5. Trick

These fuckers are filthy. Empty glasses litter every table, and the floors are sticky with spilled beer. There wasn’t even a party last night. Since I came back, the clubhouse has been on strict lockdown. Only brothers and family members are allowed in the building. Out-of-towners and brothers from other chapters need to call in advance before turning up.

Howler is doing everything he can to keep everyone safe, and with each day that passes, I see the toll that takes on one of my oldest friends.

I blink against the starkness of the strip lights overhead as I start clearing the nearest table of glasses.

These days, there’s a peace I find from doing mindless tasks. I don’t like thinking too much—it gives my mind space to deep dive into places I don’t want to go.

I also like getting here early. I’m one of the first in this morning, so the clubhouse feels unnaturally still. I prefer the quiet before everyone arrives. It’s the only time of day when I don’t feel like a caged animal being gawked at.

I load the glasses into the dishwasher before heading back around the bar to collect more. By the time I’ve filled it, the room is clear, so I move on to wiping the tables.

As I clean, my mind wanders to the conversation I had with Heidi yesterday. It fucking infuriates me how she views her place in this club, her place in my life. We let things slide for way too long. Giving her space was the worst fucking mistake we could have made.

I could have made.

Crow was my friend. I owe it to him to take care of his woman after he was murdered. No, scratch that. Heidi was my friend too, and now, she has walls built around her that no one can penetrate—though I’m starting to see past hers and glimpsing the pain she carries with her.

Maybe it’s because I can recognise it now, but we are two sides of the same coin, only I’d moulded my trauma into something destructive.

She’d retreated.

I lift my head as the door opens across the room, dragging me out of my mindlessness.

I freeze instantly as Skye steps inside, yawning and dragging her feet as if she’s half-asleep still. I doubt she expected anyone to be here yet when she came down from the room she shares with Rage, and she hasn’t seen me. I don’t want to startle her, but I also don’t want to creep around in the background.

She must be over twenty weeks now, probably closer to twenty-four, but her bump is hidden beneath a shirt that’s so big on her, it has to be Rage’s.

That familiar acid burns my gut as I remember what I did to her that day. I hope one day she’ll forgive me, but I will never forgive myself for turning into a piece of shit animal.

Her footfalls come to a screeching halt as her gaze finds mine. Regret floods me as she blanches and presses a hand against her stomach protectively.

I straighten my back slowly, trying not to be a threat as neither of us moves. suspended in the moment.

“I was just… I wanted a drink.” Skye pulls her shoulders back, trying to show me she’s not scared, but her eyes tell a different story. I respect her bravery in the face of her fear.

“You want me to make you one?” I ask, throwing an olive branch down, but she doesn’t take it.

“No. I can do it.” She takes the widest route to the bar, avoiding me completely, and that ugly guilt eats me alive.

“Skye?”

She pauses, peering over the top of the bar that is between her and me. “I just want a drink, Trick. I’ll get out of your way as fast as I can.”

That cuts me worse than any physical wound, and I know I should let her go—and let this go—but I can’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Her smile is thin and her eyes are hard. “I’m sure you are, but if you’re looking for forgiveness, you’re not going to get it from me. You could have hurt my baby.”

She’s right. I absolutely could have. I was so incensed in that moment, I couldn’t think rationally. I just wanted to destroy Desmond Richardson in the same way he’d done to me. I didn’t consider his daughter was an innocent party. I didn’t care.

I glance down at her stomach, the rounded slope of it a little more visible when she has her hand there.

“Is the… is the baby okay?” I ask.

Her jaw tightens at my question. “My baby is fine.”

She backs away before she turns and bends down to the fridge. When she stands, she’s holding a bottle of fresh juice. A smile tugs at my lips. Mara drank that shit nonstop while she was pregnant with Sophia. It was the only thing that helped her morning sickness in the early days, and by the third trimester, I think she was just addicted to it.

That memory is a shot to the chest, one that has the potential to leave me bleeding on the floor.

I resume cleaning, giving her whatever space she needs and also taking a moment to control my pain.

“I’m sorry too.”

It’s the last thing I expect her to say, and it renders me speechless for a moment. “For… for what?”

Skye licks her lips, her discomfort rippling across her face, and I brace for whatever blow she’s about to deliver. “Beau told me what my father did to your wife.”

My mouth dries as I place the cloth on the table, giving myself a breather. Skye is so young, but her eyes hold more trauma than someone her age should have experienced.

All these lives ruined by Desmond fucking Richardson.

The fucker has a lot to answer for, and I hope I get to be the one to deliver justice.

But his daughter is not my enemy. When I look at her, I see Sophia and I imagine it’s her making amends for my sins. Skye is not responsible for her shithead of a father, any more than Sophia is for me.

