Page 20 of Ace's Legacy
"You sell yourself short, Ace." Reaper leans against his desk. "Always have."
"I know exactly what I am," I counter. "What I've done."
"And what's that?" he challenges.
I gesture vaguely. "Violence. Chaos. I'm my father's son, Reap. You know my old man was a piece of shit who'd hurt anyone who crossed him. That blood runs in me."
"Bullshit." Reaper's voice is sharp. "You've had every opportunity to become your father, and you've chosen differently every time. You channel your violence to protect, not to destroy."
I want to believe him. I want to believe I'm more than just a product of bad genetics and worse upbringing. But the doubt is always there, whispering in the back of my mind. What if I can't be what Sarah needs? What if I can't be what a child needs?
"Just be careful today," Reaper adds. "Not just for the club, but for yourself. For what you're building with her."
"I don't know what I'm building with her," I admit. "But I'm curious to find out. And that's... that's something I never thought I'd say about any woman."
Reaper chuckles, his expression softening slightly. "Don't break her heart, Ace. Women like that. Good women who still see the best in men like us… They're rare. Too rare to waste."
"I won't," I promise, the words coming easier than I expected. "She's worth... everything."
The realization hits me as I say it. Sarah, with her kind eyes and fierce protectiveness, is worth far more than I ever thought I'd deserve.
A knowing smile crosses Reaper's face. "Good. Now call everyone in. It's time to plan."
I step out and signal to the brothers scattered throughout the clubhouse. "Church! Now!"
They file into the chapel. Our meeting room with the large wooden table carved with our club's emblem. I take my usual seat near the middle as Reaper settles at the head of the table. The door closes behind us, sealing us in for club business. The only ones absent are Evelyn and Sarah, civilians not privy to official meetings.
Reaper's gaze sweeps over us, landing on Wilder. "Where's Emma?"
"At my place in town," Wilder answers, his voice steady despite the tension visible in his shoulders. "No one will find her there. Left her a gun, just in case."
Reaper nods, though I can see he's not entirely satisfied. "Still not a fan of her being away from the clubhouse, but I understand she needs space from this life."
The strain between father and daughter is an open secret in the club. Emma resents the outlaw lifestyle that kept Reaper distant during her childhood.
Leaning forward, Reaper places both palms flat on the table. "Fun's over, brothers. Charles has pushed his luck too far." His voice hardens with each word. "The Vultures MC have attacked this clubhouse twice and my daughter once. Meanwhile, we've hit them back twice."
Ghost nods. "Time to even the score."
"No," Reaper says, shaking his head. "Time to end it. This third strike isn't about scaring them or sending a message. It's about finishing them, permanently."
This is what we've been waiting for. The green light to eliminate the threat once and for all.
"We're not rushing this," Reaper continues. "We wait, gather all necessary intel, then make one surgical strike. No survivors, no loose ends."
"What's the timeline?" Blade asks, always the strategist.
"As long as it takes to do it right," Reaper answers. "But not a day longer than necessary. Every day Charles breathes is another day our families are at risk."
I think of Sarah, of the child growing inside her. My child. The stakes have never felt higher.
"We're fighting for more than just the club now," Reaper says, as if reading my thoughts. "We're fighting for the future of everyone in this town. Those who welcomed us and those who didn't. We made a promise to protect Pine Haven when we settled here, and we'll keep it."
Around the table, heads nod in agreement. Despite our outlaw status, we've developed a strange symbiotic relationship with Pine Haven. We keep certain elements out—like Charles's trafficking operation—and in return, the town tolerates our presence, even appreciates it sometimes.
"Wilder, Ghost, I want intel. Find out where Charles is holing up. Blade, inventory our weapons, see what we need." Reaper's orders come rapid-fire, each brother nodding in acknowledgment.
"And me?" I ask when he doesn't assign me a task.
