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*New* 19. Iron & Bone Pt. 2

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+ Story. Minors DNI!

A/n: I won’t make this long, but I do want to say thank you, and I owe y’all an apology for the long absence. Life got busy in the best ways: I bought a house, got married, and have been living through some blissful chaos!! Still, I couldn’t forget this story. It’s stuck with me, and I knew I had to come back and give it the ending it deserved. That said, with all the changes in my life, I can’t promise if or when I’ll be back to write more. But this universe—and the love you’ve shown it—means the world to me. I might pop in now and then, and who knows… if inspiration hits, maybe more will come. Now, I’ll stop rambling. Enjoy the final chapter of Barbarians, and check the end of the post for one last little update that might interest you more than this one. ❤️

Content Warnings: Graphic violence!!, blood, death, smoking, drinking, lots of angst of course!

Word Count: 5k

“If you want to leave, you have to kill Nicky. No weapons.”

“And Nicky, if you don’t want to die here tonight, I suggest you fight back.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of Alejandro’s ultimatum pressing down like a vice on both men. QJake’s fists clenched, his mind racing as he glanced at Nicky, who stared back with a mixture of defiance and something darker.

And then, Alejandro’s lips twitched into a sinister smile. “Well, boys?”

Jake and Nicky stared each other down, the silence between them sharp and suffocating. Their breaths mingled in the stale air of the warehouse, each man searching the other’s face for the next move. Alejandro stood over them, his cold smile a twisted mockery of the gravity of the situation.

Of all the ways the night could have unfolded, Jake hadn’t prepared for this. Two paths, one choice, both steeped in blood. He’d imagined Nicky dead more times than he cared to admit, but standing here now, forced to make that thought a reality, it didn’t sit right. Despite everything, they were brothers, no matter how fractured the bond.

It was at that moment a memory settled over him, one that brought him back to simpler times. Times before blood, betrayal, and burdens. Before he could’ve predicted everything that would become of his life.

He was ten years old again, the sun beating down on the dirt-packed road in front of Rex’s trailer. Dust swirled around his boots as he swung wildly at Nicky, fists clumsy but full of fire. Nicky threw one back just as hard, the two of them scrapping like feral dogs while Jaxon stood off to the side, arms crossed and eyes wide with uncertainty, not sure whether to cheer them on or break it up.

The sound of shouting broke through their scuffle, deep voices, seasoned with whiskey and smoke.

“Hey! Knock that shit off!” Rex’s voice thundered through the yard, heavy boots stomping down the trailer steps behind him. Ace followed, a few years younger and still green in the beard, with another patched Barbarian right behind him.

Jake remembered how Rex’s rough hand yanked him back by the collar, his glare scorching hot with fury.

“I swear to God, you boys are gonna kill each other one day,” Rex growled, spitting a wad of tobacco near their feet.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they did,” Ace muttered, shaking his head as he looked from Jake to Nicky, both red-faced and breathing hard, pride bruised worse than their jaws.

Jaxon had finally spoken then, voice small but firm. “They fight all the time. But they always come back around.”

Jake remembered the laugh that had bubbled out of Rex; dry, jaded. “Yeah, well, let’s hope they don’t come back around in body bags.”

That line echoed now, eerie and cold. Because here Jake stood, years later, the dust long settled and the damage irreversible. Only one of those boys would be walking away this time.

For a brief moment, Jake’s rage wavered, softened by memory. He saw past the blood and betrayal—back to a boy with scraped knuckles and hollow eyes. The orphan with no last name, no home, who’d been swallowed up by a biker gang in the middle of the Nevada desert. Back then, Nicky was all sharp edges and quiet fury, always stirring trouble, always picking fights. Jake never understood it as a kid, why Nicky was so mean, why he needed to prove himself every chance he got.

But standing there in that warehouse, Jake finally saw it for what it really was: survival. Nicky had always been fighting for a place, for power, for control over something in a world that had given him none. And for a moment, just a moment, that truth made Jake hesitate.

But Nicky didn’t.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. He saw Alejandro’s ultimatum not as punishment, but as opportunity. His original plan had crumbled, burned to ash. But this? This was a second chance handed to him on a silver platter. Kill Jake, and the throne was his. Let Alejandro walk out believing Jake was the traitor, and the crown came without question.

The silence snapped like a bone under pressure. Jake saw the shift in Nicky’s eyes—wild, resolute, bloodthirsty.

But a moment too late.

With a roar that echoed off the warehouse walls, Nicky lunged, slamming Jake to the floor with enough force to rattle the concrete.

Alejandro stepped back, laughing like a devil in a cathedral. “That’s more like it! Show me what a real Barbarian looks like!”

They rolled across the cold ground, fists flying, teeth gritted, snarls breaking from both throats. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, blood smearing across the floor in red streaks like war paint.

Jake’s ribs screamed with every hit—fracturing, splintering under Nicky’s fists. His vision wavered, his breath came ragged. Nicky fought with the desperation of a man with nothing left to lose, and Jake could feel the venom behind every punch.

But Jake had more to lose than ever.

You. Lorelei.

He tasted blood, spat it out, and surged forward, driving his fist into Nicky’s jaw with a crack that sent the other man reeling. Skin split over Jake’s knuckles. Pain howled up his arm. But the sight of Nicky’s stunned, bloodied face reignited the fire inside him.

Jake shoved to his feet, chest heaving. But Nicky came at him again, relentless, animalistic, pure rage.

Alejandro was howling like a spectator at a pit fight. “Fight for your life! Fight like you were born for it!”

And maybe they were. Maybe this was what the Barbarian blood in their veins demanded; violence as currency, legacy built on broken bones.

Another punch landed hard against Jake’s temple, staggering him sideways. Stars burst behind his eyes. His knees nearly gave. But he stayed standing, wiping the blood from his face as he stared Nicky down.

Enough.

Jake lunged, slamming into Nicky and taking him to the ground. They hit the concrete with a brutal thud, the breath knocked from both lungs. Jake didn’t let up. He rolled, mounted, fists swinging again, again, again—

But Nicky fought back, just as vicious. Elbows. Knees. Scratches like an animal in a cage.

It turned primal. It turned survival.

Jake’s hands found Nicky’s throat, tightened. He saw red. Not rage, not blood, just fire—hot, burning, consuming.

But Nicky laughed, even as he choked. “Don’t worry, Jake,” he rasped. “I’ll take care of your Cherry when you’re gone. Raise that little girl up real nice. Might even give her a few brothers and sisters.”

Jake snapped.

With a roar that tore through him like glass, he drove his forehead into Nicky’s face. Cartilage crunched. Nicky’s body recoiled hard, slamming onto the floor. Jake scrambled behind him, yanked him into a headlock and squeezed, every tendon in his arms screaming.

Alejandro clapped like a man at the opera. “That’s it! That’s what I like to see! That’s your king!”

Jake couldn’t hear him anymore. Could barely hear anything over the thunder of his own heartbeat and the crackling white noise in his skull. Blood poured from his nose. His ribs felt splintered. His vision blurred. But he held on.

Nicky bucked and twisted, clawing, gasping, dragging in whatever air he could, but Jake tightened his grip, muscles straining, jaw clenched.

Nicky’s resistance faded. One hand flailed. Then another.

Jake squeezed tighter.

And then—

Stillness.

Jake let go like he’d been burned, Nicky’s limp body slumping forward into the blood-slick floor. Jake scrambled back, heaving, his lungs clawing for air, his chest soaked in red.

Alejandro stepped forward, his face split with a grin that sent a chill down Jake’s spine. “Now that,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “is what I call a Barbarian.”

Jake staggered to his feet, every movement a battle against the wreckage of his body. His chest rose and fell in broken, stuttering gasps as he looked down at the motionless figure sprawled before him.

Nicky’s body—still, silent, soaked in blood—lay slumped like a discarded shadow. The leather of his Barbarian jacket clung to him, darkened and torn, drenched in red. Whatever anger or animosity Jake once held for him was swallowed by the brutal finality of it all. In that moment, Nicky wasn’t a rival. He wasn’t a traitor. He was just gone.

And Jake had made him that way.

There was no victory in it. No rush. No vindication. Just the thundering quiet of a life snuffed out and a soul pushed too far.

Jake stared at his hands—shaking, slick with blood. His blood. Nicky’s blood. His father’s bloodline, soaked into his skin like some twisted rite of passage. It hit him like a freight train: he hadn’t escaped the legacy. He had become it.

He thought killing Nicky might’ve felt like justice. It didn’t.

It felt like a surrender.

And yet, deep in the marrow of his bones, Jake felt it settle, heavy and permanent.

This was the cost.

This was the crown.

He wasn’t just in the club anymore. He was the club. In all its violence, its burden, its warped sense of brotherhood.

He was a Barbarian now, through and through.

Not because of a patch on his back or a vote cast in his favor. But because he had crossed the line that couldn’t be uncrossed, had made the kind of choice that carved itself into your soul like a scar that never fades.

And somehow, in that clarity, he understood what Rex must’ve felt all those years—how power and pain walk hand in hand. How sometimes being the one to survive means becoming the thing you swore you’d never be.

The sudden sound of boots on concrete broke the silence, every head in the room snapping toward the source. Jake stiffened, his heart lurching as Ace stepped into the warehouse. The color drained from Ace’s face as he took in the scene: the blood, the money, and Nicky’s lifeless form. His eyes flicked to Jake, assessing the bloodied mess he’d become, putting the pieces together even as Alejandro strode toward him, casual and unbothered.

“I must say, Ace,” Alejandro began, his voice dripping with mockery as he folded his arms. “You’ve got quite the contender for your next Barbarian King.” He gestured to Jake’s fragile, blood-soaked body. “That, my friend, is the man you want in charge. With one less… obstacle in the way, I hope your men will make the obvious choice.”

Ace didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as Alejandro’s men began moving toward the bags of money. One of them gave Alejandro a nod of confirmation, and Alejandro turned back to Jake with a wolfish grin.

“Consider the Barbarians’ debt paid,” he said, clapping Jake on the shoulder. Jake flinched, the gesture sending a fresh wave of pain through his body. “I look forward to working with you in the future, Jake. Truly.”

And with that, Alejandro and his men disappeared into the night, taking the money and leaving the wreckage behind. The heavy silence that followed was unbearable. Ace’s footsteps echoed as he moved toward Jake, his face a mixture of disbelief, anger, and sorrow.

“Ace, I—” Jake started, his voice hoarse, the words tangled in his throat.

“You gotta get out of here,” Ace cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes lingered on Nicky’s body. He didn’t look at Jake, didn’t give any indication of what he was thinking.

“But what about—” Jake began, but Ace’s shout stopped him cold.

“Jake!” Ace’s voice cracked, loud and raw. He turned to face Jake, his composure slipping. “Go home. Get Sunshine. Get the hell out of town. I’ll handle this. You have a family to think about.”

Jake hesitated, the urge to argue clawing at his throat, but Ace’s words left no room. There was nothing left to fight for here. Not now. Not after what had happened. For you. For Lorelei. For the life he still had a chance to salvage… he had to go.

He should’ve left Genoa a long time ago. Maybe if he had, none of this would’ve come to pass. Maybe Nicky wouldn’t be lying cold in that warehouse. Maybe Ace wouldn’t have been torn in two directions like he obviously was. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like he had someone else’s blood under his fingernails and his father’s ghost wrapped around his spine.

His gaze met Ace’s, locking in a silent exchange that said everything words couldn’t. There was something raw in Ace’s expression—something fragile on the edge of breaking. For a second, it looked like he might fall apart right there. But he didn’t. Neither of them did. They never could afford to.

Jake gave a shallow nod, then turned, his broken body dragging each step like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every inch away from that warehouse was a step toward something new… and a thousand steps away from everything he’d known.

But before he reached the door, something sparked in his mind like a wire catching flame. He turned back, chest heaving, voice raw and cracked.

“Ace,” he rasped, clutching at his ribs, “I… I found over half a million dollars stuffed in the wall at Rex’s. Do you know anything about that?”

Ace froze mid-step, the question freezing the air between them. His brows drew tight, not with confusion, but recognition. And slowly, his entire demeanor shifted, shoulders stiffening, eyes narrowing, like a shadow had just crawled up his spine.

The storm that moved across his face chilled Jake to his bones.

“Jake,” Ace said slowly, his voice low and suddenly very serious, “you need to take that money. All of it. When you leave.”

Jake blinked. “But—”

“Dammit, Jake!” Ace’s voice snapped like a whip, more fear than fury behind it. “Don’t ask questions. Just go.”

They stared at each other, brothers in blood, if not by birth. So much said, and still, everything left unspoken.

Jake gave one last look at the warehouse, at the club, at Ace, and then turned again, the pain in his body screaming, but none of it louder than the ache in his heart.

Once again, the two men were pulled apart by the very thing that was supposed to bind them together.

By the time Jake made it home, the pain had truly set in. Every inch of his body screamed—ribs throbbing, muscles torn, blood drying stiff against his skin, but he’d made it. Somehow. It was a miracle he hadn’t passed out on the ride, but sheer force of will carried him forward. He couldn’t collapse. Not yet. Not until he saw you.

When the trailer came into view, its familiar silhouette glowing beneath the porch light, a flicker of warmth broke through the fog in his mind. The light in the kitchen window was still on. You were awake. Waiting.

It was enough to ease the crushing weight on his chest, if only for a moment. It made every broken bone, every drop of blood, every scream and ghost from the warehouse worth it. You were there. And that meant there was still time.

He was moving slowly—slower than he ever had in his life—dragging himself up the path like a man returning from war. You met him at the porch before he could even make it to the steps, your shadow cast across the railing like a beacon.

“Jake, where the hell have you—” you started, your voice laced with frustration. But as your eyes scanned his body, the words died in your throat.

The blood. So much of it. Spattered across his white shirt, soaked into the collar of his vest, caked into the creases of his skin. It wasn’t all his, he wouldn’t be standing if it were. But too much of it was.

You stumbled forward, hands reaching, heart racing, but he stopped you with a quiet, urgent voice.

“I’m okay, Cherry,” he said, though his trembling form betrayed the lie. He clutched at his ribs, using the porch railing for balance. “Just… how fast can you pack?”

