Page 90 of Damascus & The Wildfire
We sat in a loose circle around the bonfire. The flames flickered and popped, casting long shadows across the faces of my family. Kenna sat beside me, her bare feet propped on my lap. I pressed my thumb into her arch, finding the spot that made her melt.
Kenna tossed an empty beer can at Hatchet. “So, what’s the story behind the nickname? Did you chop down a tree or something?”
Hatchet smirked. “It’s a road name, not a nickname. And no, I didn’t chop down a tree.” He took a slow sip, clearly enjoying keeping her in the dark.
Kenna rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You’re not going to tell me?”
“Maybe someday,” Hatchet teased. “When you’ve earned it.”
She laughed, then turned to me, curiosity bright in her eyes. “Why don’t you use a road name like some of the other guys?”
The question caught me off guard, but not in abad way. I’d laid that part of my past to rest long ago, but with Kenna, it didn’t feel like an open wound anymore. “I had one, but I buried it with Rose.”
She pulled back to look into my eyes, her expression softening. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize?—”
“Don’t apologize,” I said, my voice steady. “When we crashed, my cut was shredded. I buried Rose in hers. I went nomad for a while without one, and when I came back, I was just Merrick.”
“What was your road name back then?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“Bowie.”
“Like David Bowie?” she said, eyebrows raised.
Reaper and Thane chuckled.
I shook my head. “Like a Bowie knife.”
Kenna bit her lip, her eyes searching mine. She was smart enough to figure out why a biker like me, the sergeant-at-arms, would’ve been called Bowie. She didn’t push, but I could see the questions in her eyes. I didn’t mind. She deserved to know who I was, even the parts I didn’t talk about. I’d tell her if she asked.
Then she surprised me again. “What about Damascus?” she asked.
“Damascus?”
Kenna nodded. “Yeah. Damascus steel is strong. Resilient. Forged in fire. It’s the perfect road name for you. You’ve been through hell, but you’re still standing. You’re sharp when you need to be, but you’re also … layered. Complex. Like a Damascus blade.”
Fuse leaned forward, nodding. “Damn, Kenna. That’s good. Fits better than Bowie ever did.”
I stared into the fire, letting the name settle over me. Damascus. It felt right. More than that, it felt like a new beginning—like maybe I wasn’t just the man who’d buried his past, but someone who could be forged anew.
I glanced at Kenna, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Damascus, huh? Do I need to order you a new patch? Property of Damascus?”
She smiled back, her eyes bright in the firelight. “No, you’ll always be just Merrick to me.”
The group fell quiet, the fire crackling between us. I felt the weight of my past lift, replaced by something new—something forged in fire but tempered by love.
Epilogue
One Year Later
I leaned against the porch railing, watching the sun rise over the lake. The water shimmered with rippling reds and pinks, the colors so vivid they brought back the memory of my first date with Kenna—right here, on a blanket spread over this very spot.
Kenna had torn into my life like a wildfire, burning away the loneliness and loss, leaving something new and stronger in its place.
I drained the last of my coffee, the warmth lingering in my chest as I turned to head inside. The house still smelled of drywall and fresh paint, but with the boxes unpacked and Kenna’s touches everywhere, it finally felt like home.
It’d taken us longer to get it built than we’d expected—construction was delayed by a few months when Eva was hospitalized withlife-threatening complications early in her pregnancy. The entire club had rallied around her and Reaper, stepping up wherever we could so they could focus on getting their twins to term.
We hadn’t minded, though. Living together at the club’s property had given Kenna the chance to truly come into her own as an old lady.
