My husband, the president of the MC club, gave my position to his brother’s widow, letting her take everything that had originally belonged to me.

At the Independence Day party, I finally understood how invisible I was. My husband stood in the center of the crowd, watching her as if she were more important than anything else—more important than me.

"She needs distraction," he'd always say, dismissing my needs as he let her take over everything that was mine.

I watched helplessly as she nestled beside him, touching his arm, while my needs went unanswered, postponed, forgotten. Something in me snapped.

When I stepped onto the stage, my voice didn't tremble.

"Let's thank our new party planner," I said, meeting his eyes.

Confusion flickered across his face. Then guilt. Too late.

"Nicole. I'm sorry your husband dead," I said, each word clear and sharp, "but that doesn't give you the right to steal my husband or my place in this club."

A collective gasp rippled through the audience. Nicole's eyes were brimming with tears, her lower lip trembling slightly as she feigned innocence.

Before she could speak, I walked up to Nicole and casually shrugged. "You won. He's yours."

A laugh escaped my chest. I covered my mouth, but the laughter still escaped.

I was free.

——

Dragon

Approximately one month prior to the 4th of July

"You're being unreasonable, Henry. It would take your guys a fraction of the time it's taking mine." Demon sprawls in the chair on the other side of my desk, his body a contradiction of tightly coiled tension and deliberate nonchalance His use of my given name is a sure sign he's trying to get under my skin. I've just denied him something after all, and Demon has never taken no for an answer gracefully.

My chair creaks as I lean back, meeting his glare calmly. Not that long ago, I would have considered it impossible for the two of us to even be in the same room as each other like this without one of us trying to kill the other. But since Naomi's death and the destruction of the Devil's Rejects, we've reached a fragile truce. Not quite the brotherhood we once had, but something.

"I told you no, and I meant it," I respond, keeping my voice level. "My tech team is busy with actual club business."

Demon's jaw tightens, the scar down his cheek turning white with tension. "So "club business" is more important than helping me find Amara?"

I exhale slowly, wishing not for the first time that my brother could just let things go. "It's been years, Kit. If Amara wanted you to find her, wouldn't she have found some way to get in contact with you by now?"

The words hit their mark. Demon's eyes narrow, and he shifts in his seat, tensing up like he's preparing for a fight. "You can't say what she wants. You didn't even know her."

"You had a casual affair with her that, by your own admission, ended badly. Then she gets accused of theft, almost murdered, and put on a bus and told to disappear. What on God's green earth makes you think she'd want to be dragged back into our world?"

"Because she doesn't have all the facts," Demon snaps. "She doesn't know that I thought she was dead. She doesn't know that I haven't stopped looking for her since I learned she was alive. She doesn't know what I did for her, to get revenge for what that bi-tch Naomi almost..." he cuts himself off and stands up abruptly, turning his back to me, hands on his hips, breathing hard.

I shake my head, feeling the beginning of a dull throbbing in my temples. "I understand you want to find her, but-"

"Do you?" Demon cuts me off, turning back towards me. "Tell me, Henry, what would you do if it were Maddie who was gone? Would you just shrug and say, 'Well, if she wants to find me, she will'?"

The mere suggestion of Maddie disappearing sends an uncomfortable jolt through me, but I don't let it show. I won't give Demon the satisfaction of knowing he's struck a nerve.

"Maddie isn't gone, and as she isn't going anywhere anytime soon, the situation is neither here nor there." I reply evenly.

Demon's lip curls. "Of course you'd say that."

"Look," I say, spreading my hands on the desk. "You've got your own men. Use them. I'm not stopping you from searching for Amara all you want. Throw as many of your own resources at it as you see fit. But I won't divert mine from club business for a woman who, by all accounts, is better off wherever she is now."

A dangerous stillness comes over Demon then, the kind that always preceded the worst of his outbursts when we were younger. "Better off without me, you mean."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you implied." He sits down again, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Don't count on Maddie sticking around forever, brother. After all, I have experience making the wives of men who piss me off disappear."

