The Queen They Burned

Chapter Two - Grim

The first rule my old man ever taught me was simple.

Trust gets you killed.

I was ten years old when he said it. I had watched him hand a stranger a hundred

dollars to get his truck fixed, only for the guy to disappear before the work was

done. I remember asking him why he looked so angry over a hundred bucks.

He laughed.

"It ain't the money, Jax. It's what it cost me to remember that people lie."

Twenty years later, I understood exactly what he meant.

I stood outside the clubhouse, cigarette hanging between my fingers, watching the

brothers work on a pair of bikes lined up near the garage. The smell of gasoline and

motor oil mixed with the scent of rain hanging in the air.

Iron Crown Motorcycle Club wasn't much to look at if you didn't know what it was.

A two-story brick building that had seen better days.

A garage that had been expanded so many times it looked like three different

buildings welded together.

A rusted sign over the gate with a skull wearing a crown.

To outsiders, it was just another biker clubhouse.

To me, it was home.

I had spent my entire life behind those gates. Learned to ride before I learned to

drive. Learned to throw a punch before I ever went to a school dance. Learned that

the patch on my back wasn't something you wore—it was something you bled for.

And right now, that patch felt heavier than it ever had.

I took one last drag from the cigarette before crushing it beneath my boot.

"You're gonna wear a hole in the damn pavement."

I looked over my shoulder.

My sister, Dani, leaned against the clubhouse porch with her arms folded across her

chest. She had our mother's dark hair and my father's stubborn attitude. Lucky us.

"You coming inside?" she asked.

"In a minute."

She studied me for a second. "You talked to Dad today?"

I looked away.

"No."

"You should."

The words landed harder than they should have.

Silas Mercer wasn't the kind of man who got sick. He was six-foot-four, built like an

old oak tree, and tougher than anyone I'd ever met. He'd survived knife fights,

prison, and more motorcycle crashes than most people survived birthdays.

But time didn't care who you were.

Cancer definitely didn't.

For the last six months, I'd watched the strongest man I knew disappeared piece by piece.

The doctors had stopped pretending there was anything else they could do.

So had he.

The only person still acting like things were normal was me.

"I'll go in after I finish checking the books," I muttered.

Dani rolled her eyes.

"You hate paperwork."

"I hate hospitals more."

Her expression softened.

"You know he's worried about you."

I laughed quietly.

"The old man thinks worrying is a personality trait."

"He thinks you're trying to carry the whole club by yourself."

I didn't answer because she wasn't wrong."

Being vice president sounded impressive until you actually had the job, bills,

suppliers, keeping the younger guys out of jail, dealing with rival clubs, making sure

everyone got paid. Most days it felt like I spent more time putting out fires than

riding.

And now there was the bigger question nobody wanted to say out loud.

What happens when Silas Mercer is gone.

A truck engine echoed from somewhere beyond the front gate.

I barely noticed it.

The road leading to Iron Crown was used by hunters, delivery drivers, and the

occasional i***t who took a wrong turn.

Dani did notice.

She looked towards the gate, frowning.

"You expecting somebody?"

"No."

A moment later, one of the prospects came jogging across the yard.

"Grim."

"What?"

"There's a girl at the gate."

I stared at him.

"A girl."

He nodded. "Says she's looking for the president."

The brothers working in the garage had stopped talking.

Visitors weren't unusual.

Visitors asking for Silas Mercer by name were.

"Who is she?" I asked.

The prospect shrugged. "Never seen her before."

Dani pushed herself off the porch. "Maybe she needs directions."

The kid shook his head.

"No. She said she came here because of a letter."

Something cold settled in my stomach.

A letter.

Dad had been getting strange calls for weeks. Men he hadn't spoken to in years. Old

names from old chapters of his life that he refused to explain. Every time I asked him

about it, he shut the conversation down.

"Some things belong in the past."

Maybe they should have stayed there.

"I'll handle it," I said.

Dani started after me.

