I hear the knock on my door just as I've turned off the stove, wiping my hands down. I take a peek outside the kitchen window to make sure it's who I think it is before heading down the hallway to open the door. I barely swing it open before Asher pokes his head in.

"This is where you live, huh?" He shoulders past me without so much as a hello and I roll my eyes, shutting the door behind me and following him inside. He pauses in the middle of the hallway where both the living room and kitchen are in sight and he looks around. "I see it. Plain and simple."

"Thanks for your approval," I deadpan and head inside the kitchen. I can hear him following closely behind.

"I'm still not used to you talking. It's fucking crazy, you realize that? I couldn't sleep last night thinking about it."

"How sweet," I side glance him. "Aria know you fantasize about me every night?"

"Fuck you. I think I liked you better mute."

"I get that a lot."

"So, who knows so far?" He hops up on the island while I take plates out of the cabinet.

"Melanie, you, and Coach."

"Where is the she-devil, by the way?"

"Work," I pile Chow Mein onto his plate and hand it to him. "Forks are in the second drawer."

"You cook?" I hear the disbelief in his tone and turn around to find his face equally incredulous.

"Food, Asher. Everyone needs it. Even me."

He scowls and I turn away again to hide my smirk. Now I know why Melanie is always pissing him off on purpose. It's way too entertaining. "I just meant this looks really good. The experience is obvious."

Grabbing his fork for him I decide to give him a break. I lean back against the fridge as he digs in, stuffing his mouth unceremoniously. Fucker eats like a madman. "Used to cook for my grandfather and I. He was hopeless in the kitchen and I was a growing boy so I had to figure it out. I enjoy it now."

"Was?" His chewing slows.

"Passed away four years ago," I confirm.

Asher blinks and sets his place down. "How come you never told us, man? Maybe if it was when you first joined Fighter's Den, sure, but we were all pretty tight even four years ago. We would have came to the funeral and been there for you."

"If I was the Wolfe I am now, yeah I would have told you guys. But four years ago...you guys never really knew me. You're my boys but we all had our secrets. Shit wasn't the same."

"Guess that's true," He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Do you feel like we didn't try hard enough to get to know you? Because Lenny cracked you in months and you've known us for six years. That's on us, huh?"

"No," I shift a little uncomfortably. "That was definitely on me. I didn't want anyone to know me and I didn't want to know anyone. You can't lose people if you don't even have them right? But I'm working on that."

"No kidding," He clears his throat and both of us stuff into our plates, momentarily ignoring each other. That got a little too soft. I'm grateful when Asher changes the subject. "Cameron's never going to leave you alone once he finds out. You know that, right?"

"Don't remind me," I mutter. I can only imagine the kind of chaos he's going to cause in my wake. "I'm prolonging it as long as possible."

"Have any idea when you want to give it a shot with the rest of the guys?"

"I'll do it when it's necessary. Right now I'm trying to get used to talking to someone other than Mel, so I want to take my time."

"Mel," He smirks. "I was wondering why she started going by Melanie again. Figures it was your doing."

I shrug. "My talking was her doing too. That's how we work."

"And? What kind of work did you do last night?"

I glance up, unamused at the boastful look on his face. It slips away all to easily when I toss a carrot right into his eye. "I'm not discussing my sex life with you, asshole."

"Your sex life started because of my advice. You're a selfish piece of work, Emerson."

"Suck my dick, Pryce."

He sniggers, hopping off the island to grab himself a glass of water. As it fills up he looks at me over his shoulder. "Got to say, it's pretty fun shooting the shit with you. Never thought it'd happen."

"You and me both," I agree. I've never really had friends in my lifetime. My only friend was Gramps and when he died I didn't have anyone. The guys and Coach were there but it wasn't the same. Not until Melanie. And now, talking and hanging out with Asher, it is pretty fun. I can see what I've been missing out on by staying away from the gang all these years. I didn't have to be alone but I chose to be. I owe it to myself now to undo that.

Both Asher and I look up at the sound of knocking. We share a grim look before I head down the hallway to my front door. Time for fun is over. Coach is leaning against the doorway when I let him inside and he nods at me, going straight for the kitchen. "Smells good. What're we eating?"