Years ago, a threat like that might have had me lunging across the desk at him. Now, I just stare back, unfazed. This is Demon's way; he pushes buttons, trying to see what will make you break. It doesn't mean anything beyond his need to draw blood when he's hurting.

"Are we done?" I ask, ignoring the bait entirely.

Frustration flashes across his face at my nonreaction. Good.

"You know what, Dragon," he says, emphasizing my road name mockingly. "Help me look for her, don't help me look for her, I don't give a sh-it anymore. I'll find her with or without your help."

"I'm sure you will," I reply calmly.

Demon stands in one fluid motion, towering over my desk. Despite our identical height, he's always had a way of making his presence fill more space than it should. "One of these days, something is going to knock you right off that high horse you've put yourself on," he says, voice quiet but edged with venom. "And I'll be here with popcorn when that happens."

He doesn't wait for a response, just turns and stalks toward the door, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. The door slams behind him with enough force to rattle the framed photographs on my wall.

I release a long breath and rub my forehead. Conversations with Demon always leave me feeling like I've been through a sparring match. It's exhausting, this dance we do, the push and pull of brothers who love and hate each other in equal measure.

My watch tells me it's nearly noon. The dining room will be filling up with my men soon, and I should make an appearance. Club presidents who hide in their offices don't tend to command the same respect as those who break bread with their brothers. My father taught me that lesson, even if he failed at so many others.

I stand, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension there. As I move toward the door, I'm already mentally shifting gears from dealing with my brother to the dozen other matters requiring my attention today.

As I step into the hallway, a familiar voice calls my name.

"Dragon! I've been looking for you."

Nicole approaches, her blonde hair bouncing with every step. Her smile lights up her entire face, and I'm relieved to see that the sorrow that's been weighing her down these last few months seems to be absent today. Her presence hits me with the same one-two punch it always does: first, the crushing weight of guilt. And lately, the appreciation of her undeniable beauty.

"Nicole," I greet her, managing a small smile in return. "How are you doing today?"

It's been almost a year since Gunner died on my watch. Almost a year of carrying the responsibility for leaving his widow alone in this world. Almost a year of trying to make it right the only way I know how; by making sure she's taken care of, that she wants for nothing.

"I'm good, really good," she replies, falling into step beside me as we head toward the dining room. Her hand brushes my arm briefly. "I'm glad I finally caught you. I've been thinking about the Fourth of July barbecue."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the topic.

Nicole nods enthusiastically. "I have some ideas for the decorations. I found some really cool pictures online, and I thought I could-"

"Have you talked to Maddie about this?" I ask with a slight frown. "She's in charge of planning it."

The change in Nicole's expression is immediate. Her smile dims, and her eyes drop to the floor for a moment before meeting mine again.

"I... no, I haven't," she admits, her voice softer now. "I was just looking for something to keep busy, you know? To distract myself."

She doesn't finish the thought, but she doesn't need to. To distract herself from the grief. From the emptiness of her bed. From the fact that Gunner isn't here anymore because I was out on a fool's errand when a traitor that I let in my club shot him.

The guilt surges through me like a physical pain. I was supposed to protect him. I'm supposed to protect all of them. That's what being Dragon means. And I failed.

"It shouldn't be a problem," I hear myself saying before I've fully thought it through. "I'll talk to Maddie and tell her you'd like to help her plan it."

The transformation is immediate. Nicole's entire face lights up, her body seeming to expand with renewed energy. "Really? That would be amazing, Dragon. Thank you."

"Of course," I reply, ignoring the voice in the back of my head telling me I should have checked with Maddie first. But it's just a barbecue, and Maddie's got plenty of other things she's busy with. Surely she won't mind the help.

We reach the double doors to the dining room, and I can hear the sounds of laughter, conversation, the clatter of plates and silverware coming from inside. Nicole is still beaming beside me, and I find myself smiling back despite the lingering unease from my encounter with Demon.

"After you," I say, holding the door open for her.

