And the prodigal son returns.

He could practically feel Preacher’s reprimand from here.

Behind him, Calla held fast, although her grip got easier the longer they rode, and the trip was nothing like the chase the night before. Still, she was as tense as he was, and nothing he could say would make it better.

He’d gone rogue from the Vipers six months earlier. He’d lied, said it was because his sister needed him, but Marielle was safe and sound, in sunny Florida (which she hated), and he was tearing up the strip between the Vipers and the Heathens, looking for any intel that would fry those motherfuckers.

And, oh, he’d found it all right. Way more than he’d bargained for, and he’d laid his life on the line. If he didn’t see it through, then people died for nothing. And no one who’d ever helped him would die for nothing.

He pulled into the long driveway and parked behind Vipers clubhouse. As he helped Calla off the back, Tals was already headed inside, clapping a hand to Cage’s shoulder as he went.

Calla stood next to him as he surveyed the place. Had he been expecting a change? Did he think he’d feel differently, coming back?

“Are you all right?” she asked now. He slung an arm across her shoulder protectively and nodded. They walked toward the back door together.

He didn’t know how she’d feel about Vipers. He’d lived this life for so long that he barely noticed it, but he was trying to see it from Calla’s point of view.

It was big and loud and clean . . . it looked masculine and lived-in. It was a safe place. A party place. His home, his family. There was more sex happening here than he’d ever imagined. Sex and violence and guns and love. And that was what he’d grown up with, until the drugs had taken over the Heathens, and his mother.

Preacher was watching him carefully from the moment they entered. Preach was forty—but had acted more like a father even though he was only ten years older than Cage. Mainly because Cage had been only ten when he’d stumbled into Vipers at midnight, a refuge from the Heathens. And Vipers had circled him, because you didn’t just get a present like that from a rival gang and do nothing, no matter how old the kid. Especially a boy.

Preacher made sure they’d done nothing. And then he’d abolished any kind of revenge exacted on children for any MC. And he’d kicked guys out of the club for doing so over the years.

That was all because of Cage. So for him to see the betrayal on Preach’s face now . . . Well, fuck . . .

“There’s nothing you can say to make it better.”

With a starter like that, where the hell was Cage supposed to go?

“I’m guessing you’re not welcome?” Calla asked him, the uncertainty in her voice making him hold her hand tighter.

“I’ll let Preacher be the judge of that,” Cage said.

“You’re damned straight, Cage. I’m the goddamned judge, jury and executioner,” Preacher growled. “And who the hell is she?”

Preacher knew exactly who Calla was and why she was there, care of Tals, but that didn’t mean Preacher wasn’t going to enjoy the hell out of Cage’s discomfort.

“Calla’s staying here. With me. Until I can figure out a way to get the Heathens off her back.”

Calla stiffened beside him, especially when Preacher said, “You didn’t even ask if you were invited back inside, Cage.”

“Didn’t think I had to.”

“Well, you fucking do.”

He wasn’t scared of Preach, not like he’d been that first night, ten years old and fucking terrified. But anything had been better than staying with the Heathens. Anything had been better than watching his mother burn down their house because she was high.

Anything was better than another goddamned beating because he’d flushed her drugs down the toilet, and any others he’d found in the clubhouse.

“Hey, Tals? Come show Calla where she can catch a breather for a few minutes,” Preacher called, and Tals came out of the back.

“It’s okay—he’ll grab you something to eat. You can hang out in my space and I’ll be there soon,” Cage assured her. Bent down to kiss her cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she told him.

He should’ve known better than to think that the same woman who’d argued with him when he’d been almost dying would go down easy now.

* * *

I knew I should be afraid, but I was really tired of men ordering me around. With Cage, it was different, though. I knew he was trying to keep me safe and away from the impending argument with Preacher, but I wasn’t having it.

Preacher studied me for a long moment, not saying a word. Maybe I was supposed to look away or kowtow or something, but I thought about how, somewhere over the last forty-eight hours, I’d begun to admit that I could believe in his promises.

I didn’t walk away from a guy like that, especially not when he might be in trouble. “He saved me,” I told Preacher firmly.

