Page 33 of Priest

“Wicker Falls?” she asks.

I look at her over the rim of my mug. “That a problem?”

“No.” The answer comes too quickly. She swallows and tries again, softer this time. “I just thought you said you were staying close for a while. Things were finally settling.”

“I said I’d make sure you were taken care of,” I answer. “I never said I’d stop doing my job.”

A sharp breath leaves her, almost a laugh but thinner. “You always say that like it makes everything else smaller.”

The kitchen keeps moving around us, quieter now, everyone pretending they have somewhere else to put their attention. Sadie’s eyes shine too bright beneath the careful makeup. This morning, she isn’t wearing gratitude or relief. Fear has slipped through the seams, and there’s too much of it for a run this simple.

“Who’s going?” she asks.

My hand stills around the mug. “Why?”

“I’m allowed to care who’s out there with you.”

“Deacon. Nomad. Graves. Vise. Switch.” I set my coffee down. “Danny and Jonesy in the truck.”

Her fingers tighten over her stomach. “Deacon too?”

Something in the way she says his name pulls at me. “He’s my VP.”

“I know what he is.” Her voice rises, then she catches it and glances toward Max before looking back at me. “I just mean everybody’s been wound tight. You, Deacon. Men keep going quiet when people walk into rooms.” Her hand presses harder against her stomach, and her eyes search mine with too much urgency for a run this clean. “Maybe this is one of those times you let someone else handle it. Just this once. Stay close today.”

“That’s fear talking.”

“Maybe fear knows something pride ignores.”

The words hit sharp enough to make me pause. Sadie must feel it, because she softens fast, lowering her voice until it sounds more like worry than warning. “After everything we’ve lost, I hate watching men walk out of this clubhouse and waiting to see which ones come back.”

Her hand curls in the front of my shirt, then drops before I can move it away. “Please, Priest. For me. For the baby. Stay close today. Send someone else if the run has to happen.”

The kitchen has gone too quiet around us. Max keeps working at the stove, but her shoulders have set, and the prospects at the table suddenly find their plates real interesting. Sadie notices too. Her chin lifts a little, pride trying to cover panic, but her eyes stay fixed on mine like I’m the only solid thing in a room starting to tilt.

“You’re protected here,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “You’re taken care of here. That means food, roof, a bed, rides when you need them, and men making sure nobody touches you. It doesn’t mean you get a say in how I run my club.”

Her lips part, and for a second I think she might push again. Instead, she presses her hand to her stomach and looks away, the shine in her eyes turning glassy. “I was only trying to care.”

“I know.” I step closer, giving her the truth without dressing it up. “And I’m telling you where the line sits. Stay out of club business, Sadie. I’m the Prez. I handle what I handle.”

She nods because the room leaves her no graceful way to do anything else. The fight drains out of her posture, but the panic stays tucked under her skin, staring at me through her eyes.

“I’ll be back before lights out,” I tell her.

She swallows. “You can’t promise that.”

“I ride with my men. We come home together.”

Her mouth trembles like she wants to say more, but she traps it behind her teeth. As I step past her, I feel her stare follow me through the kitchen and out toward the lot, too hot and too frightened for the kind of run this is supposed to be. By the time the door closes behind me, unease has hooked under my ribs, but there’s no clean reason to turn around. I gave Deacon my word. I gave the club my name. Both of those mean I ride.

Deacon is already outside when I step into the morning, helmet tucked under his arm and his bike angled toward the gate. He looks loose in the way men look when they’re ready for work, shoulders easy, eyes awake. The sunrise catches the chrome in hard flashes, and for half a breath, the clubhouse lot feels almost normal.

He clocks my approach and grins. “Told you.”

I arch a brow. “Told me what?”

“That you’d feel better once you stopped pacing holes in the floor.” He swings a leg over his bike and settles in like he was built there. “You’re already starting to look like yourself again.”