She steps through with a grin, and I follow her into the warm chaos of the dining room. Several of my men look up, nodding in respectful acknowledgment as I enter. A few gazes linger a beat too long on Nicole beside me, then dart away quickly when they meet my eyes.

I ignore it. Let them think what they want. I know where my loyalties lie.

As we make our way toward the food, I catch a glimpse of Demon on the far side of the room, sitting with a couple of his men. He's watching me and Nicole with an unreadable expression on his face. Then his eyes find mine, and he raises his water glass in a mock toast, one corner of his mouth lifting in an unpleasant smirk.

I turn away, focusing on filling my plate

Nicole touches my arm again, asking if I want to sit with her. I nod, following her to an empty table, telling myself that I'm just doing what any good club president would do; taking care of the family members left behind.

Nothing more.

Maddie

I scrape half-eaten plates into the industrial trash can, trying to be useful while simultaneously staying out of the way of the kitchen staff, who are never comfortable when I invade their domain. I know they don't understand why I insist on helping them every day, but at least here I'm doing something besides scrolling mindlessly through my phone.

"I think we have everything under control, Maddie." Alaina, the club cook, wipes her hands on a cloth and gives me the same look she always does, one that's half-exasperation, half-respect. "Lunch is almost over. You should go grab some food before it's all gone."

"I'll go after I finish this," I say, reaching for another plate.

"Maddie," she says firmly but with a kind smile, removing the plate from my hands. "You know Dragon hates it when he catches you in here. He told me last time that he pays us good money to do the dishes and that you have more important things to do."

The irony of her statement makes me scoff. Important things. Right. The truth is, I don't have anything to do. Not really. Not anything that matters. Everyone else around here has a purpose - the men have the club, the staff have their jobs, even most of the other old ladies have careers or homes or children to occupy their time. But me? Most days I'm just... here.

But none of this is Alaina's or the other girls' fault, and I don't want them to worry that they'll get in trouble.

"Alright, alright," I surrender with a forced smile, setting down the sponge. "We wouldn't want to upset the Dragon."

The relief on their faces is palpable, which only twists the knife deeper. I dry my hands on a nearby towel and try to look like I have somewhere important to be. Maybe I can catch Dragon for lunch. We haven't eaten together in... I can't even remember the last time.

When I push through the swinging doors into the dining room, the familiar cacophony of male voices, clinking silverware, and scraping chairs hits me all at once. The room is crowded with leather cuts bearing the Dragon's Inferno patch, but my eyes automatically seek out one person.

I find him almost immediately, sitting at a table in the center of the room. Dragon commands attention without even trying; his presence draws the eye like a flame in darkness. But today, it's not just him that catches my attention, it's who he's sitting with.

Nicole leans toward him, her blonde hair falling forward as she says something that makes Dragon smile. Actually smile. It's a rare enough occurrence that I feel a pang of something ugly and sharp. She's surrounded by several of Dragon's officers, but it's clear from the way her body is angled that Dragon is her audience.

I stand frozen by the kitchen doors, suddenly feeling like an intruder. Dragon doesn't even glance up to see me there. He's too busy listening to whatever fascinating thing Nicole is saying, his usually stern face softened in a way that makes my chest ache.

Looking around the dining room, I notice how few of the men meet my gaze. Those who do quickly look away, finding their plates suddenly fascinating. There are hardly any other old ladies here; it is the middle of the day on a Tuesday after all.

For a moment, I consider slipping back into the kitchen, pretending I was never here. But the thought of retreating makes something stubborn flare inside me.

I lift my chin and walk to the food line, picking up a plate and serving myself. I'm not going to run away as if I've done something wrong. I haven't. Neither has Dragon, I remind myself firmly. He's just eating lunch.

My eyes scan the room for a place to sit. Every chair near Dragon is taken, of course. But across the room, I spot Riley, her dark blonde head bent over what looks like a textbook propped against a salt shaker. Riley is the oldest daughter of Spark, the club's technical genius. She's been hanging out at the clubhouse more often lately, helping her father with his work in between her college courses, and the two of us have become fast friends.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask, setting my plate down across from her.

