013: Vultures' Stand

Kiera's POV

"There's something else you all need to know."

The words came out heavier than I'd intended, settling over the Steel Vultures like a storm cloud. We were gathered in the main room of the clubhouse, Jack, Sable, Big Mike, Razor Eddie, Tommy, and the handful of others who'd stayed after learning what they were really up against. The ones who'd chosen loyalty over self-preservation.

I'd been back for three hours, long enough to check on Eli and grab a cup of coffee that had gone cold in my shaking hands. Long enough to realize that the revelation about Marcus changed everything, but I wasn't sure how.

Jack looked up from the map he'd been studying, his pale eyes sharp with attention. "What kind of something else?"

I took a breath, tasting motor oil and cigarette smoke and the familiar comfort of home. These people deserved the truth, even if it made them run screaming into the night.

"The child Sarah was carrying five years ago… Marcus… he's not Darius's son."

The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the old building settling around us. Sable's wrench clattered to the floor. Big Mike's beer bottle stopped halfway to his lips. Even the jukebox seemed to hold its breath.

"Come again?" Jack's voice was carefully controlled, the tone he used when he was processing information that might get people killed.

"I overheard some pack members talking. They said Marcus doesn't carry Darius's scent, doesn't have his markers. That he barely smells like wolf at all." I set down my coffee cup before my trembling hands could betray me. "The whole thing that destroyed my life, that drove me to run… it was based on a lie."

"Jesus Christ," Tommy breathed. "You mean that bastard didn't actually…"

"No." The word came out sharper than I'd meant. "I don't think he did. I think Sarah played us both."

Jack's weathered face was going through a series of expressions… surprise, calculation, then a cold fury that made the temperature in the room seem to drop. "That manipulative bitch. She played the long game, didn't she? Got herself pregnant by someone else, convinced everyone it was his, then sat back and watched your world burn."

"It gets worse," I said quietly. "He knows. Has known, apparently. But he kept her there anyway, turned her into a wolf, let her play Luna while I was…" My voice broke slightly. "While I was stealing food and sleeping in rest stops, carrying his actual child."

The fury that radiated from Jack was almost tangible now. His scarred hands curled into fists on the table, and I could see the wheels turning in his head… the tactical mind that had kept the Steel Vultures alive through decades of wars and betrayals.

"That son of a bitch," he said quietly. "He let you believe you'd been replaced. Let you run, left you suffer, and you raise his boy alone. All to protect some political game."

"We don't know that's why…" I started, but Sable cut me off.

"Don't." Her voice was sharp as broken glass. "Don't defend him, Ghost. Not after what you just told us."

But even as I nodded, part of me wondered. Darius's face when I'd confronted him tonight… there had been pain there, regret, something that looked almost like guilt. Had he wanted to tell me the truth? Had he been trapped by the same lies that had driven me away?

"The question is," Sable continued, pacing now like a caged animal, "what do we do with this information? Sarah's kid could be leverage. A way to force their hand."

"You want to use a child as a bargaining chip?" Big Mike's voice carried disapproval, the kind of moral line even outlaws didn't usually cross.

"I want to survive this," Sable shot back. "We're talking about going to war with creatures that can tear us apart with their bare hands. We need every advantage we can get."

"Sable's right," Razor Eddie said quietly from his corner. He was cleaning his knife, the way he always did when he was thinking through a problem. "War's coming whether we want it or not. Question is whether we fight smart or just fight."

"Or whether we fight at all."

The voice came from behind me, and I turned to see Carl and two of the newer prospects standing in the doorway. Carl had been with the Vultures for three years, long enough to earn his colors but not long enough to bleed for them. His face was set in lines of stubborn determination.

"Come again?" Jack's voice went dangerously quiet.

"I said maybe we don't fight at all." Carl stepped into the room, his allies flanking him like backup. "We should let the wolves have their family reunion and get back to being what we were before… a motorcycle club, not soldiers in some supernatural war."

The temperature in the room plummeted. Jack rose slowly from his chair, all six feet and change of weathered biker president, and the air filled with the kind of tension that preceded violence.

