Page 9 of Wraith’s Promise

Mariah eats most of her vegetables without complaint, probably showing off for Quinn, and Quinn navigates the meal like she's been eating at our table for months instead of hours. She asks Mariah about her favorite things—books, games, what she wants to be when she grows up (a dragon rider, apparently, which tracks), and listens to the answers with genuine interest.

I watch them interact while pushing pasta around my plate, mentally noting the easy rapport they've already built, the way Mariah keeps looking at Quinn like she's checking to make sure she's still there, still real, still staying.

By seven-fifteen, I'm pulling on my cut in the hallway, checking my pockets for phone and keys and wallet, running through a mental list of what Phoenix might want to discuss and what information I'll need to provide. Quinn comes down the stairs as I'm zipping up my boots, Mariah trailing behind her in pajamas already even though bedtime's still forty-five minutes away.

"Early pajamas?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at my daughter.

"Quinn said if I got ready early, we'd have extra time for stories." Mariah grins, triumphant, and I glance at Quinn, who shrugs with a small smile.

"Seemed like a fair trade."

"Smart," I admit. "I never thought of that angle."

"I have many strategies." She says it lightly, but I catch the truth underneath: she does have strategies, probably a dozen of them for every situation, the same way I do. We're alike in that way. Planners. Thinkers. People who need to see the whole board before making a move.

It should be comforting, having someone in the house who thinks like I do.

It's also slightly terrifying, because people who think like me are also people who see through the walls I put up, who notice the things I don't say, who can read the subtext I'm trying to keep hidden.

Mariah wraps her arms around my legs in a hug that nearly topples me. "Be safe, Daddy."

"Always am, baby girl." I crouch down, pull her in properly. "You be good for Quinn."

"I'm always good."

"Sure you are." I kiss the top of her head, breathe in the scent of her strawberry shampoo, the scent that means home and safety and every good thing I've ever done with my life. "I love you."

"Love you too." She releases me and immediately takes Quinn's hand, like she's already decided who her person is for the night, who's going to keep her safe while I'm gone.

I stand, meet Quinn's eyes over my daughter's head. "Call if you need anything."

"We'll be fine," she says, and I believe her.

I leave through the front door, punch in the alarm code, hear it beep its activation behind me as I head for my bike. The ride to the clubhouse takes fifteen minutes, wind cold against my face, engine rumbling underneath me in a way that usually clears my head but tonight just gives me space to think about the woman I left in my house, in my daughter's life, wearing bee socks and reading bedtime stories like she was made for exactly this.

The clubhouse is already full when I arrive. Bikes lined up outside, lights on inside, the low rumble of conversation audible even from the parking lot. I kill the engine, swing off, head inside.

Phoenix is at the bar talking to Judge, both of them looking grim. Canvas is on one of the couches, arm still in a sling from the bullet he took almost two weeks ago, Eden curled up beside him. Brick's in the corner with Rosie, who's been living at the clubhouse since they pulled her out of the warehouse, his arm around her shoulders. Saint's leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Diesel and Ranger are playing pool, though neither of them looks particularly focused on the game.

Ranger spots me first, straightens immediately. "Wraith. She get there okay?"

"Yeah." I cross to where he's standing, lower my voice. "She's good, man. Really good. Mariah already loves her."

Relief crosses his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I owe you for this."

"You don't owe me shit. She needed the job, and you needed the help. That's how family works."

Family. That's what the club is, has been since the day I showed up in Millhaven two years ago with a toddler on my hip and nothing else, since the day Judge and Brick pulled me out of a fight I didn't start and fed my daughter smashburgers without asking a single question about where I'd come from or why.

Phoenix calls out across the room: "Church. Let's go."

We file into the chapel, take our seats around the long table. Phoenix at the head, Judge to his right, me on his left because I'm the planner and he wants me close when he's making decisions. The rest of the brothers fill in around us.

Phoenix doesn't waste time. "Intel came in tonight. Vipers are planning something. We don't know what yet, but Echo picked up chatter. They're moving resources, calling in favors from other clubs. Whatever they're planning, it's big, and it's coming soon."

My brain kicks into high gear immediately, running scenarios, calculating timelines. "How soon?"