10. Heidi

Sophia is restless when I lay her in her cot. I don’t know if she’s picking up on my morose mood or if she’s just out of sorts, but she’s been like this all day.

She looks up at me with those big eyes, tears making them shiny as her bottom lip wobbles, and my heart wrenches. I wish I could take away whatever she’s feeling.

I place a hand on her belly, trying to soothe her, but she still fusses as she stares up at me.

“Oh, baby girl, try to go to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.” I deliver the promise, even though I know it’s bullshit.

Sleep cures nothing.

But then Sophia doesn’t know how cruel and horrible the world is. She has that innocence all babies have, one I intend to keep for her, no matter what it takes.

I rub the pad of my thumb over her eyebrow, and as I do, I hum a song I know she likes.

“Sleep, my angel,” I whisper as her eyes get heavy and she can no longer fight the pull of sleep.

I wait a while after she drops off, just in case she wakes again, and then I head downstairs.

Grabbing my laptop, I load it up and resume my search. I know it’s both dangerous and pointless trying to find out the names of the men who killed my husband, but it has consumed me since my conversation with Blackjack.

I don’t know why it matters so much. They’re gone, and even if I find their names, it won’t change anything.

My hand strays to my stomach, that familiar hollow, gnawing sensation attacking me. Every time I think about that night, it feels as if there is an invisible hand wrapped around my throat, choking the life out of me.

Headlights illuminate the room suddenly, slipping through the gaps in the blinds. It’s not the sound of a bike I hear, but a vehicle.

Closing the laptop, I slide it onto the coffee table and move off the sofa. It’s unusual to hear traffic this late, but with Trick still out, I’m alert. I feel safe with him in the house, but truthfully, we’re never safe.

I pull down the blind just enough to peer out into the soupy darkness. There are streetlights lining the road, but they don’t reach in front of the house, and the headlights are so bright, I can’t make out anything behind them.

Then, I hear a familiar voice.

Hawk.

That stranglehold on my throat vanishes in an instant. I steady my breathing as I rush down the hallway just in time for the front door to swing open, and I stumble to a halt.

Hawk and Brewer are standing in the doorway, holding up a man between them. It’s only the fact I recognise his hair and beard that alerts me to who it is. Trick’s face is swollen beyond recognition, covered in blood and bruises, and his jaw looks twice the size it normally is.

The macabre sight twists my stomach as the fine hairs on my arms stand to attention. I don’t know if Trick can see me through his slitted, puffy eyes, but I wish I couldn’t see him.

“What the fuck…” I murmur under my breath, unable to tear my gaze away as they haul him inside the house between them.

My stomach turns inside out as Hawk kicks shut the front door and Brewer hands me a piece of leather—Trick’s kutte, I realise. The material is soft beneath my fingers, worn from all the years he’s been with the club.

My chest tightens, and bile coats my throat.

It’s not the first time I’ve been handed a kutte like this. They’d given me Theo’s in the hospital after he died.

Memories flash through my mind like the shutter of a camera, and I blink them away, even as fear leaves my hands trembling.

“What… what the hell happened to him?”

Hawk stares at me for a beat before he asks, “Couch or bedroom?”

What the fuck?Does he think I’m going to keep my silence like a good little girl? If he expects me to play the role of an old lady, he’s mistaken. I don’t have to tiptoe around these men, not anymore.

“Hawk,” I snap his name, “what the fuck happened?”

He glances over the top of Trick’s head at Brewer, who shifts one shoulder at him. When he turns to face me again, that coldness continues to spread up my spine.

“He took a beatdown,” Brewer says.

Now, I know they’re fucking crazy. I’ve heard about club beatdowns before. I remember one of the brothers talking about a club beatdown that happened in the London chapter and how every patched brother got to take one swing.

From the look of Trick’s face, they all took good swings. The pain he must be in makes me nauseous. I duck down, trying to see if he’s conscious, but all I can see is a slither of his irises through his puffy lids.

