Page 47 of Slaughter
“They don’t even talk.”
“Silence speaks volumes,” I said, my voice gentle but firm.
Zeke let out a long, frustrated breath. “You’re all gonna be the death of me.”
“Probably,” I agreed, my smile widening. “But you love us anyway.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
We sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, the cool night air wrapping around us. I could hear the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant hum of traffic on the highway, the soft creak of the porch beneath us. And beneath it all, I could still feel the echo of Chapman’s words.
I’m falling for you, Hope.
My chest ached with the weight of it. The joy and the fear, and the impossible complexity of what we were doing. Chapman was a Golden Skulls executioner. Zeke had left the Golden Skulls to protect his sanity when club life became too much for him, and here I was, falling for a man who was still deep in the heart of it. A man who had loved and lost his wife. Who had a daughter he had abandoned in his grief. Who carried darkness in his soul that I couldn’t fully understand.
But he was also a man who looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. Who shared his pain and his memories, and his broken pieces without hesitation. Who made me feel seen in a way I had never felt before.
“Hope.”
Zeke’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked at him.
“I’m not gonna push,” he said, his expression serious. “If you’re not ready to tell me who he is, I’ll respect that. But I need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If he hurts you. If he does anything that makes you feel unsafe or disrespected, you tell me. Immediately. I don’t care who he is or where he’s from. You tell me, and I’ll handle it.”
My throat tightened. “Zeke.”
“I mean it, Hope.” His hand squeezed my shoulder gently. “You’re my sister. I will burn the whole damn world down to keep you safe.”
I believed him. I knew he would. And that was exactly why I couldn’t tell him about Chapman. Not yet. Not until I knew what this was, where it was going, and whether it had any chance of surviving the storm that would come when the truth finally came out. “I promise,” I said quietly. “If he hurts me, you’ll be the first to know.”
Zeke studied my face for a long moment, as if trying to read the truth in my eyes. Then he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good.”
We fell into silence again, but this time it felt lighter. Less fraught. Zeke’s arm was still around me, and I let myself lean into his warmth, into the comfort of having a brother who loved me fiercely and without condition.
“You know,” I said after a while, my voice soft, “you’re gonna have to let us go, eventually. All of us. We can’t stay your little sisters forever.”
“I know,” Zeke said, his voice rough. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
I smiled against his shoulder. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”
“Just—” He paused, and I felt him take a breath. “Just be careful, okay? Whoever this guy is, whatever you’re doing, be careful. The world’s a dangerous place, Hope. Especially for people like us.”
People like us. People with ties to the MC world, whether we wanted them or not. People who carried the weight of family history and club politics, and violence that simmered just beneath the surface of everyday life.
“I will,” I promised. “I’m being careful.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. Chapman and I had been careful. We’d kept our meetings secret, avoided being seen together, taken every precaution to make sure no one, especially Zeke or Kansas or anyone from the Diamondback MC, found out. But careful didn’t mean safe. And I knew, deep down, that what we were doing was anything but.
Zeke seemed to sense my hesitation because he pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I trust you,” he said quietly. “I don’t trust him, whoever he is. But I trust you.”
His words settled over me like a blanket, warm and heavy. Zeke trusted me. He believed in my judgment, in my ability to make my own choices. And that trust meant everything. Even if I wasn’t entirely sure I deserved it. “Thank you,” I whispered.
We sat there for a while longer, neither of us speaking. The night deepened around us, the stars growing brighter overhead. I could hear the faint sound of laughter from inside the house—probably Faith and Joan watching some ridiculous reality show in the living room. Joy was likely in her room, headphones on,lost in whatever music or art project had captured her attention tonight.
This was my family. My home. The life I had built here in Oklahoma, far from the chaos of our childhood in Arizona. A life that was quiet and simple, and safe.
