Page 40 of Heron's Flame

Grim pulled out a pack of smokes, lit his Marlboro Red, and inhaled. “I don’t think Hammerhead is here to start shit with three different clubs tonight.”

The Feral Rebels MC president, Hades, joined us next, confirming the three clubs in attendance and crossing his arms over his chest. “That wouldn’t be wise.”

His V.P., Grave, stood to his right, looking equally menacing.

Every one of our allies had shown up to support us. It didn’t hurt we all came to the rally this weekend to chill, get new ink, and party. None of us would mind kicking some ass, though. Not if we had a new club tryin’ to start shit.

And none of that shit mattered when this motherfucker hurt Rebel and tried to take her from me. Fuck him.

I knew I wasn’t going to like what I heard next when Crow glanced my way before turning back to the Grave Robbers MC president.

“We got no issues, right, Hammerhead?”

He lifted his arms wide, winking at Rebel as she peeked from behind my back. “None.”Tonight.That was the unspoken word that accompanied his answer.

Hammerhead wasn’t stupid enough to engage us all at the same time. Pity. I wanted Rael to reap his soul and make that son of a bitch suffer. My back remained tense as my fingers twitched, ready to say fuck it, reach for my gun, and put a bullet in his fucking brain.

Rebel trembled again, and I had to focus on her, not the asshole that would never live long enough to harm her again. If I had to go vigilante and stalk his ass to put him down, I would. Not even Crow would stop me.

This was about protecting my mate, and not a fucking one of my brothers could protest it. They had ol’ ladies, too. None of them would allow this shit or their women to remain in danger, so I didn’t expect much of a pushback when I had my chance to go after Hammerhead. Hell, if any of them wanted to come, I’d be good with it. Out of all my brothers, I’d gotten tight with Talon, Hawk, and Cuckoo the most. Yeah, the crazy, Halloween-loving fucker pissed me off as much as I liked his spontaneous, goofy ass.

But the costumes? They were fucking badass. I’d never tell him that shit, though. His ego was too fucking big as it was.

He glanced my way like he knew I had this internal monologue and fucking stuck out his tongue, wagging it in the air at me. For fuck’s sake.

Hammerhead took a few steps backward, gave a longing glance at Rebel, then spun on his heel and left the tent. His club members followed. A tense silence replaced him as we waited for the crows to confirm they’d left the rally.

Crow’s eyes clouded over as he sent his crow and the murder to do his bidding. Only when I felt the evil of Hammerhead’s presence finally disappear did I dare to pull Rebel around in front of me, kissing her because I had to do something besides plot that motherfucker’s painful death.

She rested her head against my chest after we parted, hugging me as she continued to tremble. I held her, trying not to grind my teeth. My jaw clicked as I forced the rage in my body to quiet to a dull roar. My crow cawed along with his brethren, keeping vigilant in case Hammerhead or any of the Grave Robbers MC returned.

The rally felt ruined after this. I didn’t want to stay.

“Heron?”

I dropped my chin, staring into Rebel’s pretty eyes as she looked up at me. “Yeah, my Spark?”

“Can we go home now?”

Home. Didn’t matter where the location was as long as she went with me. Somehow, being with her had changed me. A fundamental shift in my thinking had her placed as the number one priority in my life. Rebel first. Club second.

She was my mate. I couldn’t change that if I wanted to, which I didn’t. Loving her is the first thing that’s felt right since losingmy father. Well, her and patching into the Devil’s Murder MC. My heart ached a little with the reminder of what I’d lost and the earlier meeting with Cerys and Brax. I had shit to sort and make right, but taking care of my woman trumped everything else.

“Yeah, baby. Let’s go home.”

“YOU NEED TO GET WARMand eat something,” I murmured as I led Rebel into the kitchen at The Roost. Being late into the night, there wasn’t much in the way of prepared food other than lunch meat and leftover chili, so I opted to make her a grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Yeah, I could fucking cook. Sort of. My mother taught me the basics when I was around ten. I used to follow her around the kitchen, curious as fuck all the damn time. The crows would caw outside the window, and it would fill me with peace even if my hormones had begun raging at an early age. Probably sooner than most boys, but I didn’t have any comparison or anyone to confide in. There wasn’t another weirdo crow kid to ask.

So, I ignored the teasing at school, focused on spending time with my mother since my father worked a heavy schedule as an instructor on base, and learned to cook. I couldn’t whip up anything fancy, but I could make the best damn grilled cheese and canned soup you ever had.

“You know the secret to the best grilled cheese crust?” I asked as she took a seat on one of the stools and watched me pull ingredients from the fridge.

“Nope.”

“Mayo on the bread. None of that Kraft or Miracle Whip stuff. Real Mayo. Nothing else. Hellmann’s has good flavor, and it browns perfectly.”

“Is that so?” Her lips twitched.

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