Your voice wavered. “Jake… what happened—?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he interrupted, his tone firm but pleading. “I promise. Right now I just need you to pack. Fast.”

And that was all you needed. That look in his eyes, haunted, ragged, carved from something darker than fear—it told you everything.

You knew that look. You’d lived that look.

But this time, it wasn’t just your survival at stake. It was his. And Lorelei’s.

Without another word, you turned and disappeared inside, your feet moving faster than your body could handle. You grabbed the biggest bag you could find and began stuffing it with anything that mattered—diapers, baby clothes, ultrasounds, the small pink hat you hadn’t even taken the tag off yet. You moved like you were on fire, like every second counted. Because it did.

Jake remained on the porch, half-sinking against the rail. His hands were trembling as he pulled the crumpled, bloodstained cigarette pack from his pocket, fumbling until he found the single untouched stick. He lit it with a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the hollowed look in his eyes.

He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward like a ghost rising from the wreckage. His gaze shifted across the yard to Rex’s trailer—still and shadowed, soaked in silence.

How many times had he stared at that empty house over the past year, hoping it might somehow speak to him? That the man who’d ruled it with fear and fire would step out and finally answer for everything he’d done. That maybe, just maybe, Jake would walk in and find clarity waiting for him inside.

But that house never offered answers. Only echoes.

With a grunt of effort, Jake stepped off the porch and made his way across the yard, his boots crunching over dirt and broken promises. The trailer door groaned open like it was protesting his return. It still smelled the same—dust, stale smoke, old leather and regret.

Jake didn’t linger. He moved to the panel in the wall, the one he’d found hidden months ago behind the sofa. His fingers were clumsy and sore as he pried it open, revealing the plastic-wrapped stacks of cash buried deep in the hollow. Over half a million dollars. His father’s legacy in blood money.

As he filled a duffel bag with the bills, his thoughts churned. This house had made him. Had scarred him. Had shaped every shadow he carried. And now he was robbing it clean—not for greed, but survival.

He zipped the bag closed, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped back into the night—toward you, toward freedom, toward whatever came next.

He looked around the trailer once more, eyes catching the worn recliner, the poker table with one leg too short, the rack of empty liquor bottles on the counter. There was no glory in this place. No crown worth wearing.

It was a house full of ghosts.

And Jake Kiszka had finally become one of them.

He knew he didn’t have time to dwell on it—not now, not when everything was hanging by a thread. So he did what he always did when something cut too deep to face. He buried it. Pushed it down to that place inside him already overflowing. It would resurface later in his dreams, in the dark, in the quiet. Just like every other tragedy he never outran.

When he made it back across the street, Jake dropped the duffel by the front door with a heavy thud, then brushed past you without a word, bloodied boots dragging across the floor. You didn’t stop him, just watched, heart heavy, eyes tracking the way his shoulders sagged more with each step. He didn’t even pause to speak, just disappeared down the hallway like a ghost through a house he no longer belonged to.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, and the sound of rushing water followed soon after.

Jake leaned against the sink for a moment, gripping its porcelain edges with white-knuckled hands. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and wished he hadn’t. His face was swollen and bruised, split just beneath his eye, blood caked into his hairline and beard. He looked like a man who’d barely survived a war, and maybe he had.

He pulled his shirt over his head with a sharp hiss, pain knifing through his ribs, then peeled the blood-soaked layers away one by one until he was bare. His body was painted in deep purples and blacks, dried blood stretching like maps across his torso.

He stepped under the spray and hissed again—not from the heat, but from the sting. The water struck his wounds like needles, dragging salt through every open scrape. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He just stood there, letting it burn.

The steam rose thick and fast, curling around him like a shroud. His eyes closed, his forehead leaned against the tile, and for a moment, the world went quiet.

He wanted to stay there forever—beneath the roar, the heat, the cleansing weight of it. But he couldn’t.

The world was waiting. And you were packing your entire lives into two bags in the next room.

So he turned off the water, slowly, and reached for the towel. His hands still shook. His ribs screamed. But there was no time for rest. He had one last ride to take.

Just as you pulled your own stash of money from behind the wash f machine, Jake appeared in the living room, freshly showered but still visibly battered. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and the swelling on his face had bloomed into something angry and purple beneath one eye. Even clean, he looked like a man who’d been through hell and barely clawed his way out.

The bags you packed sat by the door, filled to the brim and surrounded by the last remnants of your life here—blankets folded tight, a few framed photos, a stuffed animal bought far too early in Lorelei’s pregnancy. Pieces of a home that would now be left behind.

You turned to him, your voice soft but unwavering. “Now what?”

Jake didn’t answer right away. His eyes found you—and lingered. There you stood, hair tied back, body round with the weight of new life, one hand gently resting over your belly. In the middle of all the chaos and violence, somehow you were still calm. Still radiant. You didn’t belong in the wreckage of the world he came from. You were the light cutting through the storm, the reminder of what mattered.

“I’ll follow you out of town on the bike,” he finally said, voice low and firm. “We’ll meet at mile marker 888.”

You blinked. “Can you even ride?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, because he always did—even when he wasn’t.

You didn’t argue. You’d learned by now when to press and when to trust him. Instead, you grabbed the keys to the chocolate brown Chevy, the one he’d given you months ago with little protest.

Jake hoisted the heavier bags while you gathered the rest. The two of you moved like ghosts through the trailer, careful, quiet, like if you made too much noise the past might come crashing down to stop you.

Out into the still night you went—two runaways, two survivors. The moonlight cast long shadows across the dirt as Jake secured the bags into the truck bed, his movements stiff and strained. He didn’t complain once. Just fastened his helmet, slung his leg over the bike, and gave you the smallest nod through the visor.

You watched him for a moment in the rearview mirror, heart pounding, one hand resting protectively on your stomach. Lorelei kicked, as if she could feel the shift in the air.

Your eyes drifted to Riley’s house one last time, silent now, windows dark. It had been your shelter, your safe place. The walls that had held your worst secrets and your quiet healing. You murmured a silent thank you, not just to the house, but to the man who’d once walked its halls. Riley would’ve wanted this—wanted you safe. Wanted Jake whole.

You took a breath, shifted the truck into gear, and rolled out of the driveway for the last time. The wheels crunched over the familiar gravel, the porch light casting its final farewell across the dirt. Jake’s bike rumbled to life behind you, his headlight casting a long beam across the road as he followed.

Together, you left Cactus Creek in the rearview.

The road stretched long and quiet beneath you, lined with nothing but desert brush and telephone poles. Jake followed close, but not too close, giving you space, but never out of reach.

Fifteen miles out, just as the moon hung high above, the green reflective sign glimmered in your headlights: Mile Marker 888.

You pulled over onto the dusty shoulder, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. Jake rolled up beside you, cutting the engine and pulling off his helmet, his hair still damp, jaw clenched from pain.

You didn’t speak right away.

You didn’t need to.

You had made it. Together.

But the road ahead was still long. And for the first time in a long time, it was finally yours to choose.

Jake, still grimacing with every breath, worked in silence to unlatch the tailgate and ease his bike into the bed of the truck. His movements were slow, deliberate—each one a reminder of what he’d endured, of what he’d lost and protected in the same night.

You didn’t rush him. You didn’t speak. There was a heaviness in the air that didn’t need words. Grief, relief, exhaustion all tangled together. But one question lingered in your chest, rising up as the dust settled around you.

“Where are we gonna go?”

Jake grunted, the metal tailgate slamming shut behind the bike with finality. He leaned against it, sweat and blood drying on his skin, his eyes nearly swollen shut, his body beaten to hell—but his soul? It still burned. Still moved.

Truth was, he hadn’t thought that far. He hadn’t dared to. He’d only listened to Ace’s words: Get out. Everything after that was a blank map.

“I don’t know, Cherry,” he said at last, voice gravel-thick and tired. “But we’ll figure it out.”

He reached for your hand—rough, calloused, stained from the night, and pulled you to him. You went willingly, wrapping your arms around him the only way your round belly allowed. His hand slid to rest over the place where your daughter grew, anchoring him to the only truth that mattered anymore.

“You trust me, right?” he asked, his voice softer now. Tattered. Bare.

You looked up at him, the night air cool against your skin, the desert sky stretched wide and unknowable above you. And in that moment, there wasn’t a single doubt in your soul.

“With my life,” you whispered.

Jake nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. Not quite a smile, but something close. A breath of hope in the wreckage.

He opened the passenger door for you, helped you in like the gentleman buried deep beneath the outlaw. Then he limped to the driver’s side, climbed in, and started the truck.

The road ahead was dark and long, but it was open.

And somewhere in the distance—past the ache, past the blood, past the weight of everything they tried to bury him under—was a beginning.

The truck rumbled forward, tires kicking up dust as it disappeared into the night.

Not the end.

Just the way out.

Just the way forward.

Three Days Later

The meeting room at the Tavern was electric with tension, voices rising like smoke, thick with confusion. The long wooden table was surrounded by restless Barbarians, most of them half-drunk and wholly impatient.

At the head of it all stood Ace, visibly drained, dark circles beneath his eyes, his jaw clenched with effort as he tried to wrangle control of the chaos.

It was voting day. The day to crown the next Barbarian King. But two out of the three candidates were missing. One dead. One disappeared.

“How the hell are we supposed to have a vote when two outta three ain’t even here?” someone barked from the crowd.

Others chimed in, the room swelling with unrest.

Ace didn’t flinch. He just stood there, letting them bark and growl, letting the storm pass over him. He’d seen worse. Done worse. Buried worse.

The few who did know what happened said nothing. Their silence wasn’t fear—it was respect. For Jake. For what it cost him to walk away.

Finally, Ace raised a hand.

“Enough.”

The room quieted, the way it always did when Ace used that voice. The voice that meant business.

“All votes are in,” he said, reaching into his vest and pulling a small, sealed envelope from the inner pocket. “Regardless of the outcome, we’re gonna honor the process. And after that, we vote on what the hell comes next.”

The men settled, most leaning forward, tension crawling over the room like a shadow.

Ace broke the seal and pulled out the folded paper. He read it, and for the first time in days, a crooked smile cracked across his face.

He shook his head and let out a quiet chuckle, more amusement than disbelief .

“Well, I’ll be damned…” he murmured, eyes scanning the room.

“The Barbarian Prince becomes the King.”

* CUE THE BARBARIANS x GRETA VAN FLEET*

Thanks again for all the love and support throughout this story—I hope you enjoyed the ending (and if not… oops).

Originally, I had an epilogue planned, but it was meant to set up a second part to the series. With life looking a little different now, I’m not sure I’ll have the time to commit to another full story.

That said, I’ll leave it up to you—would you still like to read the epilogue, even if it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger? Or should we let the Barbarian universe rest where it is?

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @wetkleenex-gvf @hollyco @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @gretasfallingsky @takenbythemadness @scoreofinfantryvines

[gvfgal]

*New* 19. Iron & Bone Pt. 2

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+ Story. Minors DNI!

A/n: I won’t make this long, but I do want to say thank you, and I owe y’all an apology for the long absence. Life got busy in the best ways: I bought a house, got married, and have been living through some blissful chaos!! Still, I couldn’t forget this story. It’s stuck with me, and I knew I had to come back and give it the ending it deserved. That said, with all the changes in my life, I can’t promise if or when I’ll be back to write more. But this universe—and the love you’ve shown it—means the world to me. I might pop in now and then, and who knows… if inspiration hits, maybe more will come. Now, I’ll stop rambling. Enjoy the final chapter of Barbarians, and check the end of the post for one last little update that might interest you more than this one. ❤️

Content Warnings: Graphic violence!!, blood, death, smoking, drinking, lots of angst of course!

Word Count: 5k

“If you want to leave, you have to kill Nicky. No weapons.”

“And Nicky, if you don’t want to die here tonight, I suggest you fight back.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of Alejandro’s ultimatum pressing down like a vice on both men. QJake’s fists clenched, his mind racing as he glanced at Nicky, who stared back with a mixture of defiance and something darker.

And then, Alejandro’s lips twitched into a sinister smile. “Well, boys?”

Jake and Nicky stared each other down, the silence between them sharp and suffocating. Their breaths mingled in the stale air of the warehouse, each man searching the other’s face for the next move. Alejandro stood over them, his cold smile a twisted mockery of the gravity of the situation.

Of all the ways the night could have unfolded, Jake hadn’t prepared for this. Two paths, one choice, both steeped in blood. He’d imagined Nicky dead more times than he cared to admit, but standing here now, forced to make that thought a reality, it didn’t sit right. Despite everything, they were brothers, no matter how fractured the bond.

It was at that moment a memory settled over him, one that brought him back to simpler times. Times before blood, betrayal, and burdens. Before he could’ve predicted everything that would become of his life.

He was ten years old again, the sun beating down on the dirt-packed road in front of Rex’s trailer. Dust swirled around his boots as he swung wildly at Nicky, fists clumsy but full of fire. Nicky threw one back just as hard, the two of them scrapping like feral dogs while Jaxon stood off to the side, arms crossed and eyes wide with uncertainty, not sure whether to cheer them on or break it up.

The sound of shouting broke through their scuffle, deep voices, seasoned with whiskey and smoke.

“Hey! Knock that shit off!” Rex’s voice thundered through the yard, heavy boots stomping down the trailer steps behind him. Ace followed, a few years younger and still green in the beard, with another patched Barbarian right behind him.

Jake remembered how Rex’s rough hand yanked him back by the collar, his glare scorching hot with fury.

“I swear to God, you boys are gonna kill each other one day,” Rex growled, spitting a wad of tobacco near their feet.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they did,” Ace muttered, shaking his head as he looked from Jake to Nicky, both red-faced and breathing hard, pride bruised worse than their jaws.

Jaxon had finally spoken then, voice small but firm. “They fight all the time. But they always come back around.”

Jake remembered the laugh that had bubbled out of Rex; dry, jaded. “Yeah, well, let’s hope they don’t come back around in body bags.”

That line echoed now, eerie and cold. Because here Jake stood, years later, the dust long settled and the damage irreversible. Only one of those boys would be walking away this time.