“He got you in trouble in the first place,” Preacher pointed out.

“Men get women in trouble all the time. Most of them don’t bother to make good on it.”

Preacher frowned and I swore I heard Tals chuckle. Cage just watched me, like I was a ticking time bomb, especially when Preacher came closer.

He ran a finger across my jawline. I had to admit, he was sexy as anything, even with the shaved head, except I wasn’t used to being treated like I was best in show. Before I could react, Cage growled and Tals said, “Down, boy,” except I wasn’t sure which one of them he was referring to.

I don’t think they knew either, but Cage ground out, “Keep your fucking hands off her. She’s with me.”

Preacher looked over my shoulder at him. “You claim her?”

“Damned straight.”

Preacher took a couple of steps back, and I breathed, just a little. “Calla, this is my house. Go with Tals, get some food and let me talk to this asshole alone.”

I sensed that arguing would just make things worse between the men, but at least some understanding had been reached—he acknowledged me, used my name. And so, with a squeeze of Cage’s hand, I followed Tals.

At first glance, the clubhouse reminded me a little of the dorms in my first boarding school. The community room was packed with furniture and a bar, and I could look down a hallway to see all the rooms spreading off from it. There was a staircase at the end of the hall too.

And it was pretty quiet in here, save for a couple of bikers who played pool, beers balanced on the edge of the table. They looked up to acknowledge Cage, and one of them whistled as he stared.

“Calla, that’s Cage’s place—bathroom’s in there too. I’ll make some breakfast—come meet me out here when you’re done.” Tals directed me into an unlocked room, and I closed the door behind me, sagged against it and simply breathed.

The dynamics would continue to shift now that we were at Vipers. I’d known that. But it was a huge change. I went from being his focus to being left alone, told to stay put. And I didn’t know what else to do but listen to him. To all of them.

It was day one here. I was already freaking out. I’d been brought into another world where I didn’t belong, where I needed to figure out how to pretend to get along. No matter what, my past was always in my way.

Speaking of pasts, I tried to get a sense of what Cage’s life was like here before he’d left Vipers . . . maybe even before the Army. His room was scattered with pictures—of him with Tals and the others, leaning on his bike . . . partying. A couple of him in uniform. There were some clothes in the drawers. A bed. The sheets looked clean, but I’m sure if it could talk . . . I’d want it to shut up.

As well as I felt I knew him, there were whole sections of his life that were missing. I’d have to cobble together puzzle pieces.

My mind was spinning from exhaustion but I was too wired to even try to sleep. It was light out now, had barely been so when Cage’s bike drove past the sign for Skulls Creek. Tals had been slightly behind us and to our right, and they’d ridden in this synchronized formation for the past four hours. I’d been hypnotized by most of it, once we’d gotten on the smooth highway roads. In the dark, Cage went fast and I’d tried to settle my nerves by concentrating on the feel of the bike under me, and how this was something Cage loved. He had to in order to be a part of an MC. And even though I had been only on the second ride of my life, I could easily understand the headiness of the freedom of the open road.

* * *

“Just because Tals came around doesn’t mean the other guys will,” Preacher started out.

Cage stared at him steadily. “Guessing that includes you?”

“I am so not in the mood for your shit today.” Preacher ran a hand over his shaved scalp. “You didn’t ask permission to go rogue.”

“I knew you’d say no,” Cage countered.

“I should beat your ass,” Preacher muttered. But he knew—Preacher always knew why Cage did the things he did. “None of what happened the night you came home from the Army was your fault.”

“Keep trying to tell me that,” Cage said quietly.

Preacher tried a different tactic. “How’s Marielle?”

“She’s okay. But she wants to come here.”

“Not raisin’ your whole fuckin’ family, Cage.”

“Didn’t ask you to, Preach. So fuck off.” He slammed the nearest wall with a fist, several times—mainly because it felt goddamned good to hit something—until Preacher said, “Stop.”

His voice was sharp and calming, like he knew where Cage was headed. “You’re having the nightmares again.”

Cage shrugged as he shook out his hand. “They always come back. Not a surprise.”