Page 22 of Always My Fate
“I know you’re scared. I am too. But sidelinin’ me completely? That’ll break me faster than any high blood pressure. I’ve survived worse with a lot less. Let me be useful. For the family. For the club. For us.”
She held his gaze, the steel in her spine forged through years of hard living now fully on display. Bed rest or not, Charlotte Langdon was the queen of this house and this club.
And queens didn’t stay quiet for long.
***
Blackie
Blackie eased out of the bedroom after Peaches finally drifted off again, her hand still warm from where he’d held it. The house had gone quiet, kids long asleep, but his mind wouldn’t settle. He stepped onto the back porch, the cool night air hitting his skin as he pulled out his phone and saw a text from Horse. He didn’t bother reading it, but hit the secure line for Horse.
The call connected on the second ring.
“Prez,” Horse answered, voice low and alert. “Sorry to need to talk to you this late, but we got suspicious activity near the south fence line again. Two riders, no colors showing, but they were lingerin’ a little too long. Shamu went off like a damn alarm. They ran when my guys rolled up, but again, it don’t feel random.”
Blackie started pacing the length of the porch, boots thudding against the wood. “Motherfuckin’ bastards. Same assholes as before?”
“Looks like it. Tracks match what we saw last time. No direct approach on the house, but they’re testin’ us again. Everyone and everything is holdin’ steady, and I don’t want you to worry, not with what you got goin’ on, but I knew you were expecting to know if they’re knockin’ at the gate again.”
“Goddamn assholes,” Blackie growled, running a hand over his face. “All right. You stay tight on the ranch. Double the watches tonight—pull in that prospect and anyone else who’s breathin’. I’ll get Rook to hook up with Duane to send down two more patches first thing in the mornin’. They’ll rotate in for a few days, give you extra eyes and muscle. You don’t handle this solo, Horse. You call me the second anything else smells off. Coordinates, descriptions, the works. I want updates every four hours until we know what these bastards are playin’ at.”
“Copy that, Prez,” Horse replied. “I won’t let it touch the chapter.”
“Or Glenna,” he prodded, voice hard and rough.
“Nope, won’t touch Glenna in any way if I can help it. Won’t happen.”
“Damn right you won’t. That woman’s yours same as Belle’s ours. You’re doin’ solid work down there, brother. Keep it tight.” Blackie paused, voice gruff but sincere. “And tell Glenna I said thanks for holdin’ strong. Peaches is home now, restin’. We’re managin’.”
He ended the call and stood there a moment, staring out into the dark yard. The threats were creeping closer again, but he wasn’t about to let them pull him away from home. Head down, he tapped at the screen of the phone, shooting off a text to Rook about what Duane would need tomorrow, pausing only a moment before he received a response.
Blackie took a deep breath and headed back inside, boots quiet on the stairs. He slipped into the bedroom and found Peaches awake, green eyes watching him in the low lamplight.
“Everything okay?” she asked softly.
He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, one hand immediately going to her belly where Daniel was moving. “Just Horse givin’ me a heads-up on some bullshit near Belle. Nothin’ we can’t handle. I got Rook pickin’ out a crew to go visitin’ tomorrow.”
Blackie leaned down and pressed a slow, tender kiss to her lips, then another to the curve of her belly. “How’re you feelin’, darlin’? Need anything?”
Peaches smiled faintly, threading her fingers through his. “Just you here with me.”
“You got me,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion as he stretched out beside her, careful of the monitors and her comfort. “Always got you, Peaches. Rest now. I’m right here.”
He stayed close, one arm wrapped protectively around her, listening as her breathing evened out. The club needed him. The threats were real. But tonight, his place was exactly where it belonged—guarding his queen and their growing family.
***
The old clubhouse reeked of spilled whiskey, gun oil, and betrayal.
Blackie stood at the head of the table, gavel heavy in his scarred hand, staring down the three patches who’d tried to sell him out to a rival crew for a bigger cut. The meeting had started normal. It ended with blood on the floor and two of the traitors nursing broken bones.
“You worthless motherfuckers,” Blackie snarled, voice low and deadly. “I took this gavel when the club was bleedin’ out, and you repay me by slidin’ a knife in my back? For what? A few extra dollars and some half-assed promises from those MDMC-adjacent shitheels? A fuckin’ support club got you aimin’ at me?”
One of the men—a loudmouth named Donner who’d been with the club longer than Blackie—spat blood and glared up at him. “You’re too soft now, Langdon. Got that bitch and her kid in your house, another one on the way. You’re losin’ your edge. Club comes first.”
Blackie moved like lightning. He grabbed Donner by the cut and slammed him against the wall hard enough to rattle the framed pictures. “That ‘bitch’ is my woman. My fate. And those kids? They’re mine. You think protectin’ my family makes me weak? It forces me to be even more fuckin’ dangerous. Because now I got somethin’ worth fightin’ for. Worth killin’ for.”
He’d earned every ounce of respect in that room the hard way. Beatings. Late-night rides. Burying brothers who didn’t make it. Cleaning house of the weak and the disloyal. Duane and Oaky had stood with him that night, as the votes were cast to make it official. His brothers were watching his back as he stripped the traitors of their patches and sent them crawling out the door with a warning of “come back and you die.”