Riley's head jerks up, surprise flashing across her face before breaking into a wide smile. "Maddie! Of course not, please." She hastily moves her books to make space. "I was just reviewing some notes for class tomorrow, but it's all totally boring stuff."

"How's your mom doing?" I ask as I settle into my chair. Mrs. Foster's illness has been weighing heavily on Riley lately.

"About the same," she sighs, pushing her food around her plate. "The new medication isn't doing much, but at least she's not getting worse." She shrugs, the gesture somehow both resigned and hopeful. "She still has good days and bad days."

"I'd love to come visit her again soon," I say. "Maybe tomorrow afternoon?"

Riley's face brightens. "She'd love that. Your last visit was the highlight of her week. And the girls loved the cookies you brought."

I'm about to respond when a burst of laughter cuts through the general din of the dining room. Not just any laughter, Nicole's. It rings out, drawing attention from several nearby tables. I can't help but look over.

Nicole has her hand on Dragon's arm, her head thrown back in delight at something he's said. Dragon doesn't pull away. I notice Gray and Viper shifting uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging a glance that speaks volumes. At least I'm not the only one who finds this... whatever this is... unsettling.

"He wouldn't be unfaithful," I murmur, not realizing I've spoken aloud until Riley's hand covers mine.

"Of course not," she says firmly, her blue eyes serious. "Dragon worships the ground you walk on, Maddie."

I try to smile, but it feels brittle on my face. I look down at my plate, suddenly finding the food completely unappetizing. My stomach has twisted itself into knots, and every bite tastes like cardboard.

"I should go," I say, standing abruptly. "I have... things I need to do."

Riley doesn't call me on the obvious lie, just gives me a sympathetic nod. I deposit my plate in the bin the kitchen leaves out for dirty dishes. As I slip out of the dining room, I cast one final glance back at Dragon's table. He's deep in conversation with his officers now, seemingly oblivious to my presence or my departure.

I wonder if he even realized I was here at all.

The women's common room is empty, as is usual for this time of day. The space is my little experiment in carving out territory in the clubhouse. The room has soft cream-colored walls instead of the dark paneling that's everywhere else, comfortable soft couches and armchairs in bright colors instead of leather, pictures on the wall instead of pinup posters and an area set aside for children to play in. It's a sanctuary of femininity in a decidedly male domain. A place where I can feel like I'm living in a home, and not just the base of a motorcycle gang.

I sink into the window seat, drawing my knees up to my chest as I gaze outside. From here, I can see my other attempt to make a mark on this place, the backyard area where we used to hold outdoor parties and barbecues. Where I once had a garden.

The raised beds are still there, and at this time of year they should be cleared and turned and ready for the seedlings I should have started months ago. Instead, the beds are still filled with the dead weeds that choked out last year's flowers.

I used to spend hours out there, hands buried in the soil. I'd never cared much about gardening before marrying Dragon, but I'd loved my little oasis, my little piece of the world where I felt like I was accomplishing something tangible.

Then Gunner was shot there.

I still see it sometimes when I close my eyes, finding him there, his body crumpled on the ground.

After that, no one wanted to use the space anymore. Least of all, me. Too many memories saturated in that soil now, the kind that can't be washed away with rainwater or time.

Dragon's solution had been typical of him; practical, decisive, and completely missing the emotional nuances. He bought the empty lot next door, had it paved and expanded the clubhouse's fencing to include it, and now it's where the club holds its barbecues and parties. Problem solved, in his mind at least. But there was no place for a garden there.

I've brought up the idea of buying a house more times than I can count. A place that could be ours, away from the constant noise and demands of the club. Somewhere I could have a real garden, a kitchen that isn't designed to feed dozens of hungry bikers at a time but is instead a place I could prepare meals for our family, a bedroom where I wouldn't be woken up at night by the noises of drunk bikers and giggling club bunnies and whatever party is happening out in the main common room.

