Sin leads the way through the clubhouse, his stride measured and controlled. I’m sandwiched between him and Ghost, with Nitro bringing up the rear. The brothers we pass don’t say anything, but I feel their stares burning into my back. Judging me. Waiting to see what their president will do with the traitor in their midst.
The Chapel doors are heavy oak, scarred and aged. Sin pushes them open, and they swing inward with an ominous creak that makes my skin prickle. The room beyond is all dark wooden walls with a muted undertone, dim lighting that throws soft shadows across everything, and leather upholstery that gleams under the low glow. In the center sits their converted poker table, it’s a work of art, the kind of table that makes you want to sit back and pour a drink while the world burns outside. But I know better. This isn’t a place for unwinding. This is where they make their decisions, where they plan their moves, where they decide who lives and who dies.
Leather chairs surround the table, each one worn smooth from years of use, and for a second, I can almost see the ghosts of every meeting that’s happened here—every deal, every betrayal.
The door closes behind us with a finality that echoes in my bones.
Sin takes his place at the head of the table, the president’s chair. Even sitting, he radiates power, and those heterochromatic eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me want to look away.
But I don’t.
I can’t show weakness now.
“Sit.” He gestures to the chair across from him.
I lower myself into it, my legs grateful for the support. Ghost and Nitro flank me on either side, caging me in. My hands shake in my lap, so I curl them into fists, nails biting into my palms. The pain somehow helps me focus.
“Ghost,” Sin says, his tone conversational but edged with steel. “Tell meexactlywhat you found.”
Ghost pulls out his phone, and my stomach lurches as he swipes through the security footage. “This was from yesterday. While we were out on the toy run. While Elizabeth had hermigraine.” He turns the screen so Sin and Nitro can view the footage. “She waited until we were all gone, then used the code she memorized to get into my den.”
I watch their faces as they view my betrayal in high definition. I’m punching in the code. Slipping inside. Riffling through files. Trying to access the computer.
Looking for anything on Marcus Delaney.
Nitro explodes first.“Fuck!”His fist slams down on the table, making me flinch. “Itoldyou bringing her here was a bad fucking idea. I said this would happen.” He jumps to his feet, pacing like a caged animal. “I fuckingtoldyou, Pres! But nooo, you wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, wanted to show her we’re not the bad guys. Well, look how that’s turned out.”
The words hit like physical blows. My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. But underneath the fear, anger starts to kindle. Hot and bright and dangerous.
“So, thereismore to the story?” The words burst out before I can stop them. “Youdohave something to hide?” Three sets of eyes snap to me. “Because that’s what this looks like.” My voice gains strength even as my hands tremble. “You drag me in here, lock the doors, and lose your damn minds overmelooking forinformation. If you’ve got nothing to hide, then why the fuck does it matter?”
Sin leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight. “There you go being judgmental again, wildcat.” His voice is quiet, but it cuts deeper than Nitro’s rage. “Before you even know the truth. You’d think by now you’d understand that with us, there are two sides to everyfuckingstory.” The disappointment in his tone slices through my defenses.
Because he’s right.
I’ve been so focused on finding evidence against them that I never stopped to consider they might be protecting something else entirely.
“Thentell me the truth,”I challenge, meeting his gaze head-on. “If therearetwo sides, show me yours.”
“Why the hell were you looking into Marcus Delaney, Elizabeth?” Ghost’s question cuts through the tension. “His name was in your search history on my computer. And you admitted it. What is it about our prospect that’s got you rattled?”
My mind races.Do I lie? Do I deflect? Or do I give them just enough truth to satisfy their suspicion without revealing everything?
“Because his story just doesn’t add up,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’m an investigative journalist. That’s what I do… I find the stories that don’t make sense, and I dig until they do. Marcus Delaney’s death was ruled a motorcycle accident, but when I started researching this club, his name kept coming up. A prospect who died under suspicious circumstances right before he was supposed to be patched in. But there was no record of a motorcycle accident that day. There was no autopsy report.” I lean forward. “The pieces don’t fit. And when pieces don’t fit, there’s usually a reason why?”
“Jesus Christ,” Nitro mutters, still pacing. “This isexactlywhat we didn’t need.”
“Why do you care so much about some dead prospect?” Sin’s eyes narrow, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “What’s your angle here, Elizabeth?”
I have to be careful.
Sofuckingcareful.
“Because if something happened to him that the club covered up,that’sthe story.That’swhat people want to know about, not just the parties and the brotherhood and the bikes. They want to know whatreallygoes on behind these closed doors. And a suspicious death?That’sthe kind of thing that makes or breaks a feature piece.”
It’s not entirely a lie.
But it’s not the whole truth either.