"Help yourself," I gesture a hand out and follow him.

"Pryce," Coach acknowledges in a clipped tone. He's still royally pissed at the both of us.

"Coach," Asher grimaces. He points at the pan. "Have some. I helped."

"No, he didn't," I counter immediately and Asher glares. I fight my smile and look at Coach. "He's being a kiss-ass."

"I know," Coach piles some food onto a plate. "Pryce couldn't make ice if you asked him to."

"Why the fuck am I being ganged up on? Emerson is the one who's caught up in this shit!"

"And you've suspected it for two weeks. You almost died less than a year ago and you're telling me you still haven't learned your fucking lesson?"

"Well," Asher sputters, clearly at a loss. He looks to me for help and I put my hands up because there's nothing we could do or say to get off the hook. "But you've known since the very beginning. Why didn't you confront either of us right away?"

"Because I gave you the opportunity to be the men I taught you to be." He slams his plate down and Asher and I flinch. "Have I not shown you how to be accountable and not make stupid fucking decisions? I didn't raise you fuckers this way. I waited for you to do the right thing at whatever cost. What the hell is the matter with you assholes, playing with your lives like this? I lost Cage's brother and now the rest of you want to follow because apparently I haven't had enough, right? I haven't lost enough people in my life so my students, my fucking sons, want to carelessly add themselves to the list. Is that it?"

Christ. Asher and I look down at the floor with obvious guilt and regret. There's no denying Coach has stuck his neck out to help every single one of us and hasn't been able to catch a break in years.

"I'm tired," He continues. I still can't meet his eyes but the anger in his voice is unmistakable. "You morons only think about yourselves. That's your problem. You make stupid decisions, in secret no less, and tell yourself it doesn't matter what happens to you. Who cares, yeah? Start thinking about the people you're going to leave behind when you pull shit like this. Think about the people that care for you and won't know what the fuck to do with themselves if something happens to you assholes. And yeah, I'm talking about myself here. I lose one of you, I lose my goddamn mind. Stop being selfish. I've had enough."

"Yes sir," Asher and I say quietly. We take a grim glance at each other and understanding passes between us. No more of this shit. We have to stop and get our lives together. All of us.

"I'm getting too old for this," Coach groans and stabs his fork into the noodles, shovelling some in his mouth. He chews while glaring at us and we shift uncomfortably. Then Coach looks at me. "This is fucking delicious, Emerson."

I blink. That was a sudden change of pace but I'll take it. "Thank you, sir."

Coach swings his gaze to Asher, dry and cool. "Good job helping."

Asher coughs into his fist at that to hide an obvious smile. We both know what Coach is doing. He's calling a silent truce between all of us and we know the worst of it is over. He sets his plate down and then we're back to business.

"First things first," He looks right at me. "You've been going at this the wrong way. I'd expect you to be smarter, Emerson."

"Thanks," I mutter, partially offended. Coach doesn't sugarcoat shit. "How so?"

"Tell me about that night again."

"What's to tell? Kane had a vendetta against my father for locking up his serial killer buddy and killed him and my mother. End of story."

"Wrong," Coach clucks his tongue. "Try again."

"What are you talking about?" I pull in a calming breath. My parents are a sore spot for me and Coach is pushing my damn buttons. "I remember that night exactly the way it happened. I've lived it over and over again in my mind. I was right in the middle of it. How can you tell me I'm wrong?"

Coach isn't the least bit deterred at my demanding tone. He takes a seat on one of the island stools and motions for me and Asher to do the same. We glance at each other warily but follow suit. Coach props his chin on his knuckles, studying us. "Did you know that the more you revisit a memory, the greater chance you have of rewriting it or manipulating it?"

What the hell? I raise a confused brow.

"That question wasn't rhetorical," Coach clarifies when neither of us say anything. "Did you know that?"

"No?" Asher draws the word out like a guess.

"Of course not," Coach deadpans. "And that's exactly how your worst memories control you. You obsess over that worst moment of your life constantly, and the hatred you have towards it makes you change little details that make it worse and worse over time, and you don't even realizing you're manipulating that memory. That's how people never get over shit. The more they remember what hurt them, the worse they make it in their heads until it kills them."

"What are you saying?" I say in a low voice. "What happened to me wasn't as bad as I think?"

