking to Phoenix, Maria happens to be the only one here who doesn’t look at me like I’d time-traveled to this world by mistake.

“Almost three years now,” she replies, looking around the room. “This place . . . it feels like home in a way Chicago never did.”

Something about the way Maria avoids meeting my eyes makes my initial irritation waver.

I follow her gaze, noticing how her expression softens. The clubhouse isn’t the grungy dive I’d expected. It’s rugged, sure, but with an understated luxury.

Thecommon room is larger than most nightclubs, easily accommodating dozens of patch holders and their women without feeling crowded. Large windows give the illusion of an even bigger space, and the bar selection would make any high-end lounge envious.

It’s clear the club isn’t cash-strapped.

The bikers, too, defy every stereotype I’ve ever had. They aren’t the scarred men with stained teeth the movies taught me to expect. They’re toned, groomed, and carry themselves with an authority bordering on arrogance.

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