Page 79 of Wings
"Yes, sir. Just thinking through logistics."
"Good man." He raised his glass slightly. "To new beginnings. And to ending old problems."
We drank, the covenant sealed in bourbon and silence. When I left his office twenty minutes later, I carried two weights—the honor of upcoming membership and the burden of what that membership would cost.
The night air hit cold, clearing my head as I crossed the compound. Bikes rumbled in the distance, brothers coming and going on club business. Soon I'd be one of them, fully vested, carrying the weight of the patches on my back.
But first, I had a brother to deal with. One who'd forgotten that blood alone didn't make family.
One who'd threatened the only family that mattered.
The nursery door stood slightly open, soft light spilling into the hallway alongside the quiet scratch of crayons on paper. I paused outside, taking in the scene that still gutted me every time—my girl in her yellow duck pajamas, hair in messy pigtails I'd helped her with earlier, completely absorbed in her coloring.
She'd followed every protocol to the letter. The check-in texts lined up on my phone: "Ate all my lunch, Daddy!" at 12:30. "Drank two big glasses of water" at 2:00. "Home safe, starting quiet time" at 4:15. And now here she was, ready for bed thirty minutes before her required time, already in pajamas without being reminded.
"Such a good girl," I said from the doorway, watching her whole body light up at the praise.
"Daddy!" She dropped her crayon immediately, bouncing in her seat. "I did everything right today! Look!" She gestured at herself, then at the coloring book, then at the glass of water on her table. "Pajamas on, teeth brushed, and I'm being quiet like you said!"
The pride in her voice over basic tasks might have seemed strange to outsiders. But I understood the victory in it—after years of chaos, of managing everything alone, having structure to follow was freedom. The contract hadn't caged her; it had given her permission to let go.
"I can see that." I entered the room fully, stopping to examine her coloring page. A garden scene, all the flowers in shades of purple and pink. "Beautiful work, baby girl. Is this for me?"
"Yup!" She beamed up at me. "So you have pretty things to look at."
My chest went tight.
“I always have pretty things to look at when you’re around.”
“Daddy! You charmer!”
"Come here, sweet girl." I settled into the reading chair, patting my lap. "Daddy has something to tell you."
She abandoned her coloring instantly, climbing into my lap with the kind of trust that still knocked me sideways. The duck pajamas were soft under my hands as I settled her against my chest, her head finding that perfect spot under my chin.
"Good something or bad something?" she asked, fingers already playing with the buttons on my shirt—a self-soothing gesture I'd noticed increased when she was nervous.
"Very good something." I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the vanilla scent of her shampoo. "The vote was unanimous. My patch ceremony is next Saturday."
She went absolutely still for a heartbeat. Then exploded into motion, twisting in my lap to pepper my face with kisses. "My Daddy's going to be a real biker! A real Heavy King! Oh my god, Wings, this is amazing! I'm so proud of you!"
"Real biker?" I laughed, catching her hands before she could completely dishevel us both. "What have I been until now?"
"You know what I mean." She settled slightly, but her eyes still sparkled with joy. "Full patches. Real member. Brotherhood and everything official and—oh! I need to make something special!"
"Yeah?"
"Cookies!" She bounced again, mind already racing. "Those ones you like with the brown butter and sea salt. And maybe a cake? Do bikers eat cake at patch ceremonies? I should askMandy. Or Mia! Mia would know about party planning. Oh, and I need to find you a present! What do you get someone for becoming a real biker?"
"Baby girl," I interrupted gently, charmed by her enthusiasm. "You don't need to do anything. Just having you there is enough."
"Nope." She shook her head firmly, pigtails swaying. "This is important. Life-changing. Deserves proper celebration." Her face went serious, that particular expression that meant she was about to say something that would wreck me. "You worked so hard for this. Came here broken and built yourself back up. Earned everyone's respect."
Jesus. This girl.
"Kiara . . ."
"I mean it." She cupped my face in her small hands, forcing me to meet her eyes. "I'm so fucking proud of you, Gabe. So proud to be yours. To wear your collar. To share your name someday."