"Cool your head, boy." Coach commands and I look down again. "I'm saying there's a chance you don't remember that night exactly as it happened and even the smallest detail your mind changed is the reason you can't find Kane."

"Like what?"

"Go back to that day. What did you hear Kane say to your father before he shot him?"

Christ. Like I want to remember that. I ignore the way my stomach clenches and think back to the conversation I heard from upstairs in the closet. "You got my boy thrown in jail and now he's dead."

"His boy," Coach repeats.

"Yeah, the serial killer."

"You sure about that?"

I blink and sit up a little straighter. What? Where is he going with this? "Well, yes."

Coach taps a finger on the counter with each word he says, repeating the sentence slowly. "'You got my boy thrown in jail and now he's dead.' Do you know the serial killer's name that your father locked up?"

I strain my memory for it. I must have read it somewhere, I think. "Todd Gentry. I'm pretty sure."

"Yeah," Coach confirms. He opens up something on his phone and slides it over to me. I look at the screen and it's an article about how Gentry was denied his parole in court and that he's facing life permanently.

"Okay?" I'm still not following.

"Look at the date, boy."

My eyes shift to the top of the article. It's dated a little over a year ago. Holy shit.

"He's alive," I finally catch on. "Gentry is still alive."

"And Kane told your father his boy was killed in jail. Which means?"

"Gentry isn't who Kane was talking about."

"Holy shit," Asher mutters. He leans forward to take a look at the screen, eyes jumping up to mine. "So all this time you've been pursuing the wrong lead."

"Fuck," I whisper. I can't believe I didn't realize this. All this time I've been heading away from Kane instead of towards him. One small detail is the reason I've failed so miserably. Just one small detail. "Fuck!"

"Keep it together," Coach says firmly. "It happens. You were only a kid when that conversation took place. Cut yourself some slack here. Fucking sucks, I get it, but it's time to move on. We caught your mistake and now it's Kane we're going to catch."

"How?" I tug at my hair in frustration. "Gentry was my main lead. He's out of the picture so who the hell am I going to pursue to find Kane?"

"You're not thinking clearly, Emerson. Gentry wasn't directly related to Kane but he's still relevant. I figured there had to be some kind of relation because Kane came into your hometown only a couple of weeks after Gentry got locked up. Why? So I looked into it, opened cases to see if anyone died in jail shortly after Gentry was incarcerated. Only one name popped up — Brody Sims. Died a week after Gentry was arrested."

"How?" My mind is trying to process all this new information as fast as I can.

"Gentry killed Sims," Coach shrugs. "Serial killers are fucking weird. Their minds work differently than ours. They go around killing people like it's sport but don't condone other crimes. Apparently Sims raped an eighteen year old boy who was locked up for petty theft so Gentry took care of it. It was to send a message — that no one was to cross him or commit heinous acts within his sector. He runs a tight ship even locked up."

"Jesus," Asher looks pale in the face. I don't blame him. I'm about to be sick myself.

"So Kane must have found out that Sims was killed in jail," I guess.

Coach nods. "Exactly. Figured out it was Gentry who killed him but how could he take revenge on someone who was locked up? So the next best thing was to target whoever locked up Gentry. Your father. Probably thought Sims would be alive if your father hadn't arrested Gentry."

"But I still don't understand. Kane said my father got his boy locked up. So my father arrested Sims, too?"

"No. I looked at Sims' incarceration report. Another officer arrested him so my best guess is Kane said your father was the lead cop to throw everyone off. Everyone would pursue your father's arrest records and automatically assume Kane was Gentry's boy. That way no one would associate him and Sims and he could go completely ghost, head in the direction no one was looking. It was a smart move."

"And worked on me," I realize bitterly. "I didn't even know about Sims. Sims would have lead me right to Kane if I had."

"Like I said, he's smarter than we anticipated. But at least we have the right lead now."

"But Sims is dead. What good is he?"

"He may be dead but his records are all intact," Coach reminds me. "I met with Dante and he got a hold of Sims' personnel file. Don't know how, don't care, but it has everything we need. Who Sims worked with, what he's been arrested for, his past cell mates, everything. Kane has to be in one of the reports."

