I shake my head, a sick feeling in my stomach. I don’t want her to come back. I can’t do another round of whispering through walls, pretending nothing happened, acting like we’re sisters instead of two broken girls circling the same man. I need her gone so I can finally breathe.
That’s when I know what I have to do. I grab a pen and find the old notepad I keep by the fridge. The words come fast, raw and shaky.
Marcy—
I hope you’re happy with your choices. I mean it. I hope you get everything you wanted and more. I can’t keep living in thisapartment waiting for the next time you come home with guilt in your eyes and Jinn’s name on your lips. I’m done. I’m leaving you the place. Don’t bother calling—I need a clean break. Take care of yourself. Try not to let him ruin you the way he ruined me.
By the time I finish, my hands are shaking. But the relief is real. I fold the letter and leave it on the kitchen counter, heart pounding.
I grab a duffel, stuff it with everything I care about, and make a list in my head of what’s still at the clubhouse—books, some clothes, maybe my grandmother’s necklace in the drawer by the bar. I’ll go back just long enough to grab what’s mine, drop the letter, and leave for good. No more looking over my shoulder. No more waiting for someone to pick me.
I park a block away, nerves jangling, then hike up to the clubhouse with my duffel bag banging my hip. The lot’s scattered with bikes, a few trucks, puddles shining in the ruts. The place looks the same as ever—grim, battered, smelling like oil, cigarettes, and something wild underneath.
Inside, the lights are low. A few men I barely know are hunched over a pool table, eyes tracking me as I cross the room. Whale is behind the bar, his bulk impossible to miss, watching with that steady, unreadable stare.
“Didn’t expect to see you, Carrie,” he calls as I move toward the old storage room.
“Just here for my stuff.” My voice is steady, even though my stomach’s in knots.
He wipes his hands on a bar rag and steps out, blocking my path. “You hear from Jinn?”
My jaw tightens. “No. Not since yesterday.”
“JC, Blade, Wrecker?” His tone is too casual, eyes sharp beneath his brow. “None of them around. You know where they are?”
I shake my head, keeping my face as blank as I can manage. “I really don’t. I haven’t seen any of them.”
Whale narrows his eyes. “Funny, you always seemed to know more than you let on.”
I shrug, swallowing hard. “Not this time.”
There’s a long pause, tension settling in my shoulders. Whale stares a little longer, trying to decide if I’m lying. I don’t flinch. I just hug my bag tighter and edge around him, desperate to get my things, desperate to get out before the rest of the world comes crashing down.
I can feel his eyes on my back as I move down the hallway, heart hammering. Just a little longer, I promise myself. Then I’ll be done with this place—and everyone in it—for good.
I head upstairs, shoulders tight, my bag bumping against my leg with every step. The hallway smells like old cologne and wood polish, a familiar ache in my chest. Every footfall echoes with memories I’d rather leave behind—Jinn’s voice cutting me down, that last fight still raw and ugly, the shame burning long after I walked out.
The house is quieter than I expected. I half brace for Marcy’s laughter or the heavy stomp of Jinn’s boots, but it’s just me and the hum of the fridge downstairs. Whale said the other guys are gone too. Are they really still holed up in that outbuilding where I left them?
I head straight for Jinn’s room first. The bed’s a mess—covers half off, a tangle of clothes and the familiar scatter of his things. I move quietly, gathering what’s mine: a sweater draped over his chair, my favorite lip balm from the bedside table, the battered diary I always kept tucked under his pillow for when I couldn’t sleep. Each item feels strange in my hands now, heavy with memories I don’t want but can’t let go of yet.
I keep my eyes away from the mirror, from the reflection that might show me someone who stayed too long. My fingers shakea little as I close my bag, but I don’t rush. I want to do this right. One last sweep, one last goodbye, and I’m done.
On my way downstairs, I slow by a door left ajar—Nico’s room. I pause, knock lightly out of habit, half expecting him to answer even though Whale already told me the place is empty. There’s only silence.
I spot something on the nightstand—a photo folded in half, edges soft from being handled too much. Curiosity wins, and I pick it up. It’s a picture of Jinn and me, a blurry moment from a better summer, arms tangled, smiling wide. But someone—maybe Nico—has folded it so only my face shows, my smile shining alone from that slice of paper.
A strange lump rises in my throat. I stare at the photo, thumb rubbing the crease. For a second, I wish I could go back to being that girl—before the heartbreak, before the secrets, before everything twisted itself up. But that girl’s gone, and the woman holding the picture is done letting other people tell her what she’s worth.
As I make my way down the stairs, bag slung over my shoulder and the photo crumpled in my fist, a flicker of movement at the window catches my eye. I pause, half-hidden behind the faded curtain, heart thudding for no reason I can name yet.
Outside, the parking lot is suddenly alive—men pouring out of black SUVs and unmarked trucks, boots pounding the gravel, weapons drawn. The gold of the late sun glints off something bold and blocky stenciled across their vests: ATF.
My breath snags. It’s not just a few. It’s a swarm. Dozens, maybe more, fanning out with hard faces and hard voices. They move like they’ve practiced this a hundred times before.
Panic hits me cold and sudden. My mind scrambles—what the hell?I freeze on the step, clutching my bag to my chest, not sure if I should run, hide, or just sink to the floor and pray.
Then it starts—the shouts echoing up from downstairs, thundering through the house.
