“Thank you,” she says simply. “For showing me. For telling me.”
I nod, unable to speak, then I turn and walk out of her office to head home. I leave the precinct with a new ally but heavier guilt. Each step toward my car feels weighted, like I’m carrying stones in my pockets.
I showed Sin’s picture to the police without his permission. Photographed him while he slept, vulnerable and trusting. Shared his story, his pain, his most sacred memory—all without his knowledge.
But I also found his mother.
Isn’t that worth the betrayal?
I tell myself it is, but doubt gnaws at me like a rat in the walls. The justifications I’ve been feeding myself, that I’m protecting him, that I’m helping, they ring hollow. Now I need to figure out how to tell Sin. How to explain that his mother is alive, that she’s been in Las Vegas this whole time.
That she’s the Chief Detective investigating his club.
Or maybe I shouldn’t tell him at all.
Maybe some secrets are better left buried.
The drive back to my apartment is a blur. I grip the steering wheel and try to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest. The secrets are piling up, layer upon layer, and eventually they’ll collapse. They’ll bury me, bury Sin, bury everything we’ve built.
When I finally park outside my building, I sit in the car and stare at my phone. Sin’s face looks back at me from the screen, peaceful and unaware.
I should delete the photo.
Erase the evidence of my betrayal.
But I don’t.
Because I need to remember this moment.
I need to remember the cost of the choices I’m making, the lines I’m crossing, the trust I’m violating.
I need to remember that love and duty make for terrible bedfellows.
And I’m caught between them, drowning in both.
Chapter Twenty-Six
SIN
Two Days Later
The paperwork in front of me blurs into meaningless lines of text. Numbers, invoices, legitimate business, bullshit that keeps the club running clean on the surface. I flip the poker chip between my fingers, the familiar weight grounding me as my mind drifts where it shouldn’t—to her.
Elizabeth.
She’s been different these past two days. Distant. Like she’s carrying something heavy and doesn’t know how to put it down. My instincts scream that something is coming, that the other shoe’s about to drop, but I can’t pinpoint what.
Outside the Chapel, the clubhouse hums with normal chaos. Koa and Bear’s voices drift from the garage, arguing about carburetor settings. The crack of pool balls tells me Deek and Will are wasting time at the table. Nitro’s voice cuts through, sharp, professional, as he goes over security protocols with Ghost.
Just another day.
I flip the chip again, catch it, flip it. The motion usually calms me, helps me think.
Today it does neither.
Suddenly, the door crashes open. Ghost stands in the doorway, and the look on his face makes my blood run cold. His usual calm demeanor, the one that earned him his name, is shattered. His jaw tight, his eyes hard. “Pres.” His voice cuts like a knife. “Cops are at the gate. Looks like we’re being raided.”
The chip stills between my fingers. Every cell in my body locks down, but I don’t let it show. I can’t let it show.