“You guys did this to him?” The horror bleeds into my words, and I don’t mask how disgusted I am.

They’re supposed to be his brothers, the men who have his back.

“The crazy fucker volunteered for this,” Brewer says defensively.

The thudding of my heart grows stronger, and there’s a ringing in my ears. “He what?”

“Beatdowns wipe the slate clean.”

I stare at Brewer, my lips parted as the volcano inside me readies to erupt. “Are you all fucking crazy?”

I move toward Trick, intending to shove both brothers away. I don’t want them touching him, but before I can, Trick speaks.

“Heidi… don’t.” It’s barely more than a whisper and his voice sounds ragged, but it’s enough to halt my steps. He’s so weak, he can’t even lift his head, but at least he’s breathing, which is a feat, considering the state of him.

“Have you seen what they’ve done to you? Is this what brotherhood is?” I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to stop from puking.

I don’t know why this affects me so badly. I’ve seen more blood and gore in my life than I want to remember, but this makes me sick to my stomach.

“I’m fine,” he rasps.

He’s clearly deluded.

“Is ‘fine’ in the room with us?” I narrow my eyes on him.

“Where do you want him?” Hawk repeats his earlier question, sounding impatient. Fuck him and fuck all the Sons. He did this, so he can just wait.

I glare at him, my expression dripping the venom I want to inflict on him.

“Couch,” I grind out.

“No, the bed,” Trick overrides me. His voice is thick, as if he’s struggling to even form the words. “Don’t… want Sophia… to see me… like this.”

Neither do I, but how the hell is he going to hide this from her? His injuries are going to take weeks to heal.

As they pass me, Brewer gives me a lopsided smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He and Trick are friends—or were before he left the way he did—but friends don’t do this. There is regret in Brewer’s eyes as he heaves Trick up the stairs, but it does nothing to ease the ball of anger building inside me.

Good. I hope you feel like fucking shit.

I follow behind the two men as they manoeuvre Trick toward his room. Sweat beads on my nape as I watch him sag between the two bikers like dead weight. A thousand fears prickle my skin as I try to make sense of any of this.

“Why did you bring him here?” I demand from behind them. “He clearly needs to be in the hospital.”

“Sure, we’ll just explain that he was assaulted by the entire club and see what the pigs make of that, yeah?” Hawk’s sarcasm scratches at my already fragile hold on my nerves.

“I don’t care what the ‘pigs’ think. He could have internal damage.”

“He’s fine. The doc checked him over before we brought him home,” Brewer says as they lower Trick onto the bed. “He’s only so out of it because of the pills. The doc hooked him up with the good stuff.”

I fold my arms, mostly to stop my heart from bursting out of my chest. “Oh, your backroom doctor checked him over and gave him fuck knows what for his pain? Does your club doctor carry a scanner in his back pocket to see if he’s bleeding inside? And how did he get hold of this medication?” I’m aware of how acidic my tone is, but I don’t care. I’m so angry, I can barely hear through the buzzing in my ears.

“Stay the fuck out of this, Heidi.”

I don’t take Hawk’s warning, too riled to care about insulting him or the club. “All your stupid rules and bullshit, is it worth it? Look what you did to your friend.”

I want to understand why Trick would ask for this. Pain, hurt… it changes the mind in a way that can’t be explained to someone who hasn’t been through it, but this kind of self-inflicted punishment is madness.

Trick and I are two sides of the same coin. The only difference between us is he gave into his demons while I drowned in mine. I’m not sure which path is better.

He peers at me through his slitted lids as he sinks into the pillows.

“This is wrong,” I mutter.

“It’s club business. Stay out of it,” Hawk warns.

I spin to face him, his words gasoline to my burning anger. “It’s always fucking club business, but the ‘club business’ affects the rest of us, Hawk. You guys don’t exist in a bubble, and it’s always the women who fucking suffer.”

