Page 43 of Vows & Violence
“And we love in it, too,” I finish.
Silence folds around us, thick and holy.
And then we walk. Not away. Not toward some fairytale ending. We ride into what’s next. Into whatever storm’s already building on the horizon. But now, we ride as one.
The Non Cras falls in behind us like thunder rolling slow. We don’t wear crowns. We wear scars. We don’t offer mercy. We offer a warning. We’re coming.
And the fire we lit last night? It’s just getting started.
Ghost and I rejoin the pack.
Poison catches my eye. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t break stride, but the nod she gives me says more than words ever could. I saw what you chose. I’m not stopping you. Just don’t make me regret it.
Kitty rides behind her, his head on a swivel, ever her Knightmare. Wendigo doesn’t hide the way her gaze cuts to Ghost. She doesn’t trust him, and she might never. But for now, she’s not reaching for her weapon. Small mercies.
Gypsy tips her chin at me in greeting, then returns to scanning rooftops. Scissors and Sissy flank the back, silent and solid. Viper rides with her hair tied tight and a gleam in her eye like she’s still waiting for round two. The fire last night didn’t scare her, it lit her fuse.
Ghost stays close to me. Not behind. Not beside. With.
The hum of engines becomes a rhythm in my bones again. Not a song of retreat. A pulse. A battle drum.
We roll through the quiet side streets of the French Quarter, the ghosts of last night trailing us like shadows too proud to let go. Smoke still curls above the old meatpacking plant in the distance. The Hollow Sons are gone. But something in my chestsays we didn’t just burn them out, we lit a flare that’ll bring worse.
That feeling’s still rising when my comm crackles.
MV.
I tap it. “Go.”
Static breaks, then their mechanical voice cuts through. Something about the tone feels wrong.“Nix. It’s not over.”
“I didn’t think it was,” I mutter.
“No. You don’t understand. They’re cleaning house. Not just the Sons. Everyone connected. Everyone Vale touched.”
“We torched their operation, MV.”
“You torched a front,”they snap.“The ones behind it? They’re still watching. Still moving pieces. I intercepted chatter. Something about eliminating loose ends. You, the MC… Ghost.”A pause. And then softer,“They know who he is. They know what you mean to each other.”
“What do they want?”
“They want silence, and you’re the loudest one left.”The line goes dead.
I stare ahead as the street opens in front of us, wide and empty under the bleeding sky. And that’s when I see it.
“Stop!”
Brakes squeal as I skid my bike sideways, arm up. The Non Cras halts in a chain of precision. Ghost’s hand is already at his holster. Poison moves without being told.
There’s a body in the road. Sprawled across the faded paint of a crosswalk, arms twisted behind its back, blood soaked into the concrete like a final confession.
I swing off my bike, boots crunching broken glass as I walk to it.
It’s a male in his mid-thirties. The leather cut is ripped off. His jaw is shattered. Hands broken. There’s a coin shoved in hismouth. It’s old, tarnished, maybe foreign. One eye is still open, glassy, staring into nothing.
Ghost joins me and crouches beside the body. His face goes still. “This was Fisher. One of the guys I used to work with. He was off-grid last I heard.”
“That coin,” I mutter, pulling it free with a gloved hand. “Have you ever seen that before?”