For a brief moment, Jake’s rage wavered, softened by memory. He saw past the blood and betrayal—back to a boy with scraped knuckles and hollow eyes. The orphan with no last name, no home, who’d been swallowed up by a biker gang in the middle of the Nevada desert. Back then, Nicky was all sharp edges and quiet fury, always stirring trouble, always picking fights. Jake never understood it as a kid, why Nicky was so mean, why he needed to prove himself every chance he got.

But standing there in that warehouse, Jake finally saw it for what it really was: survival. Nicky had always been fighting for a place, for power, for control over something in a world that had given him none. And for a moment, just a moment, that truth made Jake hesitate.

But Nicky didn’t.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. He saw Alejandro’s ultimatum not as punishment, but as opportunity. His original plan had crumbled, burned to ash. But this? This was a second chance handed to him on a silver platter. Kill Jake, and the throne was his. Let Alejandro walk out believing Jake was the traitor, and the crown came without question.

The silence snapped like a bone under pressure. Jake saw the shift in Nicky’s eyes—wild, resolute, bloodthirsty.

But a moment too late.

With a roar that echoed off the warehouse walls, Nicky lunged, slamming Jake to the floor with enough force to rattle the concrete.

Alejandro stepped back, laughing like a devil in a cathedral. “That’s more like it! Show me what a real Barbarian looks like!”

They rolled across the cold ground, fists flying, teeth gritted, snarls breaking from both throats. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, blood smearing across the floor in red streaks like war paint.

Jake’s ribs screamed with every hit—fracturing, splintering under Nicky’s fists. His vision wavered, his breath came ragged. Nicky fought with the desperation of a man with nothing left to lose, and Jake could feel the venom behind every punch.

But Jake had more to lose than ever.

You. Lorelei.

He tasted blood, spat it out, and surged forward, driving his fist into Nicky’s jaw with a crack that sent the other man reeling. Skin split over Jake’s knuckles. Pain howled up his arm. But the sight of Nicky’s stunned, bloodied face reignited the fire inside him.

Jake shoved to his feet, chest heaving. But Nicky came at him again, relentless, animalistic, pure rage.

Alejandro was howling like a spectator at a pit fight. “Fight for your life! Fight like you were born for it!”

And maybe they were. Maybe this was what the Barbarian blood in their veins demanded; violence as currency, legacy built on broken bones.

Another punch landed hard against Jake’s temple, staggering him sideways. Stars burst behind his eyes. His knees nearly gave. But he stayed standing, wiping the blood from his face as he stared Nicky down.

Enough.

Jake lunged, slamming into Nicky and taking him to the ground. They hit the concrete with a brutal thud, the breath knocked from both lungs. Jake didn’t let up. He rolled, mounted, fists swinging again, again, again—

But Nicky fought back, just as vicious. Elbows. Knees. Scratches like an animal in a cage.

It turned primal. It turned survival.

Jake’s hands found Nicky’s throat, tightened. He saw red. Not rage, not blood, just fire—hot, burning, consuming.

But Nicky laughed, even as he choked. “Don’t worry, Jake,” he rasped. “I’ll take care of your Cherry when you’re gone. Raise that little girl up real nice. Might even give her a few brothers and sisters.”

Jake snapped.

With a roar that tore through him like glass, he drove his forehead into Nicky’s face. Cartilage crunched. Nicky’s body recoiled hard, slamming onto the floor. Jake scrambled behind him, yanked him into a headlock and squeezed, every tendon in his arms screaming.

Alejandro clapped like a man at the opera. “That’s it! That’s what I like to see! That’s your king!”

Jake couldn’t hear him anymore. Could barely hear anything over the thunder of his own heartbeat and the crackling white noise in his skull. Blood poured from his nose. His ribs felt splintered. His vision blurred. But he held on.

Nicky bucked and twisted, clawing, gasping, dragging in whatever air he could, but Jake tightened his grip, muscles straining, jaw clenched.

Nicky’s resistance faded. One hand flailed. Then another.

Jake squeezed tighter.

And then—

Stillness.

Jake let go like he’d been burned, Nicky’s limp body slumping forward into the blood-slick floor. Jake scrambled back, heaving, his lungs clawing for air, his chest soaked in red.

Alejandro stepped forward, his face split with a grin that sent a chill down Jake’s spine. “Now that,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “is what I call a Barbarian.”

Jake staggered to his feet, every movement a battle against the wreckage of his body. His chest rose and fell in broken, stuttering gasps as he looked down at the motionless figure sprawled before him.

Nicky’s body—still, silent, soaked in blood—lay slumped like a discarded shadow. The leather of his Barbarian jacket clung to him, darkened and torn, drenched in red. Whatever anger or animosity Jake once held for him was swallowed by the brutal finality of it all. In that moment, Nicky wasn’t a rival. He wasn’t a traitor. He was just gone.

And Jake had made him that way.

There was no victory in it. No rush. No vindication. Just the thundering quiet of a life snuffed out and a soul pushed too far.

Jake stared at his hands—shaking, slick with blood. His blood. Nicky’s blood. His father’s bloodline, soaked into his skin like some twisted rite of passage. It hit him like a freight train: he hadn’t escaped the legacy. He had become it.

He thought killing Nicky might’ve felt like justice. It didn’t.

It felt like a surrender.

And yet, deep in the marrow of his bones, Jake felt it settle, heavy and permanent.

This was the cost.

This was the crown.

He wasn’t just in the club anymore. He was the club. In all its violence, its burden, its warped sense of brotherhood.

He was a Barbarian now, through and through.

Not because of a patch on his back or a vote cast in his favor. But because he had crossed the line that couldn’t be uncrossed, had made the kind of choice that carved itself into your soul like a scar that never fades.

And somehow, in that clarity, he understood what Rex must’ve felt all those years—how power and pain walk hand in hand. How sometimes being the one to survive means becoming the thing you swore you’d never be.

The sudden sound of boots on concrete broke the silence, every head in the room snapping toward the source. Jake stiffened, his heart lurching as Ace stepped into the warehouse. The color drained from Ace’s face as he took in the scene: the blood, the money, and Nicky’s lifeless form. His eyes flicked to Jake, assessing the bloodied mess he’d become, putting the pieces together even as Alejandro strode toward him, casual and unbothered.

“I must say, Ace,” Alejandro began, his voice dripping with mockery as he folded his arms. “You’ve got quite the contender for your next Barbarian King.” He gestured to Jake’s fragile, blood-soaked body. “That, my friend, is the man you want in charge. With one less… obstacle in the way, I hope your men will make the obvious choice.”

Ace didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as Alejandro’s men began moving toward the bags of money. One of them gave Alejandro a nod of confirmation, and Alejandro turned back to Jake with a wolfish grin.

“Consider the Barbarians’ debt paid,” he said, clapping Jake on the shoulder. Jake flinched, the gesture sending a fresh wave of pain through his body. “I look forward to working with you in the future, Jake. Truly.”

And with that, Alejandro and his men disappeared into the night, taking the money and leaving the wreckage behind. The heavy silence that followed was unbearable. Ace’s footsteps echoed as he moved toward Jake, his face a mixture of disbelief, anger, and sorrow.

“Ace, I—” Jake started, his voice hoarse, the words tangled in his throat.

“You gotta get out of here,” Ace cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes lingered on Nicky’s body. He didn’t look at Jake, didn’t give any indication of what he was thinking.

“But what about—” Jake began, but Ace’s shout stopped him cold.

“Jake!” Ace’s voice cracked, loud and raw. He turned to face Jake, his composure slipping. “Go home. Get Sunshine. Get the hell out of town. I’ll handle this. You have a family to think about.”

Jake hesitated, the urge to argue clawing at his throat, but Ace’s words left no room. There was nothing left to fight for here. Not now. Not after what had happened. For you. For Lorelei. For the life he still had a chance to salvage… he had to go.

He should’ve left Genoa a long time ago. Maybe if he had, none of this would’ve come to pass. Maybe Nicky wouldn’t be lying cold in that warehouse. Maybe Ace wouldn’t have been torn in two directions like he obviously was. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like he had someone else’s blood under his fingernails and his father’s ghost wrapped around his spine.

His gaze met Ace’s, locking in a silent exchange that said everything words couldn’t. There was something raw in Ace’s expression—something fragile on the edge of breaking. For a second, it looked like he might fall apart right there. But he didn’t. Neither of them did. They never could afford to.

Jake gave a shallow nod, then turned, his broken body dragging each step like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every inch away from that warehouse was a step toward something new… and a thousand steps away from everything he’d known.

But before he reached the door, something sparked in his mind like a wire catching flame. He turned back, chest heaving, voice raw and cracked.

“Ace,” he rasped, clutching at his ribs, “I… I found over half a million dollars stuffed in the wall at Rex’s. Do you know anything about that?”

Ace froze mid-step, the question freezing the air between them. His brows drew tight, not with confusion, but recognition. And slowly, his entire demeanor shifted, shoulders stiffening, eyes narrowing, like a shadow had just crawled up his spine.

The storm that moved across his face chilled Jake to his bones.

“Jake,” Ace said slowly, his voice low and suddenly very serious, “you need to take that money. All of it. When you leave.”

Jake blinked. “But—”

“Dammit, Jake!” Ace’s voice snapped like a whip, more fear than fury behind it. “Don’t ask questions. Just go.”

They stared at each other, brothers in blood, if not by birth. So much said, and still, everything left unspoken.

Jake gave one last look at the warehouse, at the club, at Ace, and then turned again, the pain in his body screaming, but none of it louder than the ache in his heart.

Once again, the two men were pulled apart by the very thing that was supposed to bind them together.

By the time Jake made it home, the pain had truly set in. Every inch of his body screamed—ribs throbbing, muscles torn, blood drying stiff against his skin, but he’d made it. Somehow. It was a miracle he hadn’t passed out on the ride, but sheer force of will carried him forward. He couldn’t collapse. Not yet. Not until he saw you.

When the trailer came into view, its familiar silhouette glowing beneath the porch light, a flicker of warmth broke through the fog in his mind. The light in the kitchen window was still on. You were awake. Waiting.

It was enough to ease the crushing weight on his chest, if only for a moment. It made every broken bone, every drop of blood, every scream and ghost from the warehouse worth it. You were there. And that meant there was still time.

He was moving slowly—slower than he ever had in his life—dragging himself up the path like a man returning from war. You met him at the porch before he could even make it to the steps, your shadow cast across the railing like a beacon.

“Jake, where the hell have you—” you started, your voice laced with frustration. But as your eyes scanned his body, the words died in your throat.

The blood. So much of it. Spattered across his white shirt, soaked into the collar of his vest, caked into the creases of his skin. It wasn’t all his, he wouldn’t be standing if it were. But too much of it was.

You stumbled forward, hands reaching, heart racing, but he stopped you with a quiet, urgent voice.

“I’m okay, Cherry,” he said, though his trembling form betrayed the lie. He clutched at his ribs, using the porch railing for balance. “Just… how fast can you pack?”

Your voice wavered. “Jake… what happened—?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he interrupted, his tone firm but pleading. “I promise. Right now I just need you to pack. Fast.”

And that was all you needed. That look in his eyes, haunted, ragged, carved from something darker than fear—it told you everything.

You knew that look. You’d lived that look.

But this time, it wasn’t just your survival at stake. It was his. And Lorelei’s.

Without another word, you turned and disappeared inside, your feet moving faster than your body could handle. You grabbed the biggest bag you could find and began stuffing it with anything that mattered—diapers, baby clothes, ultrasounds, the small pink hat you hadn’t even taken the tag off yet. You moved like you were on fire, like every second counted. Because it did.

Jake remained on the porch, half-sinking against the rail. His hands were trembling as he pulled the crumpled, bloodstained cigarette pack from his pocket, fumbling until he found the single untouched stick. He lit it with a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the hollowed look in his eyes.

He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward like a ghost rising from the wreckage. His gaze shifted across the yard to Rex’s trailer—still and shadowed, soaked in silence.

How many times had he stared at that empty house over the past year, hoping it might somehow speak to him? That the man who’d ruled it with fear and fire would step out and finally answer for everything he’d done. That maybe, just maybe, Jake would walk in and find clarity waiting for him inside.

But that house never offered answers. Only echoes.

With a grunt of effort, Jake stepped off the porch and made his way across the yard, his boots crunching over dirt and broken promises. The trailer door groaned open like it was protesting his return. It still smelled the same—dust, stale smoke, old leather and regret.

Jake didn’t linger. He moved to the panel in the wall, the one he’d found hidden months ago behind the sofa. His fingers were clumsy and sore as he pried it open, revealing the plastic-wrapped stacks of cash buried deep in the hollow. Over half a million dollars. His father’s legacy in blood money.

As he filled a duffel bag with the bills, his thoughts churned. This house had made him. Had scarred him. Had shaped every shadow he carried. And now he was robbing it clean—not for greed, but survival.

He zipped the bag closed, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped back into the night—toward you, toward freedom, toward whatever came next.

He looked around the trailer once more, eyes catching the worn recliner, the poker table with one leg too short, the rack of empty liquor bottles on the counter. There was no glory in this place. No crown worth wearing.

It was a house full of ghosts.

And Jake Kiszka had finally become one of them.

He knew he didn’t have time to dwell on it—not now, not when everything was hanging by a thread. So he did what he always did when something cut too deep to face. He buried it. Pushed it down to that place inside him already overflowing. It would resurface later in his dreams, in the dark, in the quiet. Just like every other tragedy he never outran.

When he made it back across the street, Jake dropped the duffel by the front door with a heavy thud, then brushed past you without a word, bloodied boots dragging across the floor. You didn’t stop him, just watched, heart heavy, eyes tracking the way his shoulders sagged more with each step. He didn’t even pause to speak, just disappeared down the hallway like a ghost through a house he no longer belonged to.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, and the sound of rushing water followed soon after.

Jake leaned against the sink for a moment, gripping its porcelain edges with white-knuckled hands. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and wished he hadn’t. His face was swollen and bruised, split just beneath his eye, blood caked into his hairline and beard. He looked like a man who’d barely survived a war, and maybe he had.

