My best friend from high school. We cut class, chased girls, fought side by side. Then I left, and joined the Army, then the Royal Bastards. Life happened… ten years gone just like that.
Now I’m supposed to put a bullet in him.
The gun digs deeper as if reminding me of my duty. Placing it on the table, I picture Ty at the end of the barrel, and bile rises in my throat.
This is fucking insane.
I take another pull. My stomach churns, but I don’t stop.
Londyn laid it out. Ty didn’t just fall… he got dragged. Cartel runners. Pills. Coke. Used and tossed. Now he’s clawing his way out, feeding her intel, hoping it buys him a second chance.
Jameson doesn’t care. He hears “snitch,” and that’s all it takes. Fucking with his business is game over.
But I care. I loved Ty like a brother. Still do, even if he’s half a ghost now.
I stare at the gun. At the bottle. At the walls that watched us grow up.
There’s gotta be a way out. A way to keep my patch and keep Ty breathing.
But I know how this ends if I don’t move fast.
And if I wait too long, someone else will pull the trigger… on both of us.
SEVEN
LONDYN
The city blurspast my windshield, neon colors bouncing off the rain-slick streets. I should be focused… eyes on the road, mind on Ty, but my thoughts keep circling back to Malcolm.
This Jameson asshole put a target on my brother’s back. That’s not club hearsay. That’s a kill order. And Malcolm didn’t have to tell me. He could’ve let it happen. Could’ve stayed loyal to the patch and kept his mouth shut.
But he didn’t.
That means something. Even if I don’t know what the hell to do with it.
I grip the wheel tighter, trying to stay calm, and think rationally. Ty’s not running out of time. We’re way passed that. Like Malcolm said, he’s a dead man walking. I’ve got a list of rehab facilities outside Atlanta, but none of them come with guarantees. It sounds to me like if Jameson wants him dead, distance won’t mean shit.
I need to get him out of the city, fast.
… and I need to stop thinking about Malcolm.
It’s hard not to. He’s bigger than I remember. Broad shoulders, thick arms with ropey veins, that long beard framinga mouth that looks like it’s made for sin. Full, rough, and dangerous. When he stood close, his body heat crawled under my skin, and settled low in my core like a slow burn I wasn’t prepared for.
Then he said it… Lolo.
My childhood nickname. No one’s called me that in years. But when it came out of his mouth, all deep and gravelly, it didn’t sound so innocent. It sounded like a memory twisted into something I can’t describe.
I had a crush on him back then. The kind that made me blush when he looked my way. That was a long time ago.
Now I’m a cop and he’s a patched member of the Royal Bastards. We’re on opposite sides of the war.
And still… when he poured that bourbon, when his eyes met mine across the table, I felt it. Want, need. The kind that makes you forget your badge and remember your body. The kind that forces me to wonder what Tony and I are doing.
I curse under my breath.Get it together, Londyn.
This isn’t about him. It’s about Ty. My brother’s drowning, and I’m the only one throwing him a rope.
Malcolm’s warning proves he still cares. Maybe not about me. Maybe just about the past. But it’s enough to buy us time.