Hawk grabs my arm, pulling me away from the bed. His grip isn’t hard, but it’s firm enough that I have no choice but to follow as he drags me out onto the landing. As soon as we’re outside the room, I tear away from him, scowling even as I swallow down the shriek of panic that wants to tear out of my throat.

I can hear Trick losing his shit, or trying to, and Brew attempting to calm him down.

“I’m fine,” I yell at Trick. “Hawk’s not going to hurt me, and if he tries, I’ll knee him in the fucking nuts.”

Hawk scrubs a hand over his jaw, and I recognise the look in his eyes. His patience is hanging by a thread.

“Don’t put yourself in the middle of things that don’t concern you.”

I glare at him. Is this ass for real?

“Then don’t turn up in the middle of the night with him bleeding and beaten.”

His long hair curtains his face as he leans into me. The urge to step back is so strong, I have to root my feet to the floor. Despite my assurance to Trick that Hawk won’t hurt me, I’m not all that certain anymore.

“I know you don’t have a lot of time for this club—you’ve made your feelings very fucking clear on that—but don’t cross the line, Heidi. This shit ain’t for you to judge.”

I try to calm myself before I say something I can’t take back. “You’re wrong. This club was everything to me, Hawk. I was as much a part of this life as you. It was my entire world, the family I always wanted. It was the club that fucked all of that, not me.”

Pain as fresh as it was back then hits me in the chest. How fucking dare he stand there and preach at me about not judging?

Hawk softens his gaze a little. “We’ve all lost people we love, Heidi. I get you’re pissed about Crow, but this anger ain’t gonna fix shit.”

I want to scream at him that Theo isn’t the reason I’m angry, but I bite my tongue. “My anger at the club is all I fucking have left.”

He stares at me for a beat. “Then why stay? If you hate the Sons so much, why put yourself through it?”

“I don’t stay for the club. I stay for Sophia, so I can protect her.”

And now, I stay for Trick.

Hawk blows out a frustrated breath. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to that baby. The club’ll make sure of it.”

“I sure hope so, because there won’t be a place you can hide if a single hair is harmed on her head.”

His jaw tight, he reaches into his back pocket, and I flinch, expecting a weapon to materialise. Instead, he hands me a bottle of pills. There’s no label on it.

“What are these?” I demand, twisting the bottle in my hand.

“Painkillers. He can take one tablet twice a day. If he needs more than that, call Howler. He’ll get the doc out to him. Don’t give him any till tomorrow. He’s already high as a fuckin’ kite.”

I stare at the bottle in my hand. What truck did these fall off the back of?

“You beat him half to death and then hand me things to make him feel better? That’s psychotic, Hawk.”

“Give them or don’t, that’s your decision.”

I glance through the open door at Trick, who is slumped against the pillows, his jaw slack, his swollen eyes shut. He’d worn his pain internally for so long, but seeing the bruises covering him is probably a more accurate representation.

“He was hurting,” I say, lowering my voice. “What he did wasn’t right, but he lost everything, Hawk.”

The brother doesn’t let a single emotion slide onto his face. “I lost someone I cared about too. I didn’t cause a fucking war because of…” He breaks off, gritting his teeth. “I get his pain and his frustration, but he put my family at risk with his actions. I have four kids at home to think about. Terror has a pregnant wife. Rage too. Pia was raped in the past. What do you think those Pioneer bastards will do to her if they capture her in revenge for Trick’s little murder rampage?”

Cold spreads across my skin. I don’t have to imagine… I already know. They will hurt any woman associated with this club, which is why Trick had been so pissed when I went to the cemetery alone.

But Hawk is wrong to put this shit on Trick.

“This war began long before Trick started killing Pioneers. It’s not fair to put the blame for that on his shoulders.”

“Yeah, it did, but now, there’s no chance of it stopping until one side is completely wiped out.”

A shiver runs up my spine at the brutality of his words.

“They murdered his wife, Hawk. Right in front of him. They had to cut his baby out of her while she was dead.”

“I watched a kid I considered blood get shot in front of me too, but I ain’t out there puttin’ my friends at risk.”

