Page 131 of Victorious: Part 3
They all nod in agreement while Dad glances at me with a proud expression crossing his features. “You’re right, we should be keeping our guard up,” he states.
With a simple nod, I wave my hand through the air. “Form up,” I call to my girls, my voice carrying the authority I’ve earned through blood, sweat, and fifteen years of proving myself worthy of their trust. I may be only three years into my presidency, but they’ve known me ever since Javier’s takedown. We’ve grown uptogether,literally, and I have been with them every step of the way through their recovery process of coming out of The Nest.
Training as a bird changes your psyche, no matter how long you’re in training for. So, I knew, even back then at eight years old, that these women and I were bound to end up doing something together. I didn’t know I was going to create a subbranch of Defiance, my very own chapter in LA. But it has been the best fucking decision I ever made.
Not just for me, but for my girls.
Even if it took a shitload of convincing for me to talk Dad into.
After all, I have Daddy wrapped around my little finger.
Even now, when I am twenty-three years old.
Smirking to myself, I turn back to my birds and signal. “Perimeter watch. But stay loose. This is a celebration, not a siege,” I order.
The Winged Defiance MC spreads out in practiced formation. Whisper, now my Vice President, takes point near the entrance. Her sharp eyes scan for threats that probably aren’t there, but old habits die hard. Echo and Beaker position themselves near the vehicle, ready for anything. The other girls find their spots naturally, a choreographed dance we’ve performed countless times.
These women, my women, aren’t the broken birds Javier tried to create. They’re phoenixes, risen from ash to forge something beautiful and fierce. Each one chose to be here, chose to wear my patch, chose to follow my leadership.
The weight of that trust never gets easier to carry, but it’s a burden I bear with pride.
Dad approaches, scrunching his face that’s aged into distinguished leadership. His green eyes find mine, and for a moment, I’m eight years old again, standing in that Chapel covered in Javier’s blood, looking to him for approval.
“You ready for this, Hummingbird?” he asks, using the roadname that’s become as much a part of me as my own heartbeat.
I nod, squaring my shoulders. “Been ready for fifteen years.”
Haven appears at his side, her eyes soft with an emotion I recognize. Pride. Love. The fierce protectiveness that’s never dimmed, even as I’ve grown from the traumatized child she helped raise into the woman standing before her now. “Montana’s barely holding it together,” she observes, glancing toward where he’s pacing beside his truck. “He’s trying to stay strong for the kids, but…”
“But his mom’s been locked up for decades, and he’s terrified something will go wrong at the last minute,” I finish with a shrug. “I get it.”
Nighthawk joins our small circle, her presence still commanding after all these years. Where Haven taught me to fight, Nighthawk taught me to think. Strategy, patience, the long game—all lessons that shaped me into the president I am today.
“Security’s in place,” she reports, though her tone suggests this is more about ritual than necessity. “No signs of trouble. Local PDs are keeping their distance, media’s corralled. Should be clean, for once.”
I glance around at the assembled clubs, feeling the weight of what we represent. LA Defiance, scarred and strengthened by years of war and peace.
The Winged Defiance MC is proof that women can build something fierce and beautiful from the ashes of trauma.
Two chapters, one family, united by bonds forged in blood and tempered by time. We may be two Defiance clubs in LA, run by two generations of Landry’s, but the differences between us are what keep us united.
“She’s coming out,” Rhyan calls, her voice tight with emotion.
We all turn toward the prison entrance, and there she is.Valerie. Her graying hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she’s wearing the civilian clothes Montana brought for her. Shemoves slowly, not from age, but from the careful deliberation of someone who has spent decades having every movement monitored and controlled.
But her eyes? Her eyes are alive with a freedom that makes my chest tight.
Montana breaks first. He runs toward Valerie like the scared boy who watched her get arrested, not the man who has built a life and family in her absence. When they collide, the sound Valerie makes is a half sob, half laugh, and it carries across the wind, hitting every single one of us in the chest.
“Mom,” Montana whimpers, the word barely audible but somehow reaching us all. “Mom, you’re really here.”
“I’m here, baby,” Valerie murmurs back, her hands framing his face like she’s memorizing every line, every change those decades have carved there. “I’m finally here.”
Nathan and Liberty hang back for a moment, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what they’re witnessing. But Valerie spots them over Montana’s shoulder, and her face transforms with the kind of joy that makes grown bikers wipe their eyes and pretend it’s dust from the road.
“Oh, my g-grandbabies!” she chimes, her voice breaking as she beams with excitement.
Rhyan gently guides the kids forward.