He pulled his shirt over his head with a sharp hiss, pain knifing through his ribs, then peeled the blood-soaked layers away one by one until he was bare. His body was painted in deep purples and blacks, dried blood stretching like maps across his torso.

He stepped under the spray and hissed again—not from the heat, but from the sting. The water struck his wounds like needles, dragging salt through every open scrape. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He just stood there, letting it burn.

The steam rose thick and fast, curling around him like a shroud. His eyes closed, his forehead leaned against the tile, and for a moment, the world went quiet.

He wanted to stay there forever—beneath the roar, the heat, the cleansing weight of it. But he couldn’t.

The world was waiting. And you were packing your entire lives into two bags in the next room.

So he turned off the water, slowly, and reached for the towel. His hands still shook. His ribs screamed. But there was no time for rest. He had one last ride to take.

Just as you pulled your own stash of money from behind the wash f machine, Jake appeared in the living room, freshly showered but still visibly battered. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and the swelling on his face had bloomed into something angry and purple beneath one eye. Even clean, he looked like a man who’d been through hell and barely clawed his way out.

The bags you packed sat by the door, filled to the brim and surrounded by the last remnants of your life here—blankets folded tight, a few framed photos, a stuffed animal bought far too early in Lorelei’s pregnancy. Pieces of a home that would now be left behind.

You turned to him, your voice soft but unwavering. “Now what?”

Jake didn’t answer right away. His eyes found you—and lingered. There you stood, hair tied back, body round with the weight of new life, one hand gently resting over your belly. In the middle of all the chaos and violence, somehow you were still calm. Still radiant. You didn’t belong in the wreckage of the world he came from. You were the light cutting through the storm, the reminder of what mattered.

“I’ll follow you out of town on the bike,” he finally said, voice low and firm. “We’ll meet at mile marker 888.”

You blinked. “Can you even ride?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, because he always did—even when he wasn’t.

You didn’t argue. You’d learned by now when to press and when to trust him. Instead, you grabbed the keys to the chocolate brown Chevy, the one he’d given you months ago with little protest.

Jake hoisted the heavier bags while you gathered the rest. The two of you moved like ghosts through the trailer, careful, quiet, like if you made too much noise the past might come crashing down to stop you.

Out into the still night you went—two runaways, two survivors. The moonlight cast long shadows across the dirt as Jake secured the bags into the truck bed, his movements stiff and strained. He didn’t complain once. Just fastened his helmet, slung his leg over the bike, and gave you the smallest nod through the visor.

You watched him for a moment in the rearview mirror, heart pounding, one hand resting protectively on your stomach. Lorelei kicked, as if she could feel the shift in the air.

Your eyes drifted to Riley’s house one last time, silent now, windows dark. It had been your shelter, your safe place. The walls that had held your worst secrets and your quiet healing. You murmured a silent thank you, not just to the house, but to the man who’d once walked its halls. Riley would’ve wanted this—wanted you safe. Wanted Jake whole.

You took a breath, shifted the truck into gear, and rolled out of the driveway for the last time. The wheels crunched over the familiar gravel, the porch light casting its final farewell across the dirt. Jake’s bike rumbled to life behind you, his headlight casting a long beam across the road as he followed.

Together, you left Cactus Creek in the rearview.

The road stretched long and quiet beneath you, lined with nothing but desert brush and telephone poles. Jake followed close, but not too close, giving you space, but never out of reach.

Fifteen miles out, just as the moon hung high above, the green reflective sign glimmered in your headlights: Mile Marker 888.

You pulled over onto the dusty shoulder, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. Jake rolled up beside you, cutting the engine and pulling off his helmet, his hair still damp, jaw clenched from pain.

You didn’t speak right away.

You didn’t need to.

You had made it. Together.

But the road ahead was still long. And for the first time in a long time, it was finally yours to choose.

Jake, still grimacing with every breath, worked in silence to unlatch the tailgate and ease his bike into the bed of the truck. His movements were slow, deliberate—each one a reminder of what he’d endured, of what he’d lost and protected in the same night.

You didn’t rush him. You didn’t speak. There was a heaviness in the air that didn’t need words. Grief, relief, exhaustion all tangled together. But one question lingered in your chest, rising up as the dust settled around you.

“Where are we gonna go?”

Jake grunted, the metal tailgate slamming shut behind the bike with finality. He leaned against it, sweat and blood drying on his skin, his eyes nearly swollen shut, his body beaten to hell—but his soul? It still burned. Still moved.

Truth was, he hadn’t thought that far. He hadn’t dared to. He’d only listened to Ace’s words: Get out. Everything after that was a blank map.

“I don’t know, Cherry,” he said at last, voice gravel-thick and tired. “But we’ll figure it out.”

He reached for your hand—rough, calloused, stained from the night, and pulled you to him. You went willingly, wrapping your arms around him the only way your round belly allowed. His hand slid to rest over the place where your daughter grew, anchoring him to the only truth that mattered anymore.

“You trust me, right?” he asked, his voice softer now. Tattered. Bare.

You looked up at him, the night air cool against your skin, the desert sky stretched wide and unknowable above you. And in that moment, there wasn’t a single doubt in your soul.

“With my life,” you whispered.

Jake nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. Not quite a smile, but something close. A breath of hope in the wreckage.

He opened the passenger door for you, helped you in like the gentleman buried deep beneath the outlaw. Then he limped to the driver’s side, climbed in, and started the truck.

The road ahead was dark and long, but it was open.

And somewhere in the distance—past the ache, past the blood, past the weight of everything they tried to bury him under—was a beginning.

The truck rumbled forward, tires kicking up dust as it disappeared into the night.

Not the end.

Just the way out.

Just the way forward.

Three Days Later

The meeting room at the Tavern was electric with tension, voices rising like smoke, thick with confusion. The long wooden table was surrounded by restless Barbarians, most of them half-drunk and wholly impatient.

At the head of it all stood Ace, visibly drained, dark circles beneath his eyes, his jaw clenched with effort as he tried to wrangle control of the chaos.

It was voting day. The day to crown the next Barbarian King. But two out of the three candidates were missing. One dead. One disappeared.

“How the hell are we supposed to have a vote when two outta three ain’t even here?” someone barked from the crowd.

Others chimed in, the room swelling with unrest.

Ace didn’t flinch. He just stood there, letting them bark and growl, letting the storm pass over him. He’d seen worse. Done worse. Buried worse.

The few who did know what happened said nothing. Their silence wasn’t fear—it was respect. For Jake. For what it cost him to walk away.

Finally, Ace raised a hand.

“Enough.”

The room quieted, the way it always did when Ace used that voice. The voice that meant business.

“All votes are in,” he said, reaching into his vest and pulling a small, sealed envelope from the inner pocket. “Regardless of the outcome, we’re gonna honor the process. And after that, we vote on what the hell comes next.”

The men settled, most leaning forward, tension crawling over the room like a shadow.

Ace broke the seal and pulled out the folded paper. He read it, and for the first time in days, a crooked smile cracked across his face.

He shook his head and let out a quiet chuckle, more amusement than disbelief .

“Well, I’ll be damned…” he murmured, eyes scanning the room.

“The Barbarian Prince becomes the King.”

* CUE THE BARBARIANS x GRETA VAN FLEET*

Thanks again for all the love and support throughout this story—I hope you enjoyed the ending (and if not… oops).

Originally, I had an epilogue planned, but it was meant to set up a second part to the series. With life looking a little different now, I’m not sure I’ll have the time to commit to another full story.

That said, I’ll leave it up to you—would you still like to read the epilogue, even if it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger? Or should we let the Barbarian universe rest where it is?

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @wetkleenex-gvf @hollyco @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @gretasfallingsky @takenbythemadness @scoreofinfantryvines

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Biker!Jake 18+ Series

***In Progress***

Prologue: Once A Barbarian, Always A Barbarian

Chapter 1: Homeward Bound

Chapter 2: Our Old Friend, Death

Chapter 3: Debts & Destiny

Chapter 4: Star-Crossed Strangers

Chapter 5: Pleasing a Storm

Chapter 6: Everything That Becomes Us

Chapter 7: Who Do You Belong To?

Chapter 8: Truth and the Human Condition

Chapter 9: Seed of Memory

Chapter 10: Threes a Crowd

Chapter 11: In Death We Give

Chapter 12: Barbarian Princess

Chapter 13: Pandora’s Box

Chapter 14: Funeral of Innocence

Chapter 15: How to Run From the Mess You Made

Chapter 16: Sleeping Dogs & Skeletons

Chapter 17: Edge of the Throne

Chapter 18: Iron & Bone Part 1

Chapter 19: Iron & Bone Part 2

Chapter 20: Epilogue — Crowned in Blood

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I would never! Be on the lookout 🤭

What of I told you I was in the process of editing the (technically) last chapter of Barbarian to upload today?? 🫣

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Yes! Refresh your memory because it’s coming!!

What if I told you I was in the process of editing the (technically) last chapter of Barbarian to upload today?? 🫣

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What if I told you I was in the process of editing the (technically) last chapter of Barbarian to upload today?? 🫣

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MY WIFE IS ALIVE

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LITERALLY RAN HERE BECAUSE BARBARIAN JAKE JUST CAME ALIVE AND NOW I HAVE TO FINISH THE STORY!!!!

GUYS I'M LITERALLY AT WORK AND FELL TO MY KNEES BC OF THESE PICS?????

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OH MY FUCKING GOD

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12.22.24

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December 21, 2024

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This made me laugh so hard 😂😂😂

making a mirador meme everyday until they announce the ep/album

day 196

@runwayblues

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Jake

Josh

Sam

Danny

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*New* 18. Iron & Bone Pt. 1

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+ series, minors DNI

A/n: Second to the last chapter!! I don’t want to say too much, just hold on to your seats 😳. Questions and comments are always appreciated, and as always, enjoy. 🖤 (Or at least try to…)

Content Warnings: smoking, drinking, criminal activity, heavy angst, Jake on some ‘I see dead people’ shit, graphic violence

Word Count: 4.4k

Saturday

Jake awoke with a heaviness in his chest that felt almost suffocating, a strange, foreboding sensation that clung to him like a second skin. It wasn’t quite dread—no, this felt deeper, darker, like the quiet hum of doom lurking just beneath the surface. He stayed in bed for a long moment, staring at the cracked ceiling, trying to shake the feeling. But he knew he couldn’t stay in bed forever, with the final drop scheduled for that evening, he knew he had to reject the warmth of the sheets that felt like a safety net.

With a resigned sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He could hear you in the kitchen, the soft clinking of plates and the faint sizzle of something on the stove drifting down the hallway. That small sound brought him a sliver of comfort, enough to push himself to his feet. He grabbed a clean shirt from the chair beside him and tugged it on before making his way toward the kitchen, his feet dragging as if each step were weighted.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice still groggy from sleep. The sight of you stopped him in his tracks. You were standing by the stove, wearing a shirt that had long since stopped fitting, the hem riding up over your belly. The pajama pants hung loose on your frame, clearly a pair of his. The sight brought a faint smile to his lips, lifting the corners just slightly, though it wasn’t enough to shake the lingering weight in his chest.

You turned to him with a grin that rivaled the sunlight streaming through the window, and for a moment, his burdens didn’t feel so crushing. “I’m making breakfast,” you said, placing a hand on your hip with mock defiance. “Just because I’m seven months pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”

His smile grew a little, but the worry in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “You okay, baby?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, your tone soft with concern.

He hesitated, then nodded, though it wasn’t convincing. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

You remembered how restless he’d been last night, tossing and turning like he couldn’t find peace. At one point, you’d had to pull the comforter off him because of the furnace-like heat radiating from his body. Turning back to the stove, you plated a stack of pancakes and slid them onto the table with a glass of orange juice.

“Maybe a good breakfast will help,” you offered, nodding toward the table. Jake obediently sat down, though his movements were slow, as if his body were fighting against him.

You joined him with a plate of your own, the silence between you unsettling. Jake picked at his food, taking small bites that barely made a dent in the stack of pancakes. Pancakes were his favorite, yet today, he barely touched them.

“You got anything planned today?” you asked, hoping to fill the void.

Jake shrugged, his eyes focused on the plate in front of him. “Just business as usual. Got something I have to be at this evening, but… I think I’m gonna go for a ride today. Just by myself.”

You nodded, knowing how much solace he found in the open road. “That sounds like a good idea. It’s perfect riding weather.”

“It is,” he agreed softly, though the words felt hollow.

After breakfast, Jake stood and made a weak attempt to help you clear the table, but you waved him off. “Go get ready. I’ve got this.”

By the time you finished cleaning up, Jake had reappeared, dressed in his signature Barbarians vest, a clean white shirt, and his worn black jeans. His boots scuffed the floor as he approached, the faint smell of leather and cologne wrapping around you.

“Well, don’t you look handsome,” you teased, trying to lift his spirits.

Jake smirked, stepping close and pulling you into his arms. His hands rested lightly on your hips, his thumbs brushing over the sides of your bump as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he said, his voice low but filled with an intensity that made your heart skip.

“I love you too,” you replied, searching his face for any sign of what was troubling him. But Jake, ever the master at hiding his emotions from you, gave nothing away.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

You nodded, a knot of worry tightening in your chest as he kissed you one last time and grabbed his helmet. You followed him to the porch, watching as he mounted his bike. The engine roared to life, a sound that normally brought you comfort, but today it felt heavy, ominous.

Jake waved as he pulled away, the tires crunching against the dirt road. You stayed on the porch long after he disappeared from view, the unease lingering like a shadow. Something wasn’t right—you could feel it in your bones.

Lorelei kicked suddenly, a sharp jab that startled you out of your thoughts. You rubbed your hand over your belly, offering what comfort you could. “I know, baby,” you murmured. “He’s gonna be okay. He always is.”

But as the wind whispered through the trees and the distant sound of Jake’s bike faded into silence, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting, something neither of you were ready for.

He couldn’t explain why his journey led him there that day. Jake hadn’t been back to that spot since it happened, since the day everything in his life had flipped on its head. But now, as the deserted landscape stretched out before him, he found himself only minutes away from where Jaxon had died. The desert road felt endless, the horizon blurring into a haze of heat and memory, but something deep inside him—something he couldn’t name—urged him forward.

