The Prez's Tin Secret

The night my brother died in a club shootout, Asa Mitchell carried him out of the warehouse and then held me until I stopped shaking. Nine months later, I had a daughter with his smile and I never told him. He'd just been named president. I thought grief wasn't something he could afford. Eight years later, I drove back to the Tin Men compound with our daughter in the back seat. He didn't yell. He just put his hand on the counter and asked how old she was. Then he asked why. I had to tell him the truth — I was afraid a grieving president couldn't survive knowing what he'd lost. He said he'd been surviving by not feeling, and we were the first thing that made him want to. The club wants him married to its future. He chose us. Now we're building a charter that looks like a family and a family that rides like a charter.