As the VP of the Silver Shadows for the last five years, I’ve had a good life. I was content with my club, my brothers, and my old lady. I didn’t have time for drama or dramatic outbursts.
When my old lady died and I learned her next of kin was the man she swore was just a friend… cue the dramatic outburst—mine.
For the next few months I ignore almost everything, as I drink and whore my way through the club until one day, King orders me to talk to a shrink. And lucky me because we just so happened to have one in the club now.
The problem now is talking. Generally, I have no problem speaking my mind regarding the brothers or club business, but when it comes to my feelings and shit, well, apparently that’s something I can’t do. Also, I’m having a problem getting through the hour-long session without a dramatic outburst or storming out altogether.
Look…King ordered me to go. He didn’t order me to talk.
It’s during one of my outbursts that I met the sexy little pixie who rides a motorcycle and threatens my manhood … literally.
She has her secrets. I can see them in her eyes.
She isn’t afraid to call me out—on my bull, on my pain, and on the ghosts I pretend not to see. She’s all sharp edges and bright sparks, and somehow she fits in with the chaos I’ve been pretending to control.
Every time our paths cross, she makes me rethink everything I thought I knew about myself. She challenges my anger, pushes me to face the memories I keep buried, and dares me to want more from life than numb nights and bottled-up rage.
The more I try to keep her at a distance, the more she invades the empty spaces left behind by my old lady, filling them with laughter, challenge, and a wild kind of hope.
But letting her in means letting down my guard. And for a man who’s spent his whole life hiding behind muscle, loyalty, and a patch, that’s the scariest thing of all.
Ann Silver