I take a steadying breath. These guys know how to hold a grudge. “No, you’re not. Instead, you’re out there beating your brother to make you feel better.”

Giving Hawk a final glare, I storm off to the bathroom. I don’t breathe until I’m inside, the door shut behind me. Only then do I sag against the basin, my heart thumping violently against my ribs.

Fuck.I grab a stack of towels from the cupboard and the first aid kit from under the sink, which is well-stocked for occasions just like this. The doctor patched him up, but I need to do something to feel useful.

Clutching all the supplies to my chest, I make my way back to the bedroom, stopping briefly to check in on Sophia, who is fast asleep. It’s good she’s oblivious to the chaos unfolding around her. She doesn’t need to see any of this shit.

When I step back into the bedroom, Hawk is leaning down over the bed, saying something in a hushed voice to Trick that I can’t hear. Brewer raises his gaze as I step into the room.

The conversation between Hawk and Trick stops the moment I approach.

I stare at Trick, conflicting emotions warring inside me. I want to shake him even as I want to wrap my arms around him.

“You can go,” I dismiss Hawk and Brewer, my words glacial.

There is a moment that passes between the men before Hawk nods. “You need anything, call.”

That won’t happen.

“Hawk,” Trick mumbles through puffy lips. “You touch her like that again, and brother or not, I’ll fucking gut you.”

What. The. Fuck?

I hold my breath as the bigger man faces down Trick. I don’t point out that he’s not capable of twitching a finger at Hawk, let alone hurting him, but I can’t deny that his defence of me feels good.

“Yeah, fair enough.” Hawk glances at me before he turns and leaves. Brewer gives me a lopsided smirk before he follows after the other man.

I don’t speak or say anything until I hear the front door close. “You need to go to the hospital. You need proper care, not from a doctor who probably hasn’t practiced in years. Does he even treat humans?”

Trick’s slitted, puffy eyes try to find mine, but I don’t know how much he can see. “That’s not how this works, and you know that.”

I do. I’m not green, but it doesn’t change the facts.

I stare at him, trying not to let my emotions choke me. “This is fucked-up, Trick,” I whisper. “They could’ve killed you.”

“Heidi, stop.” I clamp my mouth shut. “This needed to happen. It won’t fix things, but it’ll sure as fuck go a long way to rebuilding some bridges.”

Right. Bridges.

I’d happily set those bridges alight if it stopped him doing reckless and dangerous shit like this. “Do you honestly think this is going to change anything? Getting beaten won’t erase what happened, Trick.”

There’s a beat of silence before he asks, “You worried about me?”

That’s not what I expect him to say, and it riles me.

“Of course, I’m fucking worried about you. Look at the state of you.”

“Bruises heal, Heidi.”

Not all bruises.

I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to keep calm. “Do they even care about the fact they might’ve killed you with this little stunt?” I mutter under my breath while I place what I need on the duvet. The doctor did a good job patching him up—at least to my untrained eye—but there’s blood in his hairline and staining around his beard. I don’t want to leave him dirty.

“They weren’t going to kill me, Heidi.” His words are sluggish and slurred. I’m hoping that’s an effect of whatever drugs the doctor gave him and not a sign of something wrong inside his body.

My gut twists into a knot as I take in his injuries. “Sophia only just got you back. You’re all she has. Did they even think about that?”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, and I’m not all she has. She has you, too,” he says.

Warmth spreads through my chest, and I have to swallow down my emotions. I grab his chin, twisting his head to examine the injuries on his face so I don’t lose it. He doesn’t say a word as I clean the dried blood away.

“You have to make better decisions, Trick. It’s not just you to consider anymore.” His recklessness pisses me off for this reason.

“That’s why I did this, Heidi. I need to make things safe for my daughter, and I can’t do that while the club doesn’t fucking trust me.”

I stare down at my hands clutching the bloodied gauze. This can’t be the future for us. “I hate it.”

“I know, but it won’t always be this way.”

