Page 28 of Always My Fate

Chapter Fourteen

Blackie sat at the desk in the home office just off the master bedroom, door cracked so he could keep one ear on Peaches and any noise from the kids. The laptop was open with multiple secure windows, and his phone had barely left his hand for the last hour. The fragile peace from last night was already cracking under fresh intel.

“Rook, tell me you’re kiddin’ me,” Blackie growled, voice low but sharp. “They hit the warehouse?”

“Yeah, Prez,” Rook answered, tension clear in his tone. “Not a full breach, but they left a message. Tagged the side door with spray paint with Roscoe’s old signature mark. Bold as brass. They’re not even tryin’ to hide it anymore. This is aimed straight at you.”

Blackie shot up from the chair and paced the small room like a caged animal. “That piece-of-shit brother of mine! I should’ve put him in the ground years ago instead of lettin’ him breathe the same air as my family. Goddamn MDMC is usin’ him as a bloodhound now? I’ll rip their spines out and feed ’em to Shamu!”

Oaky’s voice came through the speaker. “We’ve got eyes on the place and pulled the security feeds. No casualties, but they’re sendin’ a clear message. Their threat’s gettin’ more direct, Prez.”

Blackie dragged a hand down his face, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “All right. Listen the fuck up. We already hit DefCon One, but I’m not leavin’ this house as long as I can put it off. I can’t while Peaches is still on strict bed rest and baby Daniel’s countin’ on me bein’ right here. But we ain’t playin’ defense like cowards. Rook, reroute the next supply run and roll it heavy. Have every brother riding strapped and ready to rock and roll. Use it as bait if you have to, because I would truly like to catch the assholes out, but above all, you gotta keep our people safe. Oaky, I want extra security on every business and the clubhouse. Double patrols, pull in every reliable prospect or support club. Reach out to the Rebels and see if we can get Myron diggin’ into any recent Roscoe sightings or communications. I want that rat bastard’s movements mapped yesterday.”

He stopped pacing, staring hard at the laptop screen. “This is escalatin’. They think comin’ after me personally while my woman’s vulnerable will suck my attention from the club. They’re dead wrong. You two run dovetailed point on the street. Bring me every scrap of intel the second it lands. I’ll coordinate strategy from here and keep the house locked down tight.”

“Understood, Prez,” Rook said. “We got your back. How’s our queen holdin’?”

“Strong as ever,” Blackie muttered, some of the rage softening for a second. “Stubborn, beautiful, and running her half of the club from that bed. Don’t let me down, brothers. I need to be here for her and the kids right now.”

The call ended and Blackie dropped back into the chair, fists clenched. The targeted threat was no longer creeping around in the shadows. Nope, now it was knocking on the door.

He glanced towards the bedroom where Peaches rested. The fury burned hot in his chest, but so did the ironclad vow to protect what was his.

Roscoe and the MDMC had just made it personal.

They had no idea what they’d woken up.

***

Peaches

She lay in the master bedroom, propped against her pillows with her laptop open, but her attention had drifted to the partly open office door. Blackie’s voice carried clearly when he got worked up, that low, dangerous growl she knew too well.

“...that piece-of-shit brother of mine...comin’ after me personally...while my woman’s vulnerable...”

Roscoe. MDMC. The words hit like ice water down her spine. They were targeting Blackie directly now, which meant they were taking aim at them. Their family. Their children. The baby she was carrying.

Her hand flexed protectively over her belly as Daniel kicked hard, almost as if he could sense her rising anger. She wasn’t some fragile flower who needed to be wrapped in cotton and hidden away. She’d survived worse with nothing but grit and a baby on her hip.

Enough was enough.

Peaches opened the old ladies group chat and started typing with purpose. She organized three care packages for families who’d been affected by the recent tension and reassigned drivers for the next supply drop. Her mind worked fast, cross-referencing who had reliable vehicles, who needed groceries versus who wanted emotional support, and who could be trusted with sensitive information.

She was still typing when Blackie stepped back into the bedroom, tension radiating off him like heat from an engine.

“Peaches,” he started, voice rough, “you need to rest—”

“I heard,” she said calmly, green eyes lifting to meet his. “Roscoe and the MDMC are comin’ for you. For us. And you think I’m gonna lie here like a decoration while that happens?”

Blackie’s jaw tightened. “Lottie—”

“No.” She held up a hand, voice steady but firm. “I’m not askin’ to get on a bike or run the streets. But I am the one who keeps this club family stitched together. I just coordinated three care packages and adjusted the meal rotation for the next week. I also flagged potential safe houses for two girls who might need them if things get ugly. I can do this from bed, Blackie. I’m good at it. You know I am.”

She set the laptop aside, reached for his hand, and pulled him down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Don’t sideline me completely. Let me use my head, even if my body’s stuck here. Our kids need to see their mom still fightin’. And I need to feel useful, damn it.”

Blackie’s expression warred between fierce protectiveness and reluctant pride. Peaches squeezed his hand tighter, her voice softening but no less determined.

“I’m not fragile. I’m your queen, remember? Let me help protect what’s ours, in the way I know how.”