As he rode, familiar landmarks began to rise in the distance. To anyone else, they were just rock formations, indistinguishable from countless others scattered across the desert. But to Jake, they were markers of a nightmare etched into his soul. His chest tightened as he spotted the jagged cliff where he’d been stationed that day, perched high above the chaos. For a moment, he swore he could see his younger self standing up there, scanning the terrain below, unaware of the tragedy that was about to unfold.

Jake slowed his bike to a stop, veering off the cracked pavement and onto the coarse, sandy ground. He killed the engine and swung his leg over, his boots crunching against the gravel as he walked toward the cluster of rocks. His body moved on instinct, each step pulling him closer to the exact spot where Jaxon had taken his last breath. How he was able to pinpoint it so quickly, he didn’t know—maybe it was muscle memory, maybe it was grief, or maybe it was something else entirely.

When he reached the boulder, he crouched down, his hand grazing the gritty surface. The desert wind whipped around him, hot and dry, carrying with it an eerie silence that seemed to press down on him from all sides. He let his palm rest against the rock, feeling its rough texture scrape against his skin. There, faint but undeniable, was a stain—dark and barely visible, but unmistakable. Jake’s throat tightened.

It looked like blood.

Jaxon’s blood.

Even after all these years, even after the rain and the relentless desert sun, the earth seemed to hold on to the memory of what had happened here. Jake’s breath hitched as flashes of that day seared through his mind. The gunfire, the shouting, the chaos. The moment he’d realized something was wrong. The split-second decision to abandon his post. And the sight of Jaxon crumpled on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

It all came rushing back with a force that nearly knocked him off balance. The desert around him felt heavy, suffocating, as if time itself had stopped to preserve the misery of that moment.

Jake crouched beside the boulder, his fingers tracing the faint stain on its surface, a lump forming in his throat as the memories clawed at him. The desert was eerily still, the only sound the faint whisper of the wind moving through the rocks. He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady the storm inside him.

When he opened them, he froze.

There, standing a few feet away, was Jaxon.

Jake blinked hard, his pulse pounding in his ears like a drumbeat. He had to be losing it. The weeks of sleepless nights, the unrelenting weight of stress—it was all catching up to him, twisting his mind into knots. But there he was—Jaxon. Clear as day, leaning casually against one of the sun-bleached rocks, arms crossed over his chest, his sandy curls tousled by the desert breeze. He looked exactly as Jake remembered him, untouched by time, forever frozen at 17. The sight hit Jake like a gut punch, a ghost plucked straight from his memories and dropped into the unforgiving reality of the desert.

“’Bout time you showed up,” Jaxon said, his voice light and familiar, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Jake stared, wide-eyed, his breath catching in his throat. “No way,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m losing my goddamn mind.”

“Probably,” Jaxon shrugged, pushing off the rock and walking toward him. “But hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jake stood slowly, his legs stiff, his heart pounding. “You’re not real.”

Jaxon grinned, cocking his head. “Maybe not. But you’re talking to me anyway, so what does that say about you?”

Jake let out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ve officially lost it.”

“Maybe,” Jaxon said again, stepping closer. His gaze softened, and for a moment, Jake forgot that his best friend had been dead for years. Jaxon looked alive, whole, like the version of him Jake wanted to remember.

“Damn, you look like shit,” Jaxon said, his grin widening. “What’s been going on, huh? You got that ‘I’m drowning in bullshit’ look again.”

Jake chuckled, a short, bitter sound. “That obvious, huh?”

“Always has been,” Jaxon said, sitting down on the boulder like it was any other day, like nothing had ever happened. He gestured for Jake to join him.

Jake hesitated before sinking back to the ground, leaning his back against the rock, his eyes flicking to Jaxon, half-expecting him to disappear. But he didn’t.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” Jaxon said, his voice quieter now. “Club’s in chaos, election coming up, baby on the way… Sounds like a hell of a ride, brother.”

Jake nodded slowly, his throat tightening. “I don’t know what to do, Jax. If I win, I’m stuck here. If I leave, I’m abandoning the guys. Either way, I lose.”

Jaxon tilted his head, considering. “It’s not about winning or losing, man. It’s about doing what’s right. For them, for her, for you.”

“I don’t even know what ‘right’ looks like anymore,” Jake admitted, his voice rough.

“You’ve always known,” Jaxon said, his tone steady, almost reassuring. “You just don’t trust yourself to make the call. But here’s the thing, Jake—you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be better than the guy who came before you.”

Jake laughed dryly. “That’s not saying much.”

Jaxon chuckled, the sound light and familiar. “Nah, it’s not. But it’s a start.”

The silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Jaxon spoke again, his voice quieter now, almost somber.

“You’ve got something I never had, Jake,” he said, his gaze dropping to Jake’s hands. “A chance to build something real. Something that lasts. Don’t waste it.”

Jake’s chest tightened as he looked at Jaxon, his best friend’s face etched with an honesty that cut deep.

“Jax…” he began, but his voice faltered.

Jaxon leaned forward, his expression serious now. “Just remember, brother,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, “sometimes the hardest road is the only one worth taking. And sometimes…” He hesitated, his gaze turning distant, like he was looking at something Jake couldn’t see. “Sometimes, you don’t get to decide when it starts, and when it ends.”

Before Jake could respond, Jaxon was gone.

It happened in an instant—one moment he was there, and the next, he wasn’t. The desert was still again, the wind brushing softly against the rocks, but Jake’s heart was pounding like he’d just come face-to-face with a ghost.

Because maybe he had.

When Jake arrived at the tavern that afternoon, he couldn’t shake the unease gripping him. The events from earlier in the desert had carved themselves into his thoughts, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make sense of it. The world felt slightly tilted, as if something essential had been knocked out of place. Everything around him—the faces, the voices, even the scent of stale beer and leather—felt like a strange echo of normalcy, but nothing about it grounded him.

The meeting room was crowded, members loitering in small groups, their voices bouncing off the walls. Jake spotted Ace at the front of the room, commanding the attention of a few high-ranking Barbarians. Normally, Jake would have gone straight to him, shared a joke or a nod of camaraderie, but not today. Today, he avoided eye contact, heading for a chair in the farthest corner of the room where he could observe without being noticed.

Settling into his seat, he scanned the room. The laughter, the jabs, the gruff voices—all of it was painfully familiar, comforting even. But today, the comfort felt hollow. As he leaned back, his mind churned with thoughts of what the future held. Is this it? he wondered. Is this where I’ll spend the next twenty years? These faces, this room, this life? It wasn’t just about the club anymore. It was about you, the baby, and what kind of life he could build for his family. A life like this—constant danger, moral compromises—wasn’t the life he wanted to offer you. But could he ever leave it behind? Did he even want to?

The sharp clap of Ace’s hands brought him back to the present.

“Alright, let’s get to it!” Ace’s voice boomed, commanding the attention of every man in the room. The hum of chatter died instantly as everyone found their seats. Jake straightened, but he didn’t move to the edge of his seat. He already knew what was coming.

Ace launched into the plan for the evening’s final drop, his tone steady and sure. Jake barely listened. He didn’t need to. The plan was etched into his brain at this point.

Meet the EDS at eight at the designated location. Escort them to the warehouse. Nicky and his team would have the money ready. Alejandro’s men would count it, finalize the deal, and the Barbarians would finally be free of their debt.

It sounded simple, straightforward. But Jake knew better. Nothing in this life ever went as smoothly as planned. The thought gnawed at him as Ace wrapped up the briefing.

“Alright, boys,” Ace finished, his eyes sweeping the room. “You’ve got a couple hours to get your heads straight, grab a drink, whatever. Be ready to roll at eight sharp.”

Chairs scraped across the floor as men began to rise and disperse, some heading for the bar, others to their bikes for a smoke. Jake stayed rooted in his chair, hoping to avoid Ace altogether. But his luck ran out when Ace caught up to him at the door.

“What’s up with you, kid?” Ace asked, his sharp eyes narrowing.

“Nothing,” Jake lied, brushing him off with a shrug. “I’m fine. Just haven’t been sleeping good.”

Ace wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, well, don’t expect that to change when you’ve got a newborn wailing at all hours,” he teased, his voice light but probing.

Jake shot him a sideways look, unamused. “Funny.”

Ace clapped him on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Look, kid, tonight’s gonna be a cakewalk. After this, you’ll finally get a breather. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jake didn’t have the energy to argue. “I’m good, Ace. Seriously.”

Ace studied him for a moment longer, his brows furrowed. He could see through Jake’s act, but he knew better than to push. With a final nod, he relented, stepping away to give Jake his space.

As Ace moved on, Jake exhaled deeply and retreated to a quiet corner of the tavern. The din of voices and the clinking of glasses faded into the background as he leaned back in his chair. His mind spun in circles, replaying every word Jaxon had said in his strange mirage-like visit in the desert. He thought about the election, about what it would mean if he won, and the weight of it pressed down on him like a boulder. The club could be his kingdom, his brothers an army at his back—but at what cost?

For a fleeting moment, Jake entertained the idea of staying, of making it work. If he had power, maybe he could protect you and the baby, keep you safe without running. Maybe being on the throne, with an army of Barbarians at his back, would give him the leverage to shield what mattered most. But then his gaze shifted to the men at the bar—his brothers—laughing, throwing back shots of whiskey like there wasn’t a storm brewing just outside the door.

They were fearless in their ignorance, loyal in their chaos, blind to the inevitable fallout of the life they’d chosen. It was the same blindness that had cost Jaxon his life, the same recklessness that had turned Rex into a tyrant. Jake felt the weight of it all pressing on him, the realization that no amount of power could insulate you and Lorelei from what the Barbarians truly brought along with them.

The few drinks Jake had over the past hour did little to dull the sharp edge of his anxiety. If anything, it felt like the knot in his chest only grew tighter. By the time the club was gearing up to hit the road, the unease had become a suffocating weight. Nicky and his small team had left about twenty minutes earlier, and now Jake was waiting for the last bike to fuel up, his nerves fraying with each passing second.

He stood beside his bike, burning through a cigarette, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he avoided eye contact with anyone. The feeling of Ace’s eyes on him was impossible to ignore, but Jake didn’t turn to meet them. He couldn’t. Not with the storm brewing in his mind, a mix of doubt, paranoia, and something darker he couldn’t name.

When the last bike roared to life, the group began to roll out, one by one, a steady procession of power and leather merging onto the road. Jake hung back, choosing to take up the rear of the pack, his thoughts racing faster than his bike ever could.

That nagging feeling that something was wrong refused to let go of him. It clung to his skin, crawled up his spine, whispered in his ear like an unwelcome ghost. Was he just being paranoid, haunted by the mistakes of the past? Or was his intuition screaming at him to pay attention?

The warehouse.

The voice was clear as day. Jaxon’s voice. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it today, but hearing it now, on the edge of a critical moment, made his stomach churn.

Go to the warehouse.

Jake’s hands tightened on the handlebars, his knuckles white. He looked ahead to where Ace was leading the pack, his posture rigid, his focus locked on the road ahead. If Jake peeled off now, slipping away toward the warehouse, Ace probably wouldn’t notice until they reached the rendezvous point.

Do it.

“Fuck,” Jake muttered under his breath, the decision pressing down on him like a vice. His heart thudded as he began to ease his bike back, slowing just enough to break from the group without drawing attention. Ahead and to the right, he saw the turnoff that would take him straight to the warehouse.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then leaned into the turn, the roar of his engine swallowed by the sound of the others continuing down the road. Once he was clear, and the group had disappeared into the distance, Jake gunned the throttle, his bike eating up the road as he sped toward the warehouse.

The wind whipped against his face, but it couldn’t shake the growing pit in his stomach. He didn’t know what he’d find when he got there, but the urgency in Jaxon’s voice left him no choice.

Whatever waited for him at the warehouse, Jake knew it wasn’t going to be good. But he had to see it for himself.

The warehouse loomed in the distance, its shadow cast long and foreboding under the moonlight. Jake parked his bike and killed the engine, the silence around him unsettling. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last as he stepped toward the entrance. The faint crunch of gravel beneath his boots was the only sound in the oppressive stillness.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, the dim overhead lights flickering as if the place itself was alive and uneasy. The warehouse was eerily quiet—too quiet. Jake’s instincts screamed at him, warning that something was wrong. He moved forward cautiously, his footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space.

And then he saw them.

Frogman and Nicky, hunched over the stacks of money, hurriedly loading it onto the back of an unfamiliar truck. The sight sent a surge of anger through Jake. He quickened his pace, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

Frogman froze, his head snapping toward Jake like a deer caught in headlights. Without a second thought, he dropped the money he was holding and bolted toward the back exit. Jake let him go—his focus was squarely on Nicky, who remained standing by the truck, a smug grin plastered across his face.

“Well, well,” Nicky drawled, leaning casually against the tailgate. “The Barbarian Prince. Something told me you’d show up here trying to save the day. Doesn’t surprise me, you’re always snaking your way into things you have no business being in.”

Jake clenched his fists, his body taut with fury. “What the fuck are you talking about, Nicky?”

Nicky’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with malice. “Jake, you don’t belong at the top. You don’t deserve it. So I’m making sure that doesn’t happen. You’ve already got Ace and half the guys eating out of your hand. Can’t let the golden boy take over on a count of a little nepotism.” He gestured to the truck. “So, I’m taking the money, hiding it where no one will ever find it. Then I’m gonna tip off Alejandro and tell him you stole it. Tell him it’s at Rex’s trailer.,” his smirk widened, “where you hid it.”

The words hit Jake like a sledgehammer. His chest tightened as he realized the implication—Nicky knew about the money in Rex’s trailer. The secret Jake had worked so hard to protect was now dangling in front of him, weaponized by the one person he least expected.

“You son of a—” Jake started, but the sound of heavy footsteps interrupted him.

Alejandro stepped into the room, flanked by two of his men, his dark eyes scanning the scene. His presence sucked the air from the room, his cold demeanor sending a chill down Jake’s spine.