"He could be going by a different name," I point out. "I haven't heard of him in years and I'm constantly checking to see if he's resurfaced."

"That's where you come in. Pryce and I will look through the records because there's a shit ton of information. Once we find something on Kane, even a last name or a date of birth, you input that into the tracking database and find him. You can still do this, Emerson. You just need the right information."

"Could take a while," I sigh in frustration. "Tracking is too vast. Sometimes you find who you're looking for in minutes, sometimes months."

"Depends on how much information you have to work with. You told me about that night a couple of times now. Kane's friends ducked out on him before the job was done right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"That means they're pussies. Make stupid decisions but are essentially harmless. I've asked Dante's right hand man to track them down and make them talk. That should speed up the process."

"Damn, Coach." Asher whistles. "You're...crazy good at this."

"Spent decades of my life doing this. I was the best the South Bloods had ever seen. Tracked people down, did business, made them pay." He looks away for a moment, eyes dimming. "Killed too many."

Hell. I always suspected Coach had done some pretty dark shit in his days but it's something else entirely to hear him admit to it. It's hard to stomach. I can't imagine Coach going around killing people but that's who he once was.

"That's why I don't want you boys anywhere near this shit," He continues quietly. "You're taking it too lightly. Working with a gang isn't about shits and giggles. You get sucked in before you realize what's happening and some of us are lucky to make it out alive but never with our soul intact. It happened to me and I'll be damned if it happens to you. This is the last I hear of anyone coming near the South Bloods or any gang for that matter. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Asher and I respond grimly.

"Good," He sighs and looks at me. "Lenny know about what you're doing?"

"Yes," I admit. "I tried to keep it secret but she wouldn't let me."

His lips twitch for a moment. "Can't say that surprises me. But it does mean she's in danger if Kane or his men catch on to what we're up to. The day we go after him, I'm placing her under Mitch's watch to make sure she's safe. Twenty-four hours and no less so we can make sure no one is going to try and retaliate."

"Oh, she'll love that," Asher snorts.

"She has no choice," Coach says evenly. "Let her know as soon as you can, Emerson. That way she has time to adjust to the idea before shit gets out of control."

I nod. Now that, I'm on board with. I knew this was going to be messy getting into it and that's why I hid it from Melanie for so long. Now she knows and the thought of her getting hurt because of me has crossed my mind one too many times. I won't let it happen under any circumstances.

"Same with you, Pryce. Aria will be with Lenny just to be on the safe side now that you're involved in this too. You two can trust Mitch to take good care of your girls. He's saved my life on many occasions."

"Damn it," Asher groans. "She's going to kill me. Can't you talk to her about it?"

"That's not fair," I scowl. "If Coach tells Aria, he tells Melanie too. I'm not interested in being castrated in my sleep."

"You two are fucking pathetic," Coach mutters, looking between us.

Asher raises a brow at him. "You think so? I'd love to see how you handle Greta when you tell her what you're going to do."

Coach visibly blanches at that. It's kind of hilarious. Of all the shit we've discussed, this is what he looks most afraid of. "Shit."

"We're all fucked," Asher rubs his temples. "Taking Kane down is the easy part. Getting through our girls? I'd rather have my throat slit open."

"Same," Coach and I mumble in agreement.

There's a few moments of silence that follow, the teasing atmosphere completely gone now. There's no more time for games. This is the real thing and it could get really ugly.

"We're going to be okay, right?" Asher asks quietly.

"We should be," Coach nods. "We're only doing the tracking. Dante will take care of the rest so yeah, we should be."

"Can we trust him?" I ask, remembering the paranoia Melanie had when I told her about everything.

"You let me worry about that," A small smirk starts to take form on Coach. "If he tries anything, it's me he'll answer to."

Jesus. Asher and I exchange equally amused looks. This should be fucking good.

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A/N

Okay, this was hands down the SICKEST chapter ever!! These three guys mean business. I really think I could write a crime or thriller story one day, haha. I feel like I'd be pretty good at it!

Anyways, so ready for shit to go down. Things are beginning to wrap up in this story and that's making me feel so bittersweet. The end of Fighter's Den?! Hold me.

Please VOTE, comment and share if you liked this chapter!

Happy Reading :)