But Dragon always has the same answer: he needs to be here at the clubhouse, with his finger on the pulse of the club at all times. It's his responsibility as president. The club needs him accessible, day and night. He'll then assure me I'm allowed to make any changes I want to ensure I feel more at home, and I smile and nod, and in his mind, the problem is solved.

My thoughts drift to Gigi, Dragon's grandmother. She used to tell me stories about the early days of the club, back when her husband was president. How he'd come to her for advice, how integral she was to the daily operations of the club. Breaking up fights between club whores and old ladies. Patching up brothers who'd gotten themselves into trouble. Being a confidante, a counselor, a mediator.

"The club prez is only as strong as the woman behind him," she told me once, her knitting needles clicking rhythmically as she spoke. "And don't you let anyone tell you different, girl."

I have to laugh at that memory. Not because it's funny, but because the contrast between Gigi's experience and mine is so stark it borders on absurd. If fights break out, Dragon has men assigned to security to deal with it. Club bunnies who cause problems get booted. Old ladies who start fights get themselves banned from the clubhouse. We keep an actual doctor on retainer now for anyone who needs patching up.

And as for Dragon asking me for advice or guidance?

It's not that he doesn't. It's just that it doesn't seem to make much difference. In the end, Dragon does what Dragon thinks is best. And I usually smile and nod and agree with him because that's what I do best.

Maybe I should bring up going back to work again. It's not like I enjoyed the job I had before I met Dragon, but at least I didn't feel completely useless at the end of the day. Maybe I should consider a career change or going back to school?

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Before I can answer, Dragon walks in, his tall frame filling the doorway. My heart does that stupid little flip it always does when I see him.

"There you are," he says, crossing the room to drop a ki-ss on my lips. It's brief, perfunctory, but I lean into it anyway, starved for his attention.

"Taking a quick break?" he asks, settling into the armchair across from me.

The question catches me off-guard. A break from what, exactly? Does he think I've been busy with something? What does he imagine I do all day while he's running the club? I consider asking him, but instead force a smile.

"Something like that," I reply, not wanting to start a conversation that will only leave me feeling more hollow than I already do.

"Good, good." Dragon nods, glancing at his watch. "I just wanted to stop by and let you know that I told Nicole she could help you plan the Fourth of July barbecue."

Just like that, the small bubble of warmth that had formed in my chest at his unexpected visit pops. Of course. He didn't come to see me; he came to talk to me about something Nicole needs. Again.

"You did what?" I ask, my voice coming out flatter than I intended.

Dragon doesn't seem to notice the change in my tone. "Nicole. She needs something to keep her distracted, you know? I figured helping with the barbecue would be good for her."

"I see," I say, because what else can I say? That I enjoy planning it myself? That hosting the club's parties is one of the few things I do that makes me feel useful around here? That him giving Nicole something that should be my role feels like he's telling me I'm not enough?

Dragon rises, ki-sses my forehead. "I need to go join the brothers for church. Just wanted to let you know about Nicole."

"Hey," I say, reaching for his hand before he can turn away. "What about dinner tonight? We could go to that Italian place in town? It's been a while since we've been on a date."

Dragon's expression softens, but then he shakes his head. "Not tonight, Maddie. A few brothers are going out on a run, and I need to be at the club to see how it goes."

The familiar disappointment settles in my stomach like a stone. "Of course," I say, forcing another smile. "I understand."

"Tomorrow, maybe," he offers, but I know it's an empty promise. There's always something else that needs his attention.

After Dragon leaves, I turn back to the window, staring at my abandoned garden.

But then an idea sparks. What if I cleaned it up? What if I turned it into a memorial garden for Gunner? Something beautiful that acknowledges what happened instead of trying to pave over it and pretend it never existed?

The thought energizes me. And I know exactly who to go to for help.

I grab my phone and keys. Kayla should be home from work by now. I can ask her to help with the garden, we drink wine, and I can complain about Dragon. She'll understand, probably better than anyone.

I close the door behind me and move out, feeling excited about something for the first time in months.