Page 3 of Butcher's Honor

I nod, suddenly uncomfortable with the gratitude in her eyes. "Just doing what needs doing."

I turn to leave, but Tommy's voice stops me. "Are you a superhero?"

The question startles a laugh out of me. "No, kid. Just a guy who doesn't like bullies."

As I walk back to Mom's house, I can feel Ruby's eyes on me. Part of me wants to look back, to see that smile again, but I know better. Beautiful single mothers with baggage aren't meant for old bikers with blood on their hands.

But as I step back into Mom's house and smell the soup warming on the stove, I can't help but think about dark waves of hair and curves hidden under baggy sweaters. About a kid's brave smile and a woman's quiet strength.

Trouble. That's what this is. Pure trouble.

But when has that ever stopped me before?

Chapter 2 - Ruby

I watch Joey's broad back disappear into his mother's house, still trembling from everything that just happened. Tommy tugs at my sweater, his small face turned up to mine with that too-serious expression he's worn ever since Derek entered our lives.

"Is the bad man really gone, Mommy?"

Kneeling down, I pull him into my arms, breathing in his familiar scent of strawberry shampoo and graham crackers.

"Yes, baby. He's gone for good this time."

I pray I'm telling the truth. Derek has made promises before—to change, to leave, to be better. But this time feels different. The look of genuine fear on his face when Joey lifted him off the ground... No, Derek won't risk coming back. Not with a motorcycle gang’s VP next door.

A motorcycle gang’s VP. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. When I moved here two weeks ago, seeking a fresh start away from Derek and my controlling parents in Oregon, I never imagined I'd end up being rescued by a leather-clad guardian angel.

"Come on, sweetie," I say, standing up. "Let's clean up this mess before the lock man comes."

Together, we right the coffee table and pick up the scattered toys. I sweep up the broken lamp, wincing at the pain in my ribs where Derek shoved me into the counter this morning. The bruises will fade, I tell myself. They always do.

Tommy helps me straighten the cushions on our threadbare couch, rescued from a thrift store when we first arrived.

"Mommy?" Tommy's voice is small. "Can we make cookies for the nice man?"

I pause in my cleaning. "You want to make cookies for Mr. Joey?"

He nods enthusiastically. "And for the flower lady. She gave me cookies, so we should give her cookies back."

My heart swells with love for my thoughtful little boy. Even after everything he's witnessed today, he's thinking about others.

"That's a wonderful idea, baby. We'll make them tomorrow, okay? Right now, we need to finish cleaning up."

An hour later, as promised, a man arrives to change our locks. He's younger than Joey, wearing a similar leather vest but with fewer patches. He works quickly and efficiently, barely speaking except to show me how the new deadbolts work.

"These are good ones," he says, testing the front door one last time. "Military grade. Nobody's getting through these without making enough noise to wake the whole neighborhood."

I clutch Tommy's hand, overwhelmed by this unexpected kindness. "How much do I owe you?"

He shakes his head. "Already taken care of. Boss's orders." He hands me three sets of keys. "You need anything else, you let Joey know."

After he leaves, I stand in my newly secured doorway, watching the street. The October wind rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and fallen leaves. For the first time since Derek tracked us down a week ago, I feel safe.

"Can we have dinner now?" Tommy asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Of course, baby." I close and lock the door—all three locks—and head to our small kitchen. "How about mac and cheese?"

While the pasta boils, I can't help glancing through the window toward Joey's mother's house. The lights are on, creating warm squares of yellow in the growing dusk.

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