Chapter 6

ASHLEY'S POV

They come in one after another—identical bikes, identical black jackets—moving in a slow, controlled procession.

No music.

Just engines.

Too many to count. At least fifty or a hundred.

Every rider has their cowboy hat tipped upward toward the sky.

I don't understand it. Their customs, their rituals… none of it makes sense to me.

But something in my chest tightens.

I glance towards Matt. He's completely still now.

And I know—

This isn't good.

They're moving exactly the way the Desert MC did before they announced Daisy's death.

Something is wrong. And whatever it is…

It's bad.

It takes Matt only a few seconds to extinguish his cigarette.

He flicks it to the floor and crushes it under his boot, then quickly makes his way back inside.

I remain at the window, my eyes narrowing as I look out. I count the bikes in my head—I can only make out about thirty.

Thirty bikes gathered together. I don't know much about biker rules or culture, but I know this isn't a good sign.

It feels ominous. Only bad things bring everyone together—like death.

Every time a biker dies, they all return to lay him to rest. Even the retired ones. Even those who've walked away.

As for the Sons of Chaos MC, I don't know much about them,just that they're the richest biker group across the states.

They own more businesses than any other MC, and they're also the most populated.

I've seen them fill up an entire bar before, and I once overheard Daisy and Matt saying that wasn't even half of their members.

A few minutes later, I step away from the window and return to the couch in my room.

For a moment, I consider going downstairs to see what's happening, but I stop myself. Whatever is going on has nothing to do with me.

The only thing I should care about is meeting my new husband—Andrew Warrick Harrington.

Since last night, he hasn't been anywhere in sight. But who am I to question it?

Old ladies don't have power in the club. They're just there for appearances,watching their men so the club whores don't overstep.

After a while, I decide to go downstairs and find Nonna. I'm hungry.

I quickly wash my face and change into one of the simpler outfits available to me.

I pick a mini denim skirt with metal studs decorating the front and back, pairing it with a plain white T-shirt. It's the simplest thing in the closet full of clothes waiting for me.

Once I'm dressed, I head downstairs.

My eyes wander as I take everything in—the place is beautiful, luxurious. I can't stop staring.

Finally, I reach the staircase and begin to descend slowly.

I grip the polished wooden railing as I step down. The house is quieter than I expect. Where are all the bikers who came in earlier?

I reach the bottom and pause, glancing toward the sitting room. It's empty.

The kitchen is to my left, and the smell of food drifts from it. Nonna must be in there.

I take a step forward. But before I can move any further, a hand shoots out from nowhere and clamps around my throat.

My eyes go wide as I gasp.

Matt.

Before I can scream, he slams me back against the wall. The impact cracks against my skull, and stars explode behind my eyes.

"What happened to my Daisy?" he growls, his face inches from mine, twisted with pure rage.

"I said, what the hell happened to Daisy?"

His grip tightens, cutting off my air.

I claw at his fingers, gasping, silently begging him to let me go,but he doesn't budge.

"What happened to Daisy?" His voice drops lower, more dangerous. "What did you do, you little brat?"

"All she wanted was to give you the money so you could get the hell out of her life–and suddenly, she's dead?"

My vision blurs, but his words sink in.So that's why she helped me.

She just wanted me gone. Out of her life.

"You knew what happened!" he shouts, slamming me against the wall again. "Speak! Tell me what the hell happened to my Daisy!"

"Say something! What happened to Daisy?"

I can't breathe. I can't speak.

Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision.

"Please…" I manage weakly, slapping at his arm but he doesn't loosen his grip.

I dig my nails into his skin, but he doesn't even flinch.

"She was fine until she went to help your ungrateful ass!" he snarls, slamming me into the wall again. "She would still be alive if she hadn't tried to help you!"

Tears stream down my face—not from grief, but from the lack of air.

I'm choking.

Without even seeing the man I married.

My lungs burn as I gather what little strength I have left and weakly kick at him.

"Tell me!" he roars, shaking me like a rag doll. "Tell me what you know, or I swear to God I'll—"

"Matt!"

Nonna's voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

His grip loosens slightly—just enough for me to suck in a shallow breath as he turns toward her.

"What are you doing, Matt?" she demands, rushing forward. "Let go of her right now."

She reaches his side, and his attention shifts to her completely.

"Nonna, stay out of this," he says sharply. "This has nothing to do with you."

"I said let her go." This time, her voice is firm. Unyielding.

He turns to her slowly. "And why should I? She's a murderer. She killed Daisy."

"Please, Matt… let her go," she pleads, her tone softening.

But he hisses.

"Why are you begging for her? Why should I let her go?" he snaps. "Is she your daughter or something?"

"No, she's not," Nonna replies. "But she's Mr. Warrick's new wife."

"What?"

Matt's eyes widen. His grip disappears instantly, and I collapse against the wall, coughing violently.

"What do you mean… Warrick's new wife?"

"I'm sorry, Matt," Nonna says quietly, "but she's his old lady. He married her yesterday."

"That's impossible."

He shakes his head, refusing to believe it.