Page 29 of Property of Legend

Chapter 15

Legend

Soon, the sun burns through the morning mist, setting fire to the hills of Paradise County.I leave Sophie behind at the farm.Safe, for now, posted under Oaks and Derby’s watchful eyes.My knuckles are tight on the throttle as I tear down the backroad.My mind’s a damn war zone.Too many questions.Not enough time.

The Kings' clubhouse looms ahead, sittin' where the old Paradise County jail used to lock up sinners.Now it's home to a different breed of criminal, my breed.Stone walls chipped with time, barred windows stained with rust and memory.A fortress of bastards and blood brothers.

I roll up slow, the low growl of my Harley joining the choir of patched steel already parked out front.There’s a sense of calm in the chaos, like comin’ home to the only family that never walked away.Inside, the air’s thick with smoke, spilled whiskey, and the bite of old war stories.Neon signs flicker over cracked pool tables and leather cuts stitched with sins.

Bullet throws a nod from behind the bar, face unreadable like always.Rye and Vandal are at it again, arguing like they’re fixin’ to throw punches, but it’s all bark tonight.No bite.

“Legend!”That sharp-ass voice cuts through the room like a damn blade.

I don’t need to turn to know it’s Becki.

My sister in everything but blood, and just as dangerous.She stalks toward me, boots heavy, black hair like a whip behind her.Eyes sharp.Chin lifted.Trouble bottled up in a tiny package of fury and sass.

“What is it, Becki?”I grunt, already feelin’ the headache comin’.

She crosses her arms, hip cocked like she’s fixin’ for a fight.“Word is, you’ve got Sophie Montgomery holed up at the farm.Didn’t know we were in the business of babysittin’ debutantes now.”

I keep movin’, brushing past her toward the bar.“Ain’t what it looks like.”

“Oh please,” she hisses, following on my heels.“You’re already knee-deep, don’t lie about it.She’s the same stuck-up princess who ran when shit got hard.”

I stop short.Turn.Square my shoulders to her.

“Yeah?”I growl.“And you’re the same wild card who almost blew up the propane tank because someone looked at you wrong.We all got our faults.”

Her eyes spark with something fierce.“Difference is, I earned my place here.Sophie’s just passin’ through.”

“You don’t know her,” I say, low and steady.

“I know enough,” she spits.“She’s got that same name that ran your daddy into the dirt.You think this time’s gonna end different?”

That one hits deep.Right in the scar that never healed.

Ezekiel Crowley, the preacher who raised me after my old man fell apart, always preached about loyalty and wrath.But it was his daughter Becki who bled beside me when things went sideways.Becki who picked fights just to keep up.Becki who stayed.

“I ain’t askin’ you to like her,” I say quieter, more dangerous now.“But she’s in danger.And no one, not you, not her name, not the past, is gonna stop me from protectin’ her.”

Her mouth trembles, but she tightens it fast.“You think she’s worth breakin’ everything we built?”

I shake my head.“Ain’t about worth.It’s about right.And no matter what she’s done, she didn’t ask for this.The shit comin’ for her’s bigger than grudges and jealousy.”

Becki backs off, but not before tossin’ one more look that’s half warning, half heartbreak.“Just don’t come cryin’ when she leaves again.”

It’s then I notice, she did cut off all her hair.Darla was right to warn me.It’s gonna piss her backwards daddy off, and it’s gonna be my problem.

Becki disappears into the shadows of the clubhouse, and I feel it, that twist in my gut.Not doubt.Not guilt.Just pressure.And it’s building.

“Brother,” Bullet steps in, two shots in hand, one already halfway gone.His face is carved from stone, but I can see the worry behind his eyes.“You good?”

I grab the shot.Toss it back.Let the burn do its work.

“Yeah,” I grunt.

He watches me a second too long.“You sure?‘Cause this feels personal.And personal gets men killed.It’s my job to keep you breathing.”

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