“I knew I was right to listen to my gut and come here first,” Alejandro said, his voice calm yet dripping with menace. His gaze flicked between Jake and Nicky, landing on the truck before narrowing dangerously.

Jake stepped forward, his hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. “Alejandro, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Alejandro’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Then tell me, Jake. What does it look like?” His expression darkened again, and his voice boomed in a loud echo through the room, a sound seemingly too loud to come from a man his size. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you and your little friend here are trying to take my fucking money!”

“It’s not like that!” Jake snapped, his voice rising. He turned to Nicky, his frustration boiling over. “Tell him the truth, Nicky!”

But Nicky didn’t move. He stood there in silence, his smug expression replaced by something unreadable. He was letting it play out, letting Jake take the fall.

Alejandro’s patience ran thin. He motioned to his men, who closed in on Jake and Nicky, forcing them to their knees. The cold steel of a gun pressed against Jake’s temple, and Alejandro’s rant began, his voice rising with every word.

“I trusted you, Jake. I trusted you as much as I did your father despite you walking out on your brotherhood. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and this is how you repay me? Stealing from me? Concocting some elaborate plan just so you could stab me in the back.”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Jake shouted, the anger in his voice edged with desperation. “Alejandro I- you know me. You know I wouldn’t do this.”

Alejandro studied him for a long moment, his gun still aimed at Jake’s head. Then, with a casual shrug, he lowered the weapon and stepped back.

“You know,” he said, almost conversationally, “I want to believe you, Jake. In fact, I think I might believe you. But a man can never be too sure.” He paced in front of them, the room heavy with anticipation. “So, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m feeling generous tonight, so I’m willing to let you walk out of here with your life.”

Jake’s breath hitched as Alejandro turned to him, his voice taking on a razor-sharp edge. “But I can’t let two traitors live. So, if you want to leave, you have to kill Nicky. No weapons.”

Jake’s blood turned cold as Alejandro turned to Nicky, his expression unreadable. “And Nicky, if you don’t want to die here tonight, I suggest you fight back.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of Alejandro’s ultimatum pressing down like a vice. Jake’s fists clenched, his mind racing as he glanced at Nicky, who stared back with a mixture of defiance and something darker.

And then, Alejandro’s lips twitched into a sinister smile. “Well, boys?”

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @wetkleenex-gvf @hollyco @dannys-dream @slut4lando @josh-iamyour-mama @gretasfallingsky @takenbythemadness @scoreofinfantryvines

[gvfgal]

*New* 18. Iron & Bone Pt. 1

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+ series, minors DNI

A/n: Second to the last chapter!! I don’t want to say too much, just hold on to your seats 😳. Questions and comments are always appreciated, and as always, enjoy. 🖤 (Or at least try to…)

Content Warnings: smoking, drinking, criminal activity, heavy angst, Jake on some ‘I see dead people’ shit, graphic violence

Word Count: 4.4k

Saturday

Jake awoke with a heaviness in his chest that felt almost suffocating, a strange, foreboding sensation that clung to him like a second skin. It wasn’t quite dread—no, this felt deeper, darker, like the quiet hum of doom lurking just beneath the surface. He stayed in bed for a long moment, staring at the cracked ceiling, trying to shake the feeling. But he knew he couldn’t stay in bed forever, with the final drop scheduled for that evening, he knew he had to reject the warmth of the sheets that felt like a safety net.

With a resigned sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He could hear you in the kitchen, the soft clinking of plates and the faint sizzle of something on the stove drifting down the hallway. That small sound brought him a sliver of comfort, enough to push himself to his feet. He grabbed a clean shirt from the chair beside him and tugged it on before making his way toward the kitchen, his feet dragging as if each step were weighted.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice still groggy from sleep. The sight of you stopped him in his tracks. You were standing by the stove, wearing a shirt that had long since stopped fitting, the hem riding up over your belly. The pajama pants hung loose on your frame, clearly a pair of his. The sight brought a faint smile to his lips, lifting the corners just slightly, though it wasn’t enough to shake the lingering weight in his chest.

You turned to him with a grin that rivaled the sunlight streaming through the window, and for a moment, his burdens didn’t feel so crushing. “I’m making breakfast,” you said, placing a hand on your hip with mock defiance. “Just because I’m seven months pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”

His smile grew a little, but the worry in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “You okay, baby?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, your tone soft with concern.

He hesitated, then nodded, though it wasn’t convincing. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

You remembered how restless he’d been last night, tossing and turning like he couldn’t find peace. At one point, you’d had to pull the comforter off him because of the furnace-like heat radiating from his body. Turning back to the stove, you plated a stack of pancakes and slid them onto the table with a glass of orange juice.

“Maybe a good breakfast will help,” you offered, nodding toward the table. Jake obediently sat down, though his movements were slow, as if his body were fighting against him.

You joined him with a plate of your own, the silence between you unsettling. Jake picked at his food, taking small bites that barely made a dent in the stack of pancakes. Pancakes were his favorite, yet today, he barely touched them.

“You got anything planned today?” you asked, hoping to fill the void.

Jake shrugged, his eyes focused on the plate in front of him. “Just business as usual. Got something I have to be at this evening, but… I think I’m gonna go for a ride today. Just by myself.”

You nodded, knowing how much solace he found in the open road. “That sounds like a good idea. It’s perfect riding weather.”

“It is,” he agreed softly, though the words felt hollow.

After breakfast, Jake stood and made a weak attempt to help you clear the table, but you waved him off. “Go get ready. I’ve got this.”

By the time you finished cleaning up, Jake had reappeared, dressed in his signature Barbarians vest, a clean white shirt, and his worn black jeans. His boots scuffed the floor as he approached, the faint smell of leather and cologne wrapping around you.

“Well, don’t you look handsome,” you teased, trying to lift his spirits.

Jake smirked, stepping close and pulling you into his arms. His hands rested lightly on your hips, his thumbs brushing over the sides of your bump as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he said, his voice low but filled with an intensity that made your heart skip.

“I love you too,” you replied, searching his face for any sign of what was troubling him. But Jake, ever the master at hiding his emotions from you, gave nothing away.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

You nodded, a knot of worry tightening in your chest as he kissed you one last time and grabbed his helmet. You followed him to the porch, watching as he mounted his bike. The engine roared to life, a sound that normally brought you comfort, but today it felt heavy, ominous.

Jake waved as he pulled away, the tires crunching against the dirt road. You stayed on the porch long after he disappeared from view, the unease lingering like a shadow. Something wasn’t right—you could feel it in your bones.

Lorelei kicked suddenly, a sharp jab that startled you out of your thoughts. You rubbed your hand over your belly, offering what comfort you could. “I know, baby,” you murmured. “He’s gonna be okay. He always is.”

But as the wind whispered through the trees and the distant sound of Jake’s bike faded into silence, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting, something neither of you were ready for.

He couldn’t explain why his journey led him there that day. Jake hadn’t been back to that spot since it happened, since the day everything in his life had flipped on its head. But now, as the deserted landscape stretched out before him, he found himself only minutes away from where Jaxon had died. The desert road felt endless, the horizon blurring into a haze of heat and memory, but something deep inside him—something he couldn’t name—urged him forward.

As he rode, familiar landmarks began to rise in the distance. To anyone else, they were just rock formations, indistinguishable from countless others scattered across the desert. But to Jake, they were markers of a nightmare etched into his soul. His chest tightened as he spotted the jagged cliff where he’d been stationed that day, perched high above the chaos. For a moment, he swore he could see his younger self standing up there, scanning the terrain below, unaware of the tragedy that was about to unfold.

Jake slowed his bike to a stop, veering off the cracked pavement and onto the coarse, sandy ground. He killed the engine and swung his leg over, his boots crunching against the gravel as he walked toward the cluster of rocks. His body moved on instinct, each step pulling him closer to the exact spot where Jaxon had taken his last breath. How he was able to pinpoint it so quickly, he didn’t know—maybe it was muscle memory, maybe it was grief, or maybe it was something else entirely.

When he reached the boulder, he crouched down, his hand grazing the gritty surface. The desert wind whipped around him, hot and dry, carrying with it an eerie silence that seemed to press down on him from all sides. He let his palm rest against the rock, feeling its rough texture scrape against his skin. There, faint but undeniable, was a stain—dark and barely visible, but unmistakable. Jake’s throat tightened.

It looked like blood.

Jaxon’s blood.

Even after all these years, even after the rain and the relentless desert sun, the earth seemed to hold on to the memory of what had happened here. Jake’s breath hitched as flashes of that day seared through his mind. The gunfire, the shouting, the chaos. The moment he’d realized something was wrong. The split-second decision to abandon his post. And the sight of Jaxon crumpled on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

It all came rushing back with a force that nearly knocked him off balance. The desert around him felt heavy, suffocating, as if time itself had stopped to preserve the misery of that moment.

Jake crouched beside the boulder, his fingers tracing the faint stain on its surface, a lump forming in his throat as the memories clawed at him. The desert was eerily still, the only sound the faint whisper of the wind moving through the rocks. He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady the storm inside him.

When he opened them, he froze.

There, standing a few feet away, was Jaxon.

Jake blinked hard, his pulse pounding in his ears like a drumbeat. He had to be losing it. The weeks of sleepless nights, the unrelenting weight of stress—it was all catching up to him, twisting his mind into knots. But there he was—Jaxon. Clear as day, leaning casually against one of the sun-bleached rocks, arms crossed over his chest, his sandy curls tousled by the desert breeze. He looked exactly as Jake remembered him, untouched by time, forever frozen at 17. The sight hit Jake like a gut punch, a ghost plucked straight from his memories and dropped into the unforgiving reality of the desert.

“’Bout time you showed up,” Jaxon said, his voice light and familiar, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Jake stared, wide-eyed, his breath catching in his throat. “No way,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m losing my goddamn mind.”

“Probably,” Jaxon shrugged, pushing off the rock and walking toward him. “But hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jake stood slowly, his legs stiff, his heart pounding. “You’re not real.”

Jaxon grinned, cocking his head. “Maybe not. But you’re talking to me anyway, so what does that say about you?”

Jake let out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ve officially lost it.”

“Maybe,” Jaxon said again, stepping closer. His gaze softened, and for a moment, Jake forgot that his best friend had been dead for years. Jaxon looked alive, whole, like the version of him Jake wanted to remember.

“Damn, you look like shit,” Jaxon said, his grin widening. “What’s been going on, huh? You got that ‘I’m drowning in bullshit’ look again.”

Jake chuckled, a short, bitter sound. “That obvious, huh?”

“Always has been,” Jaxon said, sitting down on the boulder like it was any other day, like nothing had ever happened. He gestured for Jake to join him.

Jake hesitated before sinking back to the ground, leaning his back against the rock, his eyes flicking to Jaxon, half-expecting him to disappear. But he didn’t.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” Jaxon said, his voice quieter now. “Club’s in chaos, election coming up, baby on the way… Sounds like a hell of a ride, brother.”

Jake nodded slowly, his throat tightening. “I don’t know what to do, Jax. If I win, I’m stuck here. If I leave, I’m abandoning the guys. Either way, I lose.”

Jaxon tilted his head, considering. “It’s not about winning or losing, man. It’s about doing what’s right. For them, for her, for you.”

“I don’t even know what ‘right’ looks like anymore,” Jake admitted, his voice rough.

“You’ve always known,” Jaxon said, his tone steady, almost reassuring. “You just don’t trust yourself to make the call. But here’s the thing, Jake—you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be better than the guy who came before you.”

Jake laughed dryly. “That’s not saying much.”

Jaxon chuckled, the sound light and familiar. “Nah, it’s not. But it’s a start.”

The silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Jaxon spoke again, his voice quieter now, almost somber.

“You’ve got something I never had, Jake,” he said, his gaze dropping to Jake’s hands. “A chance to build something real. Something that lasts. Don’t waste it.”

Jake’s chest tightened as he looked at Jaxon, his best friend’s face etched with an honesty that cut deep.

“Jax…” he began, but his voice faltered.

Jaxon leaned forward, his expression serious now. “Just remember, brother,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, “sometimes the hardest road is the only one worth taking. And sometimes…” He hesitated, his gaze turning distant, like he was looking at something Jake couldn’t see. “Sometimes, you don’t get to decide when it starts, and when it ends.”

Before Jake could respond, Jaxon was gone.

It happened in an instant—one moment he was there, and the next, he wasn’t. The desert was still again, the wind brushing softly against the rocks, but Jake’s heart was pounding like he’d just come face-to-face with a ghost.

Because maybe he had.

When Jake arrived at the tavern that afternoon, he couldn’t shake the unease gripping him. The events from earlier in the desert had carved themselves into his thoughts, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make sense of it. The world felt slightly tilted, as if something essential had been knocked out of place. Everything around him—the faces, the voices, even the scent of stale beer and leather—felt like a strange echo of normalcy, but nothing about it grounded him.

The meeting room was crowded, members loitering in small groups, their voices bouncing off the walls. Jake spotted Ace at the front of the room, commanding the attention of a few high-ranking Barbarians. Normally, Jake would have gone straight to him, shared a joke or a nod of camaraderie, but not today. Today, he avoided eye contact, heading for a chair in the farthest corner of the room where he could observe without being noticed.

Settling into his seat, he scanned the room. The laughter, the jabs, the gruff voices—all of it was painfully familiar, comforting even. But today, the comfort felt hollow. As he leaned back, his mind churned with thoughts of what the future held. Is this it? he wondered. Is this where I’ll spend the next twenty years? These faces, this room, this life? It wasn’t just about the club anymore. It was about you, the baby, and what kind of life he could build for his family. A life like this—constant danger, moral compromises—wasn’t the life he wanted to offer you. But could he ever leave it behind? Did he even want to?

The sharp clap of Ace’s hands brought him back to the present.

“Alright, let’s get to it!” Ace’s voice boomed, commanding the attention of every man in the room. The hum of chatter died instantly as everyone found their seats. Jake straightened, but he didn’t move to the edge of his seat. He already knew what was coming.

Ace launched into the plan for the evening’s final drop, his tone steady and sure. Jake barely listened. He didn’t need to. The plan was etched into his brain at this point.

