"Only took about two bottles of whiskey before you started talking about the girl back home. The one who never knew."
Heat rises up my neck. I barely remember that night. One of my lowest after leaving Hope Peak. Drowning in nightmares from the war and heartache from walking away from Olivia.
"Yeah," I admit finally. "She's the one."
"Then handle it," Reaper says simply. "But remember what I told you when you first asked for your cut."
"Club comes first," I recite. The first rule of brotherhood.
"Club comes first," he confirms. "But family is why we fight. If she's your family, even if she doesn't know it yet, then you take care of business. Just don't bring heat back on us."
"Understood. Clean and contained."
"Good. Check in by midnight."
The call ends, and I slip the phone back into my pocket, taking a moment to clear my head. Talking to Reaper always centers me. The man has a way of cutting through the noise and focusing on what matters.
Through the window, I see Olivia watching me. Her blue eyes track my movements, filled with a mixture of worry and something else. Fear, maybe. Not of Devin this time, but of me. Of what I might do.
That cuts deeper than I want to admit.
I head back inside, finding Olivia exactly where I left her, perched on the edge of the bed like she's ready to bolt at any second.
"Everything okay?" she asks cautiously.
"Fine. Just checking in." I move to the mini-fridge, grab a bottle of water to give my hands something to do. "My president wanted an update."
"President." She tests the word. "Like a club president? Not exactly how I pictured motorcycle gangs working."
"It's not a gang," I correct automatically, though I know how it must look to her. "It's organized. Structured. There's a hierarchy, responsibilities."
"What's your responsibility?" Her question is direct, her eyes searching my face for the truth.
I consider how much to tell her. The club walks both sides of the legal line, but my specific duties aren't something I can discuss openly. Not even with her.
"I handle security," I say finally. It's not a lie, just not the whole truth. "Risk assessment. Threat neutralization."
Her eyebrows rise slightly. "That sounds... military. And vague."
"It's what I'm good at." I shrug, taking a seat at the small table, keeping my posture relaxed despite the tension building on my shoulders. "The skills transferred."
"And what does that mean for Devin?" she presses. "Are you handling his 'security risk'? Neutralizing the threat?"
I meet her gaze directly. "If that's what it takes."
She looks away first, her fingers worrying the hem of her sweater. "I just wanted to get away from him. I didn't think through what happens next."
"I know." My voice softens despite myself. "But getting away is only half the solution. You live in Hope Peak. This is your home. Your job is here. You can't spend your life looking over your shoulder, afraid of running into him at the grocery store."
"So, what's your solution? Violence?"
"If necessary."
"Tyler—"
"When's the last time he hit you, Liv?" I interrupt, needing her to face reality. "Before the eye."
She swallows hard. "Last weekend. He didn't like how I was dressed for dinner with his friends. Said I looked like I was trying to get attention."
