Chapter 22

“Up next, weather with Dave Raine. Dave, it’s getting cold out there and I thought I saw a few snowflakes. What can you tell us about the rest of the night?” the newscaster said, turning to his coworker.

“Thanks, Gary. Yes, Chicagoland, it’s true—we’re looking at snow tonight, continuing into tomorrow.”

Dave turned slightly, facing the green screen. Off-camera, he glanced at the monitor showing what viewers at home were seeing. With practiced ease, he gestured to the swirling clouds on the map, ready to walk the audience through the forecast that promised to blanket Chicago in winter’s first true storm.

Dave gestured to the radar glowing behind him. “The system is coming in off the Great Lakes and specifically Lake Michigan tonight, and what that means is lake-effect snow. Heavy bands are already forming, and once they settle over the city, we’re looking at white-out conditions.”

He tapped the map where the bands streaked over Chicago. “Some neighborhoods may only get three or four inches, while others could see a foot or more by tomorrow morning—it’s that uneven and that intense. And the problem isn’t just how much snow, it’s how fast it’s going to fall. We’re talking one to two inches an hour in bursts, with gusty winds topping thirty miles per hour. That makes for blowing snow, zero visibility, and slick, ice-glazed roads.”

Dave turned back to the camera, his expression serious. “If you have to drive tonight or tomorrow, expect long delays, accidents, and closures. Salt trucks and plows won’t be able to keep up once these bands start hammering down. In fact, we’ve already had reports of spinouts on I-90 and Lake Shore Drive. The safest advice is simple—stay off the roads.”

He softened his tone, but only slightly. “We’ve been through this before, but don’t underestimate it. Temperatures are dropping into the teens, wind chills close to zero, and conditions are going to be dangerous. If you can, stay inside, stay warm, and wait for this storm to move through.”

Frank clicked the remote and shut off the news, making a snap decision. He kissed Jane and Veronica, then pulled on his heavy coat and boots.

“Where are you going at this hour?” they called from the cuddle couch, where the three of them had been snuggled together.

“I’m going to get Lisa. She shouldn’t have to drive home in this weather,” Frank said with conviction.

The women smiled, proud of his instinct to protect their pack even in the late, cold night.

Outside, the Escalade rumbled to life. Frank set it in 4-HI and pulled onto the road. The snow was spitting, not yet heavy enough to raise an alarm—until he took a turn after a red light. As he pressed the gas, the rear end of the SUV kicked loose. Quick reflexes and steady hands brought it back under control, but his pulse spiked. The roads were slicker than they looked.

He pulled into the club lot, noting the cars still scattered across the spaces. Business was good, but concern tightened his chest. His people were here, and the roads were turning dangerous.

Inside, he nodded to the doorman and was greeted by the thrum of music, dancers on stage, and clusters of men gathered near the rail.

“Hey, Frank! What brings you back?” a waitress asked, slipping her arm around his in greeting.

“Start closing up. The weather’s turning, and we’re sending everyone home.” His hand squeezed her shoulder as he moved past, letting her set the wheels in motion.

He worked his way through the crowd, speaking quietly to staff until he reached the DJ booth. When the dancer on stage finished her set, Frank stepped up, and the DJ handed him the mic.

“Everyone, this is Frank Devon. Some of you know me, many of you don’t. I was just home watching the news, and the weather’s turning dangerous. For your safety, I’m closing the club tonight.”

Heads lifted, then tilted slightly as people checked their WE feeds. Faces changed—surprise, concern—then movement. Rule 8 followers slipped into clothes, dancers escorted their customers out, and the dressing rooms filled with women pulling on boots and heavy coats.

“I know it’s sudden,” Frank continued, “but your safety matters more than anything. We’ll reopen as soon as the roads are safe. Until then, stay warm, stay safe.”

He handed the mic back and joined the cleanup. From across the room, Lisa emerged with the cash drawers. Really? she asked him through their link. Is it that bad?

He shared the memory of the sliding Escalade, the heart-pounding jolt. She stiffened, realization washing over her.

One by one, customers left. The last dancer hurried into her coat, the group pulling hoods tight as the bitter wind knifed across their faces.

When the kitchen and bar were shut down and even the laundry paused, Frank and Lisa left arm in arm. The Escalade was dusted with fresh snow. Frank opened her door, then grabbed the brush and scraper, working methodically around the truck while Lisa stamped snow from her boots and cranked the heater to full blast.

Lisa sat in the front seat, admiring her mate, safe and almost warm now that the engine had some warmth in it. He is so protective of his people, of his pack, she got a warm feeling in her chest as she watched him work.

Once he was done, he put the brush in the back seat, among the family mess of toys and clothing that seemed to pile up everywhere.

“Thank you,” Lisa said softly, pulling him close and planting a loving kiss on his chilled cheek.

“Always for you, honey,” Frank replied. He put the Escalade in gear, easing it onto the road toward home.