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Gunner kept his kids’ names straight… I didn’t know.
Carly’s brood was also present. She and Rock had adopted Blake, twelve, Harrison, eleven, and Bonnie, eight. Then they had gone on to have Bastian, now four, Paxton, two and a half and Xia, six months. After Xia, Rock had cheerfully taken himself off to get ‘snipped’ as Phoe called it. Rock outright told Carly if she wanted more children, they’d adopt more.
Sometimes, I wondered if Drake drugged the water in Rage because none of the brothers were shy at reproducing or adopting.
I also wondered about the boys’ future as they reached adulthood. At least half would want to join Rage. That would make Rage too big. I’d no doubt that Drake had a plan in place, and I knew he wanted to retire as soon as Dante could take over. However, Dante still had a long journey ahead.
A shadow fell over my mood, and I shoved it away hard. The threat of Fury had no place in my backyard on a sunny day. It was this generation that was going to make it safe for the Legacies; we would eat shit so they didn’t have to.
All the Legacies would have to worry about was keeping legal (not gonna happen in Mav’s case), making money, and riding free. We would clean RC up so they’d get that life.
A pang hit for a moment; a tiny part of me yearned to have my Legacy. But that couldn’t and would not happen. Not with the cesspit I was born into. No, no part of that would touch an innocent kid. I wouldn’t allow it to. Life was bad enough as it was; they didn’t need the Sawyer filth.
A screech made me look up, and I saw Bastian jump into the pool on top of Harrison, who lifted the boy and chucked him sideways. I glanced at Isla and Harper, who played with a ball quietly. They kept glancing at the other kids being rambunctious but remained quiet in their corner.
“Smacks of former abuse,” Autumn murmured. “I recognise the signs.”
“You think Grace…?” I asked.
“Grace has tells, too. I think that’s what Phoe picked up on, and it’s why she reached out. Grace is hiding something, though; she’s very closed off, and so are those girls.”
“Most of us have secrets, Autumn,” I said, and she peered at me.
“Yup, Savage, and then one day, you realise you’re surrounded by family who have their shit and wouldn’t judge you for yours,” she retorted.
Smart ass woman, I thought as I rolled my eyes.
A phone chirped, and I realised it was the mine and opened it, finding a message from Onyx. He informed me that he’d found the jacket one of the old ladies had left behind, and I needed to fetch it tonight. That was code for a body on ice. It was a code worked out between the Allies.
But the Riders of Vengeance usually took care of their waste, so it was unusual to be called on by Onyx.
Moments later, Drake texted me, saying I needed to grab Phoe’s jacket she’d left at the Riders of Vengeance compound. In other words, Drake told me to pick it up, and he’d okayed it.
I slid my phone away and leaned back as I sipped my coffee. It didn’t matter to me who the body belonged to that I was picking up, nor did it matter why they were dead. Drake would never cover a meaningless murder, so I imagined it was a Venomous Fang or somebody similar. It wasn’t my business, and there were plenty of bodies in Rage’s past. That was a damn fact.
“Okay, so does someone wanna explain why everyone is at mine?” I asked.
“Told you. Nova’s babysitting and felt Grace might be happier knowing Harper and Isla were around other children and adults. Nova’s cooking their dinner here, and then she’ll take the girls home at about seven for a bath. Chill out; it doesn’t hurt to be hospitable,” Carly chided.
I scowled at her. So says she. It’s not her sanctuary being invaded.
Carly sent me a scowl in return, and I thought better of airing my issues. I’d never win against an old lady.
Deciding to walk to the front yard and check my mailbox, I headed out and relished the sounds of screaming children fading as I stood at the curb and sighed. The mailbox was empty, but I had a few minutes to get peace and quiet.
Or so I thought, as I jumped like a scalded cat.
I landed on both feet and glared down at a diminutive woman. She was in her seventies, a nicely rounded figure, with hazel eyes. Her hair was purple and made me blink, and I hurriedly stepped backwards as she jabbed at me a second time with a pair of knitting needles.
“Stop that!” I snarled as she stared at me.
“You got those girls?” she demanded.
“What the fuck?” I asked and let out an unmanly shriek as the witch stabbed me in the stomach, quick as a flash.
“Mind your language, boyo. You ain’t too big—not to be taught manners,” Nancy chided. I thought that was her name; I vaguely remember her introducing herself when I moved in.
“You’re a fine one to talk about manners,” I retorted, and Nancy’s eyes narrowed. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to anger the nutcase lady with knitting needles.