Meet the EDS at eight at the designated location. Escort them to the warehouse. Nicky and his team would have the money ready. Alejandro’s men would count it, finalize the deal, and the Barbarians would finally be free of their debt.

It sounded simple, straightforward. But Jake knew better. Nothing in this life ever went as smoothly as planned. The thought gnawed at him as Ace wrapped up the briefing.

“Alright, boys,” Ace finished, his eyes sweeping the room. “You’ve got a couple hours to get your heads straight, grab a drink, whatever. Be ready to roll at eight sharp.”

Chairs scraped across the floor as men began to rise and disperse, some heading for the bar, others to their bikes for a smoke. Jake stayed rooted in his chair, hoping to avoid Ace altogether. But his luck ran out when Ace caught up to him at the door.

“What’s up with you, kid?” Ace asked, his sharp eyes narrowing.

“Nothing,” Jake lied, brushing him off with a shrug. “I’m fine. Just haven’t been sleeping good.”

Ace wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, well, don’t expect that to change when you’ve got a newborn wailing at all hours,” he teased, his voice light but probing.

Jake shot him a sideways look, unamused. “Funny.”

Ace clapped him on the shoulder with a chuckle. “Look, kid, tonight’s gonna be a cakewalk. After this, you’ll finally get a breather. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jake didn’t have the energy to argue. “I’m good, Ace. Seriously.”

Ace studied him for a moment longer, his brows furrowed. He could see through Jake’s act, but he knew better than to push. With a final nod, he relented, stepping away to give Jake his space.

As Ace moved on, Jake exhaled deeply and retreated to a quiet corner of the tavern. The din of voices and the clinking of glasses faded into the background as he leaned back in his chair. His mind spun in circles, replaying every word Jaxon had said in his strange mirage-like visit in the desert. He thought about the election, about what it would mean if he won, and the weight of it pressed down on him like a boulder. The club could be his kingdom, his brothers an army at his back—but at what cost?

For a fleeting moment, Jake entertained the idea of staying, of making it work. If he had power, maybe he could protect you and the baby, keep you safe without running. Maybe being on the throne, with an army of Barbarians at his back, would give him the leverage to shield what mattered most. But then his gaze shifted to the men at the bar—his brothers—laughing, throwing back shots of whiskey like there wasn’t a storm brewing just outside the door.

They were fearless in their ignorance, loyal in their chaos, blind to the inevitable fallout of the life they’d chosen. It was the same blindness that had cost Jaxon his life, the same recklessness that had turned Rex into a tyrant. Jake felt the weight of it all pressing on him, the realization that no amount of power could insulate you and Lorelei from what the Barbarians truly brought along with them.

The few drinks Jake had over the past hour did little to dull the sharp edge of his anxiety. If anything, it felt like the knot in his chest only grew tighter. By the time the club was gearing up to hit the road, the unease had become a suffocating weight. Nicky and his small team had left about twenty minutes earlier, and now Jake was waiting for the last bike to fuel up, his nerves fraying with each passing second.

He stood beside his bike, burning through a cigarette, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he avoided eye contact with anyone. The feeling of Ace’s eyes on him was impossible to ignore, but Jake didn’t turn to meet them. He couldn’t. Not with the storm brewing in his mind, a mix of doubt, paranoia, and something darker he couldn’t name.

When the last bike roared to life, the group began to roll out, one by one, a steady procession of power and leather merging onto the road. Jake hung back, choosing to take up the rear of the pack, his thoughts racing faster than his bike ever could.

That nagging feeling that something was wrong refused to let go of him. It clung to his skin, crawled up his spine, whispered in his ear like an unwelcome ghost. Was he just being paranoid, haunted by the mistakes of the past? Or was his intuition screaming at him to pay attention?

The warehouse.

The voice was clear as day. Jaxon’s voice. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it today, but hearing it now, on the edge of a critical moment, made his stomach churn.

Go to the warehouse.

Jake’s hands tightened on the handlebars, his knuckles white. He looked ahead to where Ace was leading the pack, his posture rigid, his focus locked on the road ahead. If Jake peeled off now, slipping away toward the warehouse, Ace probably wouldn’t notice until they reached the rendezvous point.

Do it.

“Fuck,” Jake muttered under his breath, the decision pressing down on him like a vice. His heart thudded as he began to ease his bike back, slowing just enough to break from the group without drawing attention. Ahead and to the right, he saw the turnoff that would take him straight to the warehouse.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then leaned into the turn, the roar of his engine swallowed by the sound of the others continuing down the road. Once he was clear, and the group had disappeared into the distance, Jake gunned the throttle, his bike eating up the road as he sped toward the warehouse.

The wind whipped against his face, but it couldn’t shake the growing pit in his stomach. He didn’t know what he’d find when he got there, but the urgency in Jaxon’s voice left him no choice.

Whatever waited for him at the warehouse, Jake knew it wasn’t going to be good. But he had to see it for himself.

The warehouse loomed in the distance, its shadow cast long and foreboding under the moonlight. Jake parked his bike and killed the engine, the silence around him unsettling. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last as he stepped toward the entrance. The faint crunch of gravel beneath his boots was the only sound in the oppressive stillness.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, the dim overhead lights flickering as if the place itself was alive and uneasy. The warehouse was eerily quiet—too quiet. Jake’s instincts screamed at him, warning that something was wrong. He moved forward cautiously, his footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space.

And then he saw them.

Frogman and Nicky, hunched over the stacks of money, hurriedly loading it onto the back of an unfamiliar truck. The sight sent a surge of anger through Jake. He quickened his pace, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

Frogman froze, his head snapping toward Jake like a deer caught in headlights. Without a second thought, he dropped the money he was holding and bolted toward the back exit. Jake let him go—his focus was squarely on Nicky, who remained standing by the truck, a smug grin plastered across his face.

“Well, well,” Nicky drawled, leaning casually against the tailgate. “The Barbarian Prince. Something told me you’d show up here trying to save the day. Doesn’t surprise me, you’re always snaking your way into things you have no business being in.”

Jake clenched his fists, his body taut with fury. “What the fuck are you talking about, Nicky?”

Nicky’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with malice. “Jake, you don’t belong at the top. You don’t deserve it. So I’m making sure that doesn’t happen. You’ve already got Ace and half the guys eating out of your hand. Can’t let the golden boy take over on a count of a little nepotism.” He gestured to the truck. “So, I’m taking the money, hiding it where no one will ever find it. Then I’m gonna tip off Alejandro and tell him you stole it. Tell him it’s at Rex’s trailer.,” his smirk widened, “where you hid it.”

The words hit Jake like a sledgehammer. His chest tightened as he realized the implication—Nicky knew about the money in Rex’s trailer. The secret Jake had worked so hard to protect was now dangling in front of him, weaponized by the one person he least expected.

“You son of a—” Jake started, but the sound of heavy footsteps interrupted him.

Alejandro stepped into the room, flanked by two of his men, his dark eyes scanning the scene. His presence sucked the air from the room, his cold demeanor sending a chill down Jake’s spine.

“I knew I was right to listen to my gut and come here first,” Alejandro said, his voice calm yet dripping with menace. His gaze flicked between Jake and Nicky, landing on the truck before narrowing dangerously.

Jake stepped forward, his hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. “Alejandro, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Alejandro’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Then tell me, Jake. What does it look like?” His expression darkened again, and his voice boomed in a loud echo through the room, a sound seemingly too loud to come from a man his size. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you and your little friend here are trying to take my fucking money!”

“It’s not like that!” Jake snapped, his voice rising. He turned to Nicky, his frustration boiling over. “Tell him the truth, Nicky!”

But Nicky didn’t move. He stood there in silence, his smug expression replaced by something unreadable. He was letting it play out, letting Jake take the fall.

Alejandro’s patience ran thin. He motioned to his men, who closed in on Jake and Nicky, forcing them to their knees. The cold steel of a gun pressed against Jake’s temple, and Alejandro’s rant began, his voice rising with every word.

“I trusted you, Jake. I trusted you as much as I did your father despite you walking out on your brotherhood. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and this is how you repay me? Stealing from me? Concocting some elaborate plan just so you could stab me in the back.”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Jake shouted, the anger in his voice edged with desperation. “Alejandro I- you know me. You know I wouldn’t do this.”

Alejandro studied him for a long moment, his gun still aimed at Jake’s head. Then, with a casual shrug, he lowered the weapon and stepped back.

“You know,” he said, almost conversationally, “I want to believe you, Jake. In fact, I think I might believe you. But a man can never be too sure.” He paced in front of them, the room heavy with anticipation. “So, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m feeling generous tonight, so I’m willing to let you walk out of here with your life.”

Jake’s breath hitched as Alejandro turned to him, his voice taking on a razor-sharp edge. “But I can’t let two traitors live. So, if you want to leave, you have to kill Nicky. No weapons.”

Jake’s blood turned cold as Alejandro turned to Nicky, his expression unreadable. “And Nicky, if you don’t want to die here tonight, I suggest you fight back.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of Alejandro’s ultimatum pressing down like a vice. Jake’s fists clenched, his mind racing as he glanced at Nicky, who stared back with a mixture of defiance and something darker.

And then, Alejandro’s lips twitched into a sinister smile. “Well, boys?”

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @wetkleenex-gvf @hollyco @dannys-dream @slut4lando @josh-iamyour-mama @gretasfallingsky @takenbythemadness @scoreofinfantryvines

[gvfgal]

Me writing this new chapter of Barbarian cause I’m so excited!!!!

[gvfgal]

*New* 17. Edge of the Throne

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+ series, minors DNI

A/n: Sorry for the delay, I’ve been quite busy, new job, new house, etc. But I’ll save the Drabble and we’ll get straight to it! Hope you guys enjoy this one, questions and comments are appreciated 🖤

Content Warnings: criminal activities, language, a little fluff, a lot of angst.

Word Count: 4.1k

Thursday

Jake thought he’d never see the day the end of this operation would be so close. Yet here he was, standing in Bobby Thompson’s office with Ace and a few high-ranking Barbarians by his side, the weight of the club’s hard-fought survival also occupying the room. The stacks of cash in front of him were almost intoxicating—their final cut, the money that would close the book on this whole mess. He had dragged the Barbarians out of a grave, every hard-fought victory bleeding Bobby dry of everything he had left. Jake could feel the power shift, the satisfaction of control burning steady in his chest.

The feeling was almost enough to distract him from the chaos his life had become. Here, with Ace beside him and Bobby under his boot, Jake felt fully in command. Call it a power trip if you wanted—but after everything he’d been through, maybe he deserved one.

Once the money was counted, a few men set to work bagging it up, each movement precise and practiced. Bobby sat back, watching with a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his every gesture laced with bitterness. He reclined in his leather chair, crossing one leg over the other, eyeing Jake with the sharp, insincere look of a man who’d lost but refused to accept it.

“You know, Jake,” Bobby drawled, voice low, mocking, “I can’t help but look at you and see your old man. Same scowl, same swagger… but you,” he shook his finger with a smug chuckle, “you think you’re different. Better. You think you’re doing a better job leading this club than he was, that you’re on top. But the truth is, you’re barely hanging on,” he leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. “You don’t belong at the top, boy. You’re not the iron-clad ruler Rex was. You don’t have it in you.”

The words hit like a spark to gunpowder, igniting a slow burn inside Jake. Ace shifted beside him, as if sensing the storm building. Jake stepped forward, the heavy thud of his boots against the polished wood floor a silent warning. He took a slow breath, steadying himself, and when he spoke, his voice was a deep rumble.

“That’s the thing about men like you and my old man, Bobby.” Jake’s gaze bore into Bobby, his voice gravelly, each word carrying a lethal edge. “All you think about is control, fear. You think power is the prize. But that’s where you’re dead wrong.” He stepped closer, his every movement deliberate, forcing Bobby to shift in his seat. “I didn’t come back here to sit on some throne, to cling to a damn title. I never wanted any of it. I know what that kind of power does to a man.”

He paused, letting the words hang heavy between them, before continuing, his tone darkening. “I watched it turn brother against brother. I watched it twist loyalty into something sick, something that chews men up and spits them out empty. I know what this life costs, Bobby. I know what it did to my best friend, to the men who put their lives on the line. And despite everything, here I am. Because the Barbarians? They’re in my blood.” He nodded to Ace, then looked back to Bobby. “These men are my brothers. I came back to stand beside them, not to rule over them in fear. That’s what makes me better than Rex ever was. That’s what you could never understand.”

A dangerous quiet settled over the room, the weight of Jake’s words sinking in, each syllable like a punch. “And maybe I know I could be a better leader than Rex. Maybe I know I could rebuild the club he tore down, do right by the brothers he left behind. But that throne? It’s no gift. It’s a curse. It’ll turn a man into something he doesn’t even recognize if he’s not careful. And I know what that kind of power demands. It devours men like my father, men like you, men who think they’re untouchable.”

Jake leaned in closer, his gaze like steel. “So here’s the truth: I know what I’m capable of, and I know I could take that throne if I wanted to. But what’s it gonna get me? Power for power’s sake? That doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. I’ve got a family to think about now—a life outside of all this. And if that throne, if this club, if you,” his voice dropped to a whisper, ice-cold, “if any of it comes between me and my family, I’ll burn the whole thing to the ground and make sure anyone in my way burns with it.”

Bobby’s face paled, the thin smirk wiped clean, his composure crumbling under the intensity of Jake’s stare. Ace stood by, expression unreadable, but the glint of approval in his eyes was unmistakable. The message had been delivered, clear as day: Jake wasn’t some son trying to live up to his father’s legacy. He was a man willing to fight for what mattered, even if it meant tearing down everything in his path. And Ace admired that.

The last bag of money was zipped up, handed over to the Barbarians, and the air crackled with tension, an electric reminder that they had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. But Jake didn’t care. He’d laid his cards on the table, faced down his past and the weight of Rex’s throne, and made his intentions clear.

With a final, piercing look at Bobby, Jake turned toward the door, the weight of the duffel bag and the world heavy over his shoulder. As he stepped into the neon glow of the casino parking lot, the harsh pink and blue lights cast jagged shadows across the rows of motorcycles and high-end cars, illuminating the line that had been drawn that night.

