Page 14 of Tater
“You drool when you’re knocked out,” he’d said.
“So do you,” she’d shot back.
“Yeah,” he’d said. “I know.”
They laughed then. Easier laughs. Before titles. Before presidents, dragons, and war.
Another flash. A motel room with peeling wallpaper. Ren’s first partial shift in front of him — bone breaking, skin tearing, scales pushing through as fire roared around them. She’d expected him to scream, to run, to shoot.
Instead, he’d sat on the edge of the bathtub after, holding a towel to her bleeding gums, saying, “Next time, let’s try that somewhere without sprinklers.”
No fear. Just that same stubborn acceptance, like he’d decided already, and the rest of the world could catch up or get out of the way.
Voices tugged at the edge of her awareness again — distant, muffled, through a wall. The chapel probably. Tater’s voice rolling over the others, firm, steady, giving orders. Eagle’s cutting in with coordination. A murmur of agreement, a rumble of anger.
The family was gearing up for something.
Ren tried to roll onto her side to listen better. Pain shot through her ribs so sharp she saw white for a second. The dragon hissed, then pushed warmth into the break.
“Stay down,”it ordered.
“I hate staying down,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Gonna do it anyway though, huh.”
For now.
She let herself sink back.
Ren thought about the video — her in the clearing, burning. Someone holding a phone with shaking hands, catching just enough to make her a legend or a target or both.
“Let them watch,” she murmured.
The dragon purred. “We’ll give them a better show next time.”
Ren smiled, small and mean.
“Yeah,” she said. “We fuckin’ will.”
Her eyes closed again, this time dragged under by exhaustion that even dragon fire couldn’t hold back.
Somewhere, outside, thunder rolled.
Or maybe it was just bikes.
Either way, something was coming.
And next time, she wouldn’t be on her knees.
CHAPTER 5
The First Ride
Nampa. Two years before the Bastards patch crowned Tater’s back.
The kind of heat that made even asphalt smell like anger.
