Page 54 of The Bastard's Lily
“Yeah.” I flick ash into the dirt. “Grimm’s heard it too. Says the kid’s got a mean streak—asks too many questions about Calla, about Beau. Like he’s fishing. He caught him in that rainstorm when Beau showed up…”
Boar scratches at the scar along his jaw, silent for a beat. “And then the thing with the school today…”
I take another drag, the memory of that black sedan flashing behind my eyes. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “Too much lining up to be a coincidence.”
The wind carries the smoke out toward the pines. Boar studies me for a long moment, then nods once, slow and deliberate, like he’s filing it all away.
“Alright,” he says. “We’ll keep eyes on him. And on the school.”
I drop the butt into the gravel and grind it out with my boot, the anger still there but sharper now, focused. “Good,” I mutter. “Because if that kid’s playing both sides, I’m not waiting for a fourth strike.”
The clubhouse door creaks again. Ridge steps out, sunlight catching the silver in his beard. The Vice President takes in the scene—the stomped-out cigarette, the cooling anger—without a word at first.
“Heard about your kid’s school,” he says finally, voice like gravel under a truck tire. “Bring ’em here. We can lock the place down tighter than Fort Knox. They’ll be safe.”
I let out a short, humorless chuckle and drag a hand over my jaw. “Yeah? You ever tried convincing Calla to hole up anywhere she doesn’t choose herself?”
Ridge smirks. “Point taken. She always did have a mind like barbed wire.”
Boar folds his arms, a rare grin sliding across his face. “Good to see you happy again, brother. And with her, no less.”
Ridge nods in agreement, eyes warm in a way you don’t often see from him. “We all knew that girl back when she was just a kid running around town. Then, when she fell for your dumbass and followed you like a little lost puppy. Smart as hell, heart bigger than this clubhouse. We loved her then; we love her now. Fits right in, whether she ever wanted to or not.”
The words settle deep, heavier than I expect. I glance toward the treeline, thinking of Calla’s stubborn smile, of Beau waving from the school steps.
“Yeah,” I say, a slow grin breaking through despite everything. “She’s always been ours. Just took me a while to figure it out.”
The afternoon sun hangs low and hot when I cut the engine and wait on the shoulder outside the prison gates. Gravel crunches under passing cars, but I barely hear it. All I see is the gate. The minute Calla’s truck noses out onto the main road, my pulse evens. She spots me, a quick flash of a smile through the windshield, and the weight of the day slides a little lighter.
I drop the kickstand and fall in beside her as she slows. We ride in loose formation—her truck leading, my Harley a steady shadow—until the school comes into view, the late light spilling gold across the playground.
She parks first. I roll in next to her, kill the engine, and swing off the bike in one motion. Before she can even step down from the cab, I reach for her. Calla lands against me with a soft laugh, the smell of warm sun and engine grease wrapping around us. I pull her in tight, the kind of kiss that says more than words can carry—relief, claim, promise all at once.
For a heartbeat, the noise of the lot disappears. Just her smile, her heartbeat against mine, and the low rumble of my bike cooling in the October air.
Calla’s palm slides into mine as we cross the lot toward the school doors, her truck keys jingling against my knuckles. The late-afternoon sun paints everything in long amber stripes, but she still smells faintly of the prison—disinfectant and the sharp tang of metal.
“Long day?” I ask.
She lets out a quiet breath. “You have no idea. Intake was a nightmare, and one of the blocks went into lockdown for an hour. Paperwork mountain the size of Mount Washington.”
“Anyone give you trouble?” I keep my voice easy, but my grip tightens.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She tilts a grin up at me. “Though watching you shadow me on that bike this morning definitely had the guards talking.”
I chuckle. “Good. Maybe it’ll keep them on their toes.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “You know you didn’t have to wait out there.”
“Yeah, I did,” I say, simple as that. “After the car at the school? I’m not letting you walk out of that place without me in sight.”
Calla’s eyes soften, the tired lines at the corners easing. “Overprotective biker,” she teases, but she squeezes my hand tighter.
“Guilty,” I admit, steering her toward the main doors just as the dismissal bell rings and the sound of kids floods the hallway. “Now let’s get our boy before he tries to sneak that fox into after-school again.”
The dismissal bell shrieks, and a wave of little voices spills out of the building. I spot Beau’s wild hair before anything else—fox clutched tight, backpack half unzipped as he barrels through the door.
“Mama! Dad!” He skids to a stop just shy of my boots and bounces in place, eyes bright. “I showed the rainbow dinosaur again! Everyone loved it!”