I hope he’s right, that someday we can have peace—for Sophia’s sake, for all the kids—but I get the feeling there will be more casualties, more caskets lowered into dark graves before it’s over.

He winces, his eyes closing as he holds his bruised side. His heavy lids want to close, but he seems to push through the drug haze to focus on me. “I talked to Howler about Crow’s memorial.”

“This isn’t really the time to talk about that,” I mutter.

“He agreed not to have it this year,” he says, as if I didn’t speak.

Relief floods me. I didn’t think he would really do what I’d asked. “Thank you.”

“He was curious as to why, though.”

I’ll bet he was. “What did you tell him?”

“That it’s too hard for you.”

Howler would believe that. I’ve been vocal about the club’s responsibility for Theo’s death for a long time now. They were responsible for a lot of things.

His fingers brush over my hand and my skin heats instantly. My heart leaps into my throat. When was the last time someone touched me in kindness or with affection? Tears clog my eyes, and I try everything to hold them at bay, but I can’t.

“I don’t think that’s the reason you don’t want it, though,” he says, and I realise my mistake.

Trick is astute and has always been. Of course, he sees through me. The threads of my secrets are being tugged, and I don’t know how to handle it. I didn’t expect anyone to look too closely at me—they never have before.

“Does the reason matter?”

“Yeah, it fucking matters. After we talked, I went away and thought about your reaction. Something didn’t sit right with me.”

Shit.I’ve let my guard down too far.

“Why are you looking for mysteries when there are none here? I just don’t want to sit in a room full of people talking about the good old days.”

My words bounce off him. “I never noticed it before,” he says, as if I haven’t spoken, “but when you talk about him or that time, you get this look in your eyes.”

I don’t move even an inch, scared that if I do, my face might give something away. “I don’t get a look. Clearly, whatever drugs you’re on have rattled your brain.”

I reach for something in the first aid kit, anything to distract from this conversation.

“I know a thing or two about grief, Heidi. It beats in my chest every moment of the day.”

I should keep my silence, try to push him off this track, but Trick isn’t stupid. Anything I say is just going to add more suspicion.

My hand drifts to my throat. “His death changed everything.”

“I know,” he agrees, but he doesn’t know, at least not all of it.

The air is too thin, but his fingers are gentle as he brushes over my cheek, wiping away the tears I didn’t realise I’d let fall. The way he’s touching me shouldn’t invoke the feelings it does, but something stirs in the depths of my stomach.

Our eyes lock together, magnetised.

Heat builds between us, our shared trauma a balm to each other.

That’s all this is, right?

Trauma bonding.

“Trick…” I breathe his name, not sure if I’m willing him to move or stay. “Don’t.”

“Don’t comfort you when you’re crying? You expect me to just sit here and watch your tears?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“Heidi—”

“No, don’t tell me I’m family. I lost everything when Theo was murdered, and I’m so angry. I hate him for dying, and I hate the club for putting him in a position where he was killed. But most of all, I hate myself.” I sob out the last words, burying my face in my hands.

“Heidi, look at me.” I don’t. I can’t. “Now.”

The bite of the order in his tone has my lashes lifting. I expect to see anger, which is what I get from his brothers, but there’s none of that with him.

The room feels small and claustrophobic. My head spins and my lungs contract as dizziness swamps me.

Strong hands grip my cheeks, and the room stills. Trick peers at me through his puffy lids.

“You’re okay,” he tells me, but I’m not. I’m never going to be okay again. “Just breathe.”

I do as he commands, dragging a stunted breath into my lungs. It eases some of the tightness constricting my chest, but I still feel woozy.

“I’m here,” he says, and I don’t know why those words unlock something inside me. “Talk to me.”

I want to. His kindness and compassion makes me desperately want to admit the loss I have kept close for all this time, but the words stick in my throat.

“I want to, but I’m not ready yet.”

It’s as much as I can give him.

“Okay,” he says, no hint of judgement in that word. “But when you are, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” I say, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to tell him the truth.