The Queen They Burned

Chapter One Eve

My father always told me that storms had a way of finding people who carried

secrets.

The funny thing was, he never acted like that was a bad thing.

He would sit on the front porch of our little farmhouse with a chipped coffee mug in

one hand and a wrench in the other, fixing whatever old motorcycle some local

farmer had dragged into his garage, while thunder rolled across the valley. He'd look

up at the dark sky and smile like he recognized an old friend.

"The rain washes away lies, Evey," he'd say. "It's the truth you've got to be afraid of."

I never understood what he meant.

Not until the day he died.

The cemetery was empty except for me.

That should have hurt more than it did.

I stood beside the fresh mound of earth with my hands shoved into the pockets of

my black coat, staring at the simple wooden cross someone from town had made

overnight. The letters had been carved by hand.

THOMAS CROSS

Beloved Father

1948-2024

No flowers.

No family.

No long line of friends paying their respects.

Just me and a cold October wind that carried the smell of rain.

The preacher had asked if I wanted him to stay after the service. I told him no. He

had already looked at me with enough pity to last a lifetime.

People in Ash Creek had always been kind enough, but they kept their distance. Dad

had been the quiet mechanic who lived outside town and fixed bikes for half the

county. I was the strange girl he had adopted after his wife died.

At least, that's what everyone believed.

The truth was, he had never legally adopted me.

I had found that out two nights ago while digging through the lock box he kept

hidden beneath the floorboards in his bedroom.

There had been no adoption papers.

No birth certificate.

No photographs of a smiling woman holding a baby.

Nothing.

Just an old silver pendant I had worn for as long as I could remember, a faded

photograph of six men standing beside a row of motorcycles, and a sealed envelope

with my name written across the front.

For Evelyn. Only after I'm gone.

I hadn't wanted to open it.

Opening it made his death real.

But grief has a way of taking choices from you.

The envelope was still in my coat pocket.

I could feel the edges pressing against my side.

I hadn't read it again since that first night because every time I did, I found a new

question and not a single answer.

A gust of wind swept through the cemetery, carrying dead leaves across the grass. I

knelt beside the grave and brushed my fingers over the damp dirt.

"You could've told me," I whispered.

Silence answered.

I laughed bitterly.

"That's kind of your thing, isn't it?"

My voice cracked on the last word.

For eighteen years, Thomas Cross had been my entire world. He had packed my

lunches, taught me how to change the oil in an engine before I learned algebra, and

sat through every terrible school concert because I always searched the crowd for his

face.

He had never missed a birthday.

Never forgotten a promise.

Never once made me feel like I wasn't his daughter.

And yet somehow, he had managed to keep the biggest secret of all.

I wasn't his.

I closed my eyes, remembering the final conversation we had shared in the hospital.

His skin had looked gray against the white sheets, his breathing shallow. The

machines had done most of the work by then.

I held his hand and lied, telling him he was going to be fine.

He squeezed my fingers with surprising strength.

"There's... a letter," he had rasped.

"I know."

"You have to take it."

"I will."

He tried to smile.

"No matter... what they say about me... or about you... you give it to him."

"Him who?"

His eyes drifted towards the window.

"Silas Mercer."

The name meant nothing to me.

"Who is he?"

Dad took a shaky breath.

"A man who owes you... everything."

I leaned closer.

"What does that mean? Who am I?"

For a second, I thought he would answer.

I saw the words rise behind his eyes.

Then his expression changed.

Fear.

Real, bone-deep fear.

"They'll know," he whispered.

"Who will?"

His fingers tightened around mine.

"Don't trust the patch."

The heart monitor began to scream.

The doctors rushed in.

A nurse pulled me away from the bed while I begged him not to leave me.

He never opened his eyes again.

A distant rumble of thunder pulled me back to the present.

I reached into my pocket and unfolded the letter.

The paper was yellowed and creased from being handled too many times.

His handwriting was uneven.

Evey,

If you're reading this, then I wasn't strong enough to tell you the truth myself. For that,

I'm sorry.

I promised your mother that I would keep you safe. Every choice I made, every lie I told,

was to keep that promise.

You are not who you think you are.

There is only one person left alive who knows the whole truth. His name is Silas Mercer.

you will find him at the Iron Crown Motorcycle Club.

Do not trust anyone else. Do not give this letter to anyone except Silas himself.

And if anyone asks about the pendant around your neck... run.

I know this is unfair. I know you'll hate me for it.

But if I had to choose between losing your love and losing your life... I would make the

same choice every single time.

I have always been your father in every way that mattered.

Love,

Dad.

I folded the letter carefully and slipped it back into the envelope.

The pendant rested beneath my sweater, cool against my skin.

I reached up and wrapped my fingers around it.

It was nothing special to look at. An old silver crest worn smooth by time, hanging

from a faded leather cord. I had asked Dad about it once when I was little.

"It belonged to your mother," he had said.

"Will she ever come back for it?"

He had looked away before answering.

"No, sweetheart. She can't."

I had never asked again.

The first drops of rain began to fall.

I stood, brushed the dirt from my knees, and looked one last time at the grave.

"What if you're wrong?" I asked quietly. "What if this Silas Mercer doesn't know

anything?"

The wind stirred through the trees.

No answer.

I should have gone home.

I should of sold the farmhouse, packed up Dad's tools, and tried to build a normal

life somewhere no one knew my name.

Instead, I climbed into his old pickup truck and started the engine.

The map on my phone said the Iron Crown Motorcycle Club was almost four hours

away.

I had never heard of it before this week.

I didn't know what kind of people belonged there.

I didn't know why my father had spent eighteen years making sure I stayed away

from motorcycles only to send me straight to a biker club after his death.

All I knew was that he had never lied to me without a reason.

The rain grew heavier as I pulled onto the highway.

By the time I crossed the county line, the sky had turned black.

The envelope sat on the passenger seat beside me.

Every few miles, I caught myself glancing at it.

At the shaky handwriting.

At the name written on the front.

To be delivered to Silas Mercer.

The farther I drove, the more a strange feeling settled over me. It started as a knot in

my stomach and slowly climbed into my chest.

It felt like I was being watched.

I checked the rear-view mirror.

A black SUV was several car lengths behind me.

I told myself it was nothing.

People drove the highway every day.

I took the next exit towards a gas station.

The SUV followed.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

I pulled into the parking lot and parked beside the pumps.

The SUV rolled past without slowing.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"You're losing it, Eve," I muttered.

Grief. Lack of sleep. Too many unanswered questions.

That was all it was.

I filled the truck, bought the strongest coffee the station had, and got back on the

road.

Three hours later, just as the sun began to disappear behind a wall of storm clouds, I

saw the sign.

A rusted metal arch stretched across a narrow road disappearing into thick woods.

Bolted to the top was a steel emblem of a skull wearing a crown.

Beneath it, in faded black paint, were four words.

IRON CROWN MOTORCYCLE CLUB.

My pulse quickened.

I parked the truck at the edge of the gravel road and stared through the windshield.

Somewhere beyond those trees was a man named Silas Mercer.

A man who supposedly knew who I was.

A man who held the answers my father had taken to his grave.

I reached into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the envelope.

Then I stepped out into the rain.

I had no way of knowing that before the night was over, the letter would be

destroyed.

The people I had come to for answers would call me a liar.

And the gates of Iron Crown would become the place where my old life ended

forever.