Page 35 of Tiny's Testament
“Toast theft and kisses,” she counters, just to watch me flush. She bumps her shoulder into mine. “Good. Let yourself have something good.”
Across the room, Blayze catches my eye and tips an invisible hat. Capone sends a look that means keep him sharp. Dagger winks like a threat. Torch salutes with a strip of bacon. Trigger mumbles something about “distractions,” but he’s smiling at Aerianna when he says it. Even Derange, who usually looks like a beautiful disaster waiting to happen, gives me a chin-lift that says family without using the word.
I didn’t grow up with a family like this. I didn’t grow up with any family at all. But standing here, with a plate in hand and coffee cooling, Peanut launching off the bar like she’s got wings, this is the closest I’ve ever come.
“Alright,” Capone calls, cutting through the noise without raising his voice. “Button it up.”
Chairs scrape back. Boots move. The energy switches from warm to wired in an instant. The entire room is syncing to the same beat.
Tiny crosses to me one more time as the brothers file out to gear up. “You need anything, you call Red or Blayze. If I don’t pick up…”
“I’ll throw Peanut at the nearest threat,” I say solemnly.
“Good plan.” The corner of his mouth curves. Then, more softly, “Lock your door.”
“I will.”
“And… Syv?”
“Yeah?”
His eyes flick to my mouth and back, fast as a gunshot. “We’ll finish that conversation later.”
My pulse trips. “Okay.”
He steps back like it costs him something and turns away. The screen door bangs open, sunlight spilling across the concrete as engines start to cough to life outside.
I watch from the doorway with Nadia and Monica, Jez behind us, Danyella to our left. The Little Bastards are in theplayroom in the back of the Clubhouse, thank God. Capone’s already posted the no-nonsense rules before he heads out. No one in or out, no one alone. These are basics we all pretend are overbearing until the first shot rings out somewhere in the city, and then we’re grateful for them.
Outside, Red’s voice crackles over the comm from the tech room. “South artery’s clear for five blocks. The San Ysidro feed is choppy, but I’ll clean it up. If you hit radio dead zones, stick to hand signals. I’ll ping if the pickup pops again.”
“Copy,” Tiny replies, his voice steady, the command clear. Hearing him like that stirs feelings in my spine I can't quite describe yet.
Dagger rolls his shoulders, twirls a blade he definitely shouldn’t be twirling while mounted, and grins at Tiny. “Ready to go to church, brother?”
“Thisischurch,” Tiny says, deadpan. “Keep it quiet.”
Trigger snorts. “Since when do you two keep anything quiet?”
“Since you started whispering to your money like it’s gonna whisper back,” Torch fires, climbing onto his bike.
“Shut up and ride,” Capone says, and that’s the end of the jokes.
Helmets snap into place. Gloves tighten. Cuts settle over shoulders like vows. The engines roar to life. One note, then many, harmonizing into something that vibrates down to the bone.
Tiny pulls out first, Dagger on his wing. Bones and Torch slide behind them, Trigger bringing up the rear like a promise you never want to test. The gate opens, and the line snakes into the morning like a blade sliding free of a sheath.
I press my hand flat against the doorframe and let the sound wash over me. Fear and pride twist together until I can’t tell which is louder.
“Bring them home,” I whisper to no one and everyone.
The engines fade down the block. The quiet after is too loud.
Nadia squeezes my fingers. “Breakfast round two?”
I nod, but my eyes are still on the street. “Yeah.”
Peanut bumps my ankle, indignant that the toast flow has stopped. I bend, scoop her up, and bury my face in her fur until the sting behind my eyes lessens.