“I appreciate that, but it’s not your apology to make, Skye.”

She clutches the juice bottle so tight, the skin is stretched over her knuckles. “My father… Desmond…” she amends, as if she can’t bear to call him that. “He’s an evil man, Trick. I had no idea how evil he was until I got out from under him.”

That lump in my throat feels so big as she confesses her hurt. Don’t let Sophia have to do this one day for me.

The shuddering breath she releases is filled with emotion that cuts through me like a fucking knife. “I had no idea he and Tommy were committing such awful acts. Killing pregnant women and little girls…” Her teeth slam together as tears brim in her eyes. “I hate them both.”

“Skye.” Rage’s voice snaps through the air like thunder.

His expression is murderous as he stands in the doorway. The kid is a ball of anger that he’s constantly battling to keep tight reins on. No wonder Ravage shipped him here. The London prez doesn’t take shit, and Rage gives a lot of it.

Skye gives me a half-smile that barely reflects in her eyes before she weaves around the tables toward Rage. As soon as she’s close to him, he pulls her into his side and presses a kiss to her temple.

He loves her, and it manifests so openly. “Go back to the room,” he orders.

Skye’s fingers tangle in his shirt as she peers up at him. “Beau, he didn’t do anything to me.”

I appreciate her trying to fix this, but I can tell from Rage’s face her words aren’t going to help here. He wants his blood, but I’m not feeling inclined to give it to him this time.

“Go,” he repeats, and she casts a glance in my direction before she slips out of the common room, leaving me alone with the kid.

I shift my shoulders back, readying for a fight. Heidi’s and Blackjack’s words reverberate through my mind. I want to make amends, but I’m tired of being his fucking punchbag. I’m doing everything I can to make things right between us, but that requires a little forgiveness on his part, too.

He steps into my space, as if he expects me to back away. I don’t, but it doesn’t stop him from fixing me with a macabre smile. “I’m going to fucking enjoy smashing your teeth down your throat on Friday.”

He wants to hit me now. I see it in his eyes that he would love nothing more than to unleash on me before my beatdown. Well, fucking bring it on.

I hold my arms out at my sides, inviting him forward. “Why wait till Friday? I’m right fucking here, Rage.”

My tone is combative. I want him to take the swing he’s so desperate to make. Maybe then we can start to put this shit to bed.

He doesn’t move, though I can see he’s itching to.

Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.

The kid is just blowing off steam, and I’m not playing this game with him. If he wants to end shit like men, then we can do that, but Heidi and Blackjack were right, and I’m getting tired of doing this dance with him.

I turn back to the table, grabbing the cloth again. I barely wipe it over the top before his fist lashes out, smashing into the side of my head. The hit rattles my skull and teeth, making the room spin around me.

Before I can find my feet, he hits me again and I taste blood in my mouth. Pain blossoms through my cheek where he caught me, the skin feeling tight over the bone.

Fuck this… and fuck him.

I know I did a shitty thing, but it’s not him I need to appease. It’s Skye.

I shove him back before he lands another hit, slamming him into a table nearby. It topples over, taking a couple chairs with it. The two glasses on top of it smash into a million pieces as I take a swing at him. I catch his jaw hard enough to burn through my knuckles, but he’s either used to taking a punch or he’s so incensed that he doesn’t feel it.

Grabbing me by the front of my kutte, he pulls me against him, his eyes wild.

“You hurt my girl.”

“I know,” I agree, “and I’ll say sorry to her for the rest of my fucking life, but you don’t get that same fucking courtesy, Rage.”

“Your apology to her ain’t worth shit. You shouldn’t still be wearing the patch. You ain’t fuckin’ worthy of it.”

That verbal punch hurts far more than any of the actual hits he landed.

“Fuck you,” I snarl at him, my anger matching his as my failings are laid bare.

“Let him go!” Heidi’s voice penetrates through the fog of heightened emotions, and for a moment, fear stirs in the pit of my stomach.

I grab him by the front of his shirt in case he decides to lash out at her. That grip tightens when I see she’s standing with my daughter in her arms.

Sophia’s tears and wobbling bottom lip gore me. She’s probably just sensing the tension from Heidi, but seeing her cry fucks with my head.

“Ain’t gonna touch Heidi or your kid,” Rage snarls in my face. “I ain’t like you.”

“If you don’t let go of him right now, I’m going to knock your teeth out.” Her gaze is granite as she stares down Rage with zero fear, even though he’s a ball of fucking crazy.

Howler says the kid has gotten better at controlling his temper, but I don’t trust that. I don’t know this guy well enough to know what he’s capable of.

I tighten my grip on his shirt, the patches of his kutte mocking me.

Sophia cries, and I don’t know if it’s the sound of her sobs that breaks through or if it’s Heidi’s words, but Rage’s brows draw together before he releases his grip on me.

