Chapter 174 Going Home

Chapter 174 Going Home
Lily

Everything felt distant, hazy, like I was drifting at the bottom of a lake. Even the air was thick, pressing in on me, threatening to drown me in silence and grief. Voices floated overhead, warped and muffled, surfacing in slow, uneven waves. I barely recognized them.

Faces passed in and out of focus, blurred by the tears I couldn’t stop, tears that stung my eyes and cooled on my skin, mixing with the blood dried on my hands and arms. My fingers were still tangled in Lucian’s jacket. I couldn’t remember how long I’d been holding on. I couldn’t remember ever letting go.

His blood had dried in sticky rivers across my palms, my wrists, deep beneath my fingernails. Every time I dared to look down, I half-expected his chest to rise. Just once. Just enough for him to open his eyes and flash that lopsided grin, the one that always made everything feel like it’d be okay.

He always got back up. Always.

But this time, he didn’t.

A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the docks. All around us, the world seemed to grind to a halt, no movement, no shouts, no life. The war was over. Rourke was dead. And yet, nobody cheered. There was no relief. No joy.

Then a voice, uncertain and raw, cleaved through the quiet. “…Orders?”

The word didn’t make sense. Orders? I frowned, confusion thick and slow as syrup inside my head. I forced my eyes upward, blinking away a fresh wave of tears.

Angel stood a few yards away, helmet tucked beneath his arm. His gaze was fixed, not on Lucian, not on Rourke, not on me... But on Knox.

I followed his line of sight.

Victor, watching Knox.
Darius, watching Knox.
Jinx, watching Knox.

The Reapers.
The Nomads.
Every set of eyes locked on the same point.

It took a moment for the pieces to click. When they did, the realization hit so hard it stole my breath. Lucian was gone. There was no President anymore.

My gaze found Knox again. He looked different now. Heavier. Like the weight of the entire club had sunk into his shoulders in the span of a single heartbeat. No one had called a meeting. No one had handed him a patch. It just…happened.

Knox was President.

Not tomorrow, not after a vote, but right now... the moment Lucian’s heart stopped. My own heart clenched, painfully tight. Knox looked around the dockyard, his face unreadable, as if he was desperately hoping someone older, someone wiser, someone... anyone, would step forward and take command.

But Lucian wasn’t getting back up. He never would.

Elias moved with slow, steady purpose, grief etched into every line of his face. He stopped beside Knox and leaned in close, whispering something I couldn’t hear. Knox stared at the ground, jaw clenching, then gave a single, measured nod.

He didn’t want this. Nobody ever wants to become President this way.

He took a breath and lifted his head. “Angel,” his voice rasped.

Angel snapped to attention. “Yeah, Pres.”

That word... Pres, splintered something inside me. Knox barely flinched, but I saw it.

He nodded toward the road. “Go find Nathanial. Tell him to take Ash home.” His voice cracked, just once.

Angel nodded and jogged for the bikes.

Knox turned to Darius. “Darius.”

Darius stepped forward, already anticipating the order.

“Call your FBI contact. We’ve got survivors. They’ll need protection. Medical. Witness statements. Everything.”

Darius was on the phone before the words finished leaving Knox’s mouth.

Knox kept scanning the dockyard, trying to think, trying to stay three moves ahead while grief chewed at the edges of his composure. Then his gaze landed on Lucian, and for just a second, all the armor fell away. His face broke... raw, bare, shattered. Then the mask returned.

He walked over, stopping next to me. Neither of us spoke.

Elias joined on Lucian’s other side. Together, they bent down, one cradling Lucian’s shoulders, the other his legs. They lifted him, so gently, like they were afraid he might wake up if they weren’t careful.

I reached out on instinct, my hand brushing his sleeve.

“No…” The word slipped out, small and desperate.

Please, I thought. Not yet. Not when he still smelled like home. Not when his blood was still warm.

Knox looked down, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “We’re taking him home.”

Home. The clubhouse. The word twisted in my chest, sharp as broken glass.

Jinx appeared at my side. His face was dirty, knuckles split, eyes empty. I’d never seen Jinx like this, he always had a joke, a grin, some smart-ass remark. Not tonight.

He crouched beside me. “C’mon, Shadow,” he said, voice hoarse. “I got you.”

“I don’t…” My words dissolved into another sob. “I don’t want to…”

“I know,” he whispered, slipping his arm around my shoulders. “I know.”

No jokes. No sarcasm. Just pain.

He helped me to my feet. My legs nearly gave way, but Jinx caught me.

“I got you.”

I leaned into him, too tired to protest.

As we walked, something new caught my attention... the Iron Serpents who remained. Maybe a dozen, hands zip-tied or standing in stunned silence. Not one of them shouted. Not one spat or threatened or tried to avenge Rourke.

Some had removed their hats. One older man bowed his head as Lucian passed; another made the sign of the cross. A younger Serpent just stared at Rourke’s body, eyes wide with tears, not grief, but disbelief.

Weren’t these men supposed to hate us? Weren’t those their brothers lying dead on the docks? Why weren’t they screaming?

A whisper drifted across the stillness. “He actually did it…”

“I didn’t think Rourke would kill him,” another answered, voice trembling. “I thought he’d make a deal.”

“So did I.”

I stared. The faces of the Iron Serpents weren’t twisted with rage. They were hollow, lost. These weren’t villains... they were men watching the only future they believed in go up in smoke.

A knot formed in my stomach.

Maybe Rourke had never been the Iron Serpents. Maybe he was just the man standing at the front. And sometimes, that isn’t the same thing at all.