"You suggesting we cut Ghost loose?" he asked mildly.

"I'm suggesting we think about the club. About the brothers who might die because we're harboring someone who brought werewolves to our door." Carl's voice gained strength as he spoke, fed by the fear that had been eating at him since the first confrontation. "She's got a kid to protect. I get that. But we've got families too."

"Families that are safe as long as we stick together," Sable snarled. "The moment we show weakness…"

"The moment we show sense, you mean." One of Carl's allies, a prospect named Danny, found his voice. "We're human, for Christ's sake. We can't fight things that heal from bullet wounds and move faster than our eyes can track."

"We've been doing pretty well so far," Big Mike rumbled.

"Have we? Tommy's got broken ribs. Half the guys are talking about running. And that's just from one fight." Danny's voice cracked slightly. "What happens when they come back with their whole pack? What happens when they stop playing games and start killing people?"

I felt something die inside my chest as I listened to them argue. These were good men, mostly. They'd shown me kindness when I'd needed it, had given Eli uncles and a place to belong. But fear was a powerful thing, and I couldn't blame them for being afraid.

"They're right," I said quietly, and the room went silent. "This isn't your fight. I brought this to your door, and I can take it away."

"Bullshit." Jack's voice cut through my self-recrimination like a blade. "You didn't bring anything anywhere, Ghost. You ran from monsters and we gave you shelter. That's what family does."

"Family doesn't get family killed," Carl shot back.

"No," Jack agreed, turning to face him with the kind of cold stare that had ended more arguments than words ever could. "Family dies for family if that's what it takes. That's the difference between brothers and prospects who wear our colors without understanding what they mean."

The insult hung in the air like a challenge. Carl's face flushed red, his hands curling into fists, but he held his ground.

"You want to die for her? Fine. But you don't get to make that choice for the rest of us."

"Actually," Jack said mildly, "I do. That's what the patch on my chest means. That's what you swore an oath to when you joined this club." His voice dropped to a growl. "But if you want out, there's the door. Use it."

The standoff stretched taut as a wire. Carl and his allies stood frozen, caught between their fear and their pride, while the rest of the room watched to see which way the moment would break.

Finally, Danny broke first. "This is crazy," he muttered, then turned and walked out. After a moment's hesitation, the other prospect followed.

Carl stood alone for a few more seconds, staring at Jack with something that might have been hatred or might have been disappointment. Then he shook his head and stalked out, leaving his colors on the table by the door.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Well," Sable said finally. "That could have gone better."

"Could have gone worse too," Razor Eddie observed, still cleaning his knife. "Better to know where people stand before the shooting starts."

I stared at the abandoned colors, at the proof of how my presence was tearing apart the only family I'd known for years. The guilt was overwhelming, crushing, a weight that made it hard to breathe.

"I should go," I whispered. "Take Eli and disappear. Find somewhere else…"

"You should shut the hell up," Jack interrupted, his voice rough with emotion I'd rarely heard from him. "You're Steel Vultures, Ghost. That means something. That means we don't cut and run when things get rough."

"But they're right," I said desperately. "People are going to die because of me. Good people. People with families of their own."

"People die anyway," Sable said pragmatically. "At least this way, they die for something that matters."

"I matter that much?"

"You do to us." Jack's weathered face softened slightly. "You and that boy of yours. You've been family for five years, and family doesn't get abandoned just because the road gets rough."

The words hit me harder than any blow could have. These people… these rough, dangerous, loyal people… had chosen me over their own safety. Had looked at the odds and decided I was worth the risk.

I'd never felt so grateful or so terrified in my life.

"So what now?" I asked.

"Now we figure out how to win a war," Jack said grimly. "Starting with what you learned about the boy who isn't Darius's son."

Outside, engines started up… Carl and the others, leaving for good. The sound made my chest ache, but I forced myself to focus on the ones who'd stayed. The ones who'd chosen to stand with me even knowing what it might cost.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something that might have been hope.

We were outnumbered, outgunned, and outclassed in every way that mattered.

But we were family. And sometimes, that was enough.