"No, you won't. I'm coming too."

"You don't know who she is."

"Neither do you."

Fair point.

We crossed the yard together, boots crunching over the gravel. The closer we got to

the gate, the quieter everything became. Even the guys in the garage had stopped

pretending not to watch.

I reached the entrance and saw her.

She stood beside an old pickup truck, soaked from the rain.

She couldn't have been older than twenty.

Dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Faded jeans. Brown boots splattered with mud.

A black coat wrapped tightly around her against the cold.

She looked exhausted.

And scared.

But she didn't look away when I met her eyes.

Storm-gray.

There was something about them I couldn't explain. They weren't hard or

challenging. If anything, they looked sad.

Like she'd already lost too much.

For a split second, I forgot why I was there.

Then I remembered.

Nobody came looking for the president of an outlaw motorcycle club without a

reason.

"What do you want?" I asked.

She glanced down at the envelope in her hands before looking back at me.

"I'm looking for Silas Mercer."

"Why?"

"My father asked me to find him."

"And your father is?"

"Thomas Cross."

The name meant nothing to me.

I waited for some flicker of recognition, but there wasn't one.

"I've never heard of him."

A shadow crossed her face.

"I... I don't know if Mr. Mercer will remember him either. My dad said to give him

this."

She held up the envelope.

My eyes dropped to it.

Old paper. Sealed.

My father's name written across the front.

Something about it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Dani stepped forward before I could speak.

"Are you okay? You look frozen."

The girl gave her a small, grateful smile.

"I'm fine."

That one smile bothered me more than it should have.

Con artist usually came in loud. Confident. They had a story ready before you asked

the first question.

This girl looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.

I folded my arms across my chest.

"My father isn't seeing visitors."

Her fingers tightened around the envelope.

"I drove four hours to get here."

"Then you wasted a trip."

She blinked, clearly not expecting the answer.

"Please," she said quietly. "I promised my dad I'd give this to him personally."

"And I said no."

Dani shot me a look.

"Grim."

"What?"

"Maybe we should ask Dad."

I ignored her.

The club had enough problems without random strangers showing up with

mysterious letters. Dad was weak, medicated, and barely sleeping. The last thing he

needed was someone dredging up old ghosts.

The girl looked from Dani to me.

"I don't want anything from him."

I almost believed her.

Almost.

"What was your father's connection to Silas?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

She shook her head.

"He wouldn't tell me."

"So, let me get this straight." I took a step closer. "You drive out to a private

motorcycle club you've never been to before, carrying a letter you know nothing

about, from a man I don't know, asking to see my dying father."

The color drained from her face.

"I didn't know he was—"

"Dying?"

She looked down.

"No."

For a second, guilt tugged at me.

Then I remembered every scam artist, every opportunist, every person who had tried

to take advantage of the club over the years.

Trust gets you killed.

The old man had been right.

"I think you should leave," I said.

Her head snapped up.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Rain dripped from the ends of her hair. She looked like she might cry, but somehow

she held it together.

"My father is dead," she whispered. "You're the only lead he left me."

I should have cared.

I should have asked one more question.

I should have taken the envelope and at least looked at it.

Instead, I looked at the brothers gathering behind me, watching to see how I

handled the situation.

The vice president couldn't afford to look weak.

"Go home," I said.

Her eyes met mine one last time.

There was no anger in them.

No hatred.

Just disappointment.

The kind that settles into a person's soul.

She nodded once, clutching the envelope against her chest.

"I'm sorry I bothered you."

She turned and walked back towards the old pickup truck.

Dani hit my shoulder hard enough to make me stumble.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

Because as the girl climbed into the truck and drove back down the long gravel road,

a strange feeling settled over me.

Like I had just closed the door on something important.

I stood there until the taillights disappeared into the rain.

And for the first time in a long time, I heard my father's voice in the back of my mind.

Sometimes the biggest mistakes a man makes don't feel like mistakes until it's too late.