The frame wobbles as I blink against the sting in my eyes. Behind her, Vincent leans closer, his head bowed over both of them, and Cast’s reflection catches faintly in the hospital glass, arms folded, smiling like a man who’s seen too much and finally understands peace.
In the glow of it, Willow looks up at me, at all of us, her voice the gentlest thing I’ve ever heard. “He’s perfect.”
But I look at Vincent and Cast, because sure he’s perfect but only because half of him is her, and she is perfect in every little way.
Thank you for spending Christmas withWillow and her men
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~ Love and chaos
Sophie
If you haven’t read Jasmines book get to it now Ruthless Raiders.
Here is a sneak peek…
Landon
They buried my sister in Potter’s Field—the graveyard of the forgotten, where the world sends its nameless dead, as if no oneever loved them. My sister, the brightest light in my life since I was four, died alone on the side of a road two counties away. They laid her to rest as a Jane Doe, like she’d never mattered to anyone.
I stand at the edge of Potter’s Field, rancid air thick with flies, smoking a joint as if I might somehow spot her in the emptiness.
The land stretches out, wide and unkind—dirt packed hard, grass sparse and brittle. Wooden stakes lean crooked under the sun, nameless markers rotting into the ground. No headstones. No flowers. Just row after row of the disappeared.
I scan each hollow dip in the soil like it might open up and give her back to me. But they all look the same. Hollow. Abandoned. Loveless.
“Been out here for hours, man,” Isaiah murmurs behind me. “We don’t know when, or where they buried her.”
I turn around and narrow my eyes on Isaiah. His moss green hair covers his eyes as he stares off into the distance, not making eye contact with me.
He sighs, his shoulders concaving into his chest a bit. “It happens to the best of us.”
I suck in a sharp breath and lock my gaze on the silver piercings lining the curve of his ear like stars in a constellation. “I want out, Zay.”
“There is noout,Lan.” He doesn’t even look at me—just shifts his weight and shoves his fists deeper into his hoodie pockets like he’s digging himself into the ground.
Isaiah Cross. Best friends with Xavier—the next in line to head the Raiders—and his half-brother on their mother’s side. Isaiah was born into this shit the moment his father croaked and he turned up at the Raiders’ house at thirteen looking for his mother, who claimed Isaiah was a stillbirth. That whole scene was a shitshow. Let’s just say Mom’s no longer around, and Isaiah’s got the scars to prove he wasn’t exactly welcomed home.But none of that matters to the current head, Marcus, who is full blooded brothers with Xavier and would have killed Isaiah years ago if it wasn't for Xavier constantly putting his neck on the line for him.
Regardless, all that means is ifhesays there’s no out, then there’s no out. Period.
But I snort anyway, more venom than humor in the sound.
“Bullshit,” I say, voice sharp as I pass him the joint and exhale a long stream of smoke into the bleeding orange sky. The Raiders are the largest motorcycle gang in the South, with their Texas chapter reigning as the nerve center of the entire operation. They're not just muscle—they're enforcers, executioners, and street-level kings with deep ties to the Italian Mafia.
If the Mafia is the brain, the Raiders are the fist. And when that fist swings, it breaks bones. Crossing them means crossing Italy—and no one’s reckless enough to do that.
No one, except the Cartel.
Zay smiles, just barely—his lips quirk crooked and cold. He flicks the ash, eyes unreadable, and lifts the blunt to his mouth. “If you want out,” he murmurs, slow and deliberate, “I’ll give you out.”
“I thought you said there was no out.”
“There’s not.” He nods, lips curling around the words. “The out is death, Landon.” He holds the joint between his fingers like a loaded gun and points with his chin. “I’ll bury you right over there. Shallow grave. Save us both the trouble later.”
