Then another, and another.
Within seconds, the air was entirely consumed by the thunderous ground-shaking roar of 800 heavy V-twin engines revving to the red line in a synchronized mechanical symphony of absolute respect. The sound was biblical, primal, the collective heartbeat of a family welcoming one of their own.
Finn stood on the balcony flanked by Magnus and Cass looking out over his new family. He felt the heavy vibrations of the engines deep in his chest resonating through his broken ribs and into his tired soul.
For the first time in his life, Finn Mercer wasn't running. He was home.
The engines eventually quieted. The men dispersed back to their charters, their territories, their lives.
But the memory of that sound, that raw display of acceptance, stayed with Finn like a brand burned into his heart.
Doc Rafferty kept him at the compound for three more days, monitoring, making sure the concussion wasn't going to cause complications. Making sure the broken ribs were healing clean.
Making sure malnutrition hadn't done permanent damage to his organs or bones.
On the fourth day, Magnus came to him with a different kind of question. "Tell me about your parents, Finn."
They were sitting in what the club called the war room. A large space with a heavy oak table, chairs, maps on the walls.
This was where decisions got made, where strategy was planned, where the brotherhood gathered to solve problems. Just the two of them now.
Magnus on one side of the table. Finn on the other.
Finn hesitated. This wasn't information he shared easily.
Wasn't information anyone had cared about for 13 months.
"My mom died 6 years ago. Domestic violence."
"Her boyfriend beat her to death while I hid in a closet." The words came out flat, clinical, like he was reading from a police report instead of describing the worst night of his life.
"I called 911, but he ripped the phone out of the wall. I ran."
"She told me to run. When I came back, she was gone."
Magnus listened without interruption. His winter blue eyes never left Finn's face.
"Your father?"
"Never knew him. Mom said he was a good man who died before I was born."
"She never talked about him much. Just said he rode with lions and that he would have loved me."
Magnus's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his gaze. Recognition.
Calculation.
"Your mother's name, Claire?"
"Claire Mercer."
"And you've been on your own since then."
"Foster care. Three different homes."
"Last one was in Reno. Man named Lloyd Perkins."
"He believed in discipline. Hard discipline."
Finn touched his ribs unconsciously. Old bruises, old pain layered over new.
"I left 13 months ago, stole $40 and hitchhiked to Bakersfield. Been invisible ever since."
Magnus leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked under his weight.