Outside, Nicky and a few of his guys were already at work, loading the bags into the back of a black SUV. Jake noticed them huddled close, whispering with heads bent, their conversation urgent. A flicker of suspicion sparked in his mind, but he dismissed it, brushing it off as the remnants of the confrontation with Bobby. Still, something about their exchange didn’t sit right, but he pushed the thought away—for now.

“Alright, fellas,” Ace’s voice rang out, gathering the crew’s attention. “We’re set. Get the money squared away, and we’ll meet back at the tavern. Got some more business to discuss.”

Ace shot Jake a look, one that was loaded with unspoken meaning.

Jake mounted his bike, casting one last look at Nicky and his men as they loaded up the SUV. Whatever they were whispering about, Jake couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to it than he could see.

Once every member had filed into the meeting room, Ace brought the gathering to order, his voice booming through the room, commanding everyone’s attention. Jake sat among his brothers, but his mind was miles away—back to you, to the life you were building together, to the fragile peace he was clinging to. He’d been texting you throughout the day, an unspoken need to hear you were okay. Your reassurances helped, but he still felt like he had to be near you, to see you with his own eyes to believe it.

“Alright, men,” Ace’s voice cut through Jake’s spiraling thoughts, snapping him back to the present. The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on Ace, waiting to hear his next words.

“As you all know, we’ve been in the process of choosing the next Barbarian King,” Ace began. “I’m not in the running, but I’ve been watching, along with a few of our most trusted members. After months of observation, we’ve narrowed it down to three candidates.”

A few men let out whoops and cheers, the excitement building as the thought of new leadership became real. But Jake felt the anticipation twist into dread in his gut. This wasn’t a crown he wanted. But he had a feeling that it was something he couldn’t run from much longer.

“We’ve given this a lot of thought,” Ace continued, raising a hand to silence the crowd. “The Barbarians need someone strong, someone fresh. We need a leader who’s got the guts to take us into the future with dignity and strength.”

Ace scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over each man, though he didn’t linger too long on anyone in particular. But he felt Jake’s eyes on him like a weight, a silent expectation that pressed against his chest.

“Voting will take place Monday,” Ace continued. “After we handle the last of our business with the EDS.”

“Yeah, yeah, just tell us who’s in the running already!” one of the members called out, earning chuckles and a few more shouts of agreement from the others.

“Alright, alright,” Ace replied with a grin, pulling a small slip of paper from his vest. He adjusted his reading glasses—a motion that usually sparked a laugh but now only added to the gravity of the moment. His tone turned serious as he looked down at the list.

“First up, we’ve got Madcap,” Ace announced, nodding in Madcap’s direction. A handful of men cheered, and someone gave Madcap a hearty slap on the shoulder.

Jake sat unmoving, knowing full well that while Madcap was capable, he wasn’t the leader the Barbarians needed. He was loyal, reliable, but he lacked the edge that could steer the club through whatever storm awaited, and there was always one waiting.

“Next…” Ace’s voice deepened, and he lifted his gaze, his eyes landing squarely on Jake. “Jacob Kiszka, the Barbarian Prince.”

The room erupted, a chorus of cheers and shouts echoing around Jake. The title “Prince” sent a chill down his spine, a constant reminder of the weight, the legacy, and the expectations he’d spent his life running from. He expected his name to come up, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier. It was a rush of pride and dread, a dangerous mix that made his pulse thrum with anticipation and anxiety. He knew what it meant if he accepted this path—what it meant for his life with you, for his future.

And then, as Ace read the final name, a hush fell over the room, heavier than the roar from before.

“Our last candidate…” Ace paused, the hint of a frown betraying his feelings. “Nicky.”

The reaction was divided—half the room erupted into cheers, led by Nicky’s friends, who slapped him on the back as if he’d already won, while the other half sat in uneasy silence. Jake’s jaw tightened. The very thought of Nicky leading the Barbarians made his skin crawl, and he shot a pointed look at Ace, who did his best to avoid Jake’s glare.

As the room quieted, Ace removed his glasses and cleared his throat, his tone more somber now. “Voting’s on Monday,” he reminded them, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Take the weekend to decide who you believe is best fit to lead this club into its next chapter.”

Jake’s heart hammered in his chest. This was it. A decision that would change everything—for him, for you, for the Barbarians. But as much as he’d loved this club, he was already halfway out the door. He’d returned for his brothers, not for a throne. Not for a legacy he���d never wanted.

“Any questions?” Ace asked, his voice betraying a hint of unease as he glanced in Jake’s direction.

No one spoke, the silence heavy with tension.

“Good.” Ace nodded. “Meeting adjourned.”

The room emptied slowly, the weight of the announcement still settling over them all. As Jake moved through the crowd, congratulatory slaps on his back barely registered. His eyes found Nicky’s across the room, and the smug, almost taunting smile on his face made Jake’s blood boil. Nicky wasn’t looking at Madcap. To him, this was a showdown between him and Jake, and he looked eager for a fight.

When the room was nearly empty, Jake pushed through the lingering members to reach Ace, barely holding back his frustration.

“What the hell are you thinking, Ace?” Jake’s voice was low, laced with barely restrained anger. “Nicky? Really?”

Ace glanced around, ensuring no one could hear them, his face impassive as he met Jake’s glare. “It wasn’t just up to me, Jake,” he replied, his tone flat, unyielding. “And Nicky’s been doing good work. You can’t let personal grievances cloud your judgment.”

Jake let out a harsh breath, following as Ace turned toward the door, unwilling to let this go. “This isn’t about personal fucking grievances, Ace. Nicky as president? He’ll drive this club straight into the fucking ground.”

Ace stopped abruptly, turning to face Jake, his composure slipping for just a moment. The controlled facade cracked, and for the first time, Jake saw a flicker of real concern in Ace’s eyes.

“You think I don’t know that?” Ace’s voice was quiet but sharp. “That’s why you need to win, Jake. Nobody’s going to vote for Madcap, and we can’t let Nicky have that power.”

The gravity of Ace’s words hit Jake like a punch to the gut. He understood now—if he wanted to keep the Barbarians alive, if he wanted to prevent the club from collapsing under Nicky’s reckless leadership, he had no choice. He had to win. He had to take the throne.

But every instinct in Jake’s body screamed against it. You and the baby needed to leave Genoa, to get far away from this mess, from your mess. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped, shackled to the very legacy he’d spent years trying to escape. Yet here he was, between a rock and a hard place, knowing that if he didn’t step up, the Barbarians he’d fought so hard to protect would be lost.

As the silence settled between them, Ace placed a heavy hand on Jake’s shoulder, a quiet understanding hanging in the air like smoke. His voice softened, almost a murmur. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now—with Cherry, with the baby on the way,” he said, his words threaded with an empathy Jake hadn’t expected. “And I can’t force you to make any decision. But whatever choice you do make, Jake… make it wisely.”

Jake nodded, the weight of his reality settling like stones in his chest. This choice was no longer just about him; it was a delicate balance, a life on the razor’s edge. Whatever decision he made would be a turning point, and he felt the gravity of it pulling at him, hard.

Ace sighed, breaking the heavy quiet with a question that came out as half a chuckle. “You staying for a drink?”

“Nah, man,” Jake shook his head, the words coming out more like a sigh than an answer. “I need to get home to Cherry.” He could feel his pulse in his temples, the weight of everything piling on top of him, each decision another stone added to the load.

“Alright.” Ace’s voice was understanding, though Jake could hear the unspoken sentiment lingering underneath. He watched Jake for a moment, a look of resigned respect crossing his face, as if they both knew this would be the last quiet moment between them for a long while.

With a final nod, Jake turned and made his way to the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. As he slipped out of the meeting room, he paused for a breath, taking in the cold night air. The stars overhead were distant, indifferent, a sharp contrast to the storm of choices raging in his mind. He fished his keys from his pocket, a familiar weight in his palm that suddenly felt foreign.

He climbed onto his bike, the engine rumbling to life beneath him. The ride home stretched before him, dark and winding, but somehow, heading back to you felt like the only solid ground he had left. He tightened his grip on the handlebars, the cold steel grounding him as he revved the engine and took off, the roar of his bike cutting through the silence.

The road blurred past, but his thoughts were razor-sharp, tracing the edges of what his life would look like if he went through with this. The choice between keeping the club afloat or walking away. Between the loyalty he felt to his brothers and the future he wanted to build with you. The words he’d spoken to Bobby echoed in his mind, the weight of their truth only sinking deeper.

By the time he reached the house, the heaviness in his chest hadn’t lifted, but he knew one thing for sure: he needed to see you, to feel your presence next to him. As he parked the bike and stepped toward the front door, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He could make the hard choices, he could carry the weight. But as he crossed the threshold and saw you waiting for him, a small, weary smile touched his lips—because for now, he could let it go, even if just for a moment.

You heard Jake before you saw him, the slow, labored thud of his boots on the floorboards sending a small wave of relief through you. By the time you’d have been able to sit yourself up on the couch, he was already there, standing in front of you.

The sight of him—even with the weariness in his eyes, the weight he carried so clearly visible on his shoulders—eased the anxious buzz that had crept over you in his absence. You felt a smile pull at your lips as he let out a tired sigh and plopped down beside you, leaning back into the cushions.

“Hey, baby,” you greeted him softly, your hand reaching instinctively for his. His answering smile was faint, tinged with a heaviness that made your heart ache a little, knowing whatever was on his mind was eating at him. He settled his gaze on you, quiet for a beat, his eyes flickering with something unspoken.

Without a word, his hand drifted to your belly, fingers tracing gentle circles over your bump as he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your cheekbone. “Hey, Cherry.”

You placed your hand over his, a silent reassurance, feeling the tension in him through his touch. His eyes were on your belly now, distant, like he was a thousand miles away and struggling to bring himself back.

“Long day?” you asked, keeping your voice light, though you knew there was a weight to his answer.

He exhaled, his breath stirring your hair as he nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered, “long day.” His jaw tightened as he fell silent again, letting the quiet settle between you like a fragile truce.

Before he could disappear too far into his thoughts, he pulled back and gave you a soft, almost boyish smile, the kind he saved for moments when he needed to mask what was haunting him. “Really, I just missed my girls.”

Your smile grew, welcoming the change in his tone. “You know,” you teased, brushing your hand over his, “we still haven’t picked out a name for her yet.”

A thoughtful look crossed his face, his brow furrowing slightly as he went quiet. He seemed to be weighing something, sifting through thoughts and memories before he finally looked up, a quiet certainty softening his gaze.

“What about Lorelei?”

You repeated it in your head, letting the name linger in your mind before you nodded, your smile widening. “Lorelei Kiszka,” you murmured, testing it aloud, savoring the way it felt. “I like it. Where’d you come up with that?”

Jake shrugged, a flicker of a grin lighting his face. “Just sounded right, honestly.”

“Most people don’t hit a home run on the first try.”

He smirked, nudging you lightly. “You’re talking to me here,” he joked, and you playfully shoved him, the ease of the moment lightening the air around you.

“Lorelei,” you repeated, savoring the name, and he leaned forward, glancing down at your stomach with a softened gaze.

“Lorelei,” he murmured again, almost like a promise. “What do you think, little one?”

A stillness followed, just long enough for anticipation to build before a sudden kick answered him, strong and certain beneath his hand. You winced slightly at the force, but the joy in his face, the wonder in his eyes, made any discomfort worth it.

“I think she likes it,” you giggled, and his hand remained over the spot, feeling the connection, the reality of his family, sink in.

Alright, I’m claiming victory on picking the name first try,” he joked, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t let it go to your head, tough guy,” you teased back, but your own smile was radiant, bright with hope. Despite everything that lay outside these walls, you could still see a future with him—a future that felt as solid as the warmth of his hand in yours.

“You mind if I clean up a bit?” he asked, his voice softened with the same quiet warmth. You nodded, watching him as he headed down the hall, feeling a fresh wave of gratitude wash over you. Even as you watched him disappear into the bathroom, the sound of the running water was a reminder of his presence, grounding you.

A short while later, he returned, his hair damp, the scent of soap mingling with the familiar leather and smoke that seemed to cling to him. He settled back beside you on the couch, sliding one arm around your shoulders as he tugged you close, and you felt yourself melt into his embrace.

“Movie?” he asked, reaching for the remote.

“Yeah, let’s see what’s on,” you agreed, curling up against him as he scrolled through the channels. You finally settled on an old favorite, Forrest Gump, something lighthearted and familiar, a film you’d seen a dozen times before.

Jake leaned back, his gaze on the screen, but it was clear his thoughts were drifting. As the scenes flickered by, he kept getting pulled back into the maelstrom in his mind. The weight of the upcoming vote settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. He hadn’t told you much about it, not wanting to add to your worries, but the reality of it was gnawing at him. He knew it was likely he’d win, especially with Ace pushing him forward. If he took on the role, he’d have an army behind him, resources, the protection he might need to secure a safe future here for you and Lorelei.

But as he felt the warmth of your body nestled against his, saw your growing belly rise and fall with each breath, he knew that wasn’t enough. You and Lorelei deserved better than the chaos Genoa brought. Yet, a part of him couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe this was why he’d been drawn back, maybe there was a way to finally do right by the club, make it something less corrosive, less of a trap for the men he’d grown up alongside.

Just as his mind began to wander deeper, he glanced over at you. You had fallen asleep, head resting on his shoulder, your breathing soft and even. The innocence of that moment pulled him back to the present, grounding him in the reason he’d been questioning everything. His thumb gently traced your knuckles as he watched you sleep, realizing how fragile and precious this calm was in a life that had known so little of it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him from his reverie. Careful not to disturb you, he pulled it out and read the message from Ace:

“Everything’s in place for the last drop with the EDS. Saturday, 9 p.m.”

Jake let out a long breath, the weight of the message settling over him. It was almost over. If all went smoothly, he could start carving out a real future for the three of you. But if he knew anything, it was that nothing in this life ever went as planned.

He tucked his phone away, his arm still wrapped around you as he glanced back at the screen, not really seeing it. His hand found its way back to your stomach, resting there protectively, as if he could shield you from the uncertainty that lay ahead.

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