I do the same, holding my ground in case he swings at me again.

“Friday,” he mutters before storming off.

Heidi watches him go before weaving through the tables toward me, readjusting Sophia in her arms as she does. I wipe the blood off my lip, wincing at the pain radiating through my cheek.

“What’s happening on Friday?”

I’m not fucking telling her. She’s already willing to face down my brothers for this little love tap, and I don’t even want to imagine what she’d do if she found out the entire club is going to beat the shit out of me.

“Nothing. You okay?” I glance between her and my daughter before I wipe the tears off Sophia’s cheeks.

My adrenaline is pumping through my veins and that familiar blood lust surges inside me seeing my daughter so upset.

I almost go after Rage, wanting to rip his fucking head off, but all thoughts of violence shatter as Heidi hands me Sophia. I take my daughter awkwardly, the red mist lifting from my gaze.

“I need to clean you up.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

“You’re bleeding. Sit down.” Clutching my daughter, I take a seat at the nearest table while Heidi heads behind the bar. “Where is everyone? It’s almost nine.”

I didn’t realise it was that late, but a few brothers are usually here by this time—including Howler.

“I don’t know,” I say, tickling Sophia’s side, turning her tears into a giggle. “They don’t tell me shit anymore.”

She pauses when I say that. “Right. The joys of being a prospect.”

Joy isn’t the word I’d use. “I didn’t think you were coming down here today.”

“I wasn’t, but Sophia was fussy.” She comes back around the bar holding a roll of tissue. There’s something off in her that I can’t put my finger on, and there has been for the past week or so. I watch her as she pulls a length of tissue off and folds it.

Was Sophia fussy or did Heidi want to be here?

“She not feeling well?” I press a hand to Sophia’s forehead, checking to see if she’s warm, but she feels fine.

“I don’t know,” Heidi says. “She just wouldn’t settle this morning. I tried everything.” A smile kicks at her lips. “I think she wanted her daddy.”

It’s bullshit, but oh how I want it to be true. Sophia only has attention for Heidi.

“If Rage can’t get over what happened,” she continues, “he should patch over somewhere else.” She presses the paper to my split lip so hard, I suck in a breath, pulling my head away. “Sorry.”

I grab her wrist before she can dab my lip again. When her gaze slides to mine, I say, “I appreciate having you in my corner, babe, but this is between me and Rage.”

Calling her ‘babe’ slips out, but I don’t exactly hate how it sounds.

Her jaw tightens, and if she noticed my endearment, she doesn’t show it. “Why does no one see how hard you’re trying?”

“Rage needs to get this shit out of him so we can move on.” Which is hopefully what will happen on Friday because Heidi isn’t the only one struggling with patience with this.

“So, what? You’re just going to let him hurt you until he feels better?”

“In case you didn’t notice, I hit back, but this isn’t something we can fix over a pint. He’s pissed, and I understand. I would’ve been the same if he’d laid hands on someone I care about.”

Fuck, I’d nearly smashed his teeth down his throat when I thought he might lay a finger on Heidi or my daughter.

“If he touches you again, I won’t be responsible for what I do,” she says, her tone fierce.

Her defence of me is fucking adorable. “Retract the claws, kitten. I got this.”

She grumbles under her breath. “You don’t deserve the shit you’re getting.”

“Not that long ago, you were giving me the same shit,” I point out.

“Yeah, well, I was wrong, Trick.”

The hand not holding my daughter on my lap cups Heidi’s face, and her eyes lock to mine. For a moment, it feels like neither of us breathes, and I swear she leans into my touch just a fraction. “The club has a different way of working shit out, Heidi. I know it seems shitty, but let me handle it, yeah? I know how to put things right.”

“Yeah, sure.” Those two words are barbed.

“It won’t be forever. The Pioneers are on borrowed time.”

She stares at the table, her gaze unfocused and her face pale. “I can’t keep doing this.”

I lift her chin, forcing her gaze to me. “Hey, don’t fucking say that.”

“I’m tired of losing people I love. Theo, Mara…” She seems like she’s going to add something else to that list before she says, “Just too many deaths. Our lives have been changed forever, and it’s because of the club.”

“It’s not the club’s fault, Heidi.”

“How can you say that after everything you’ve lost? Sophia doesn’t have her mother because of this war.”

“It wasn’t a war we started.”

I try to reach for her, but she pulls away. “Sometimes, I think it would’ve been kinder if the club had taken your kutte.”

She walks off before I can respond, leaving me reeling. The anger she had toward the club has been absent since I returned. Heidi seemed like she was in a better place with everything, but something has changed in the last few days. I’ve seen it creeping in, and that little outburst is just another example of it.

What the fuck is going on with her?