Blade shakes his head. “Haven’t seen him. JC might know, though.”
Almost as if summoned, JC—Jace—appears from the shadows by the doorway, his hair a little mussed, always looking like he just stepped out of a fight and didn’t bother to check the mirror.
“Carrie,” he says, his voice warm. “You looking for Jinn?”
I nod. “He said he’d be here early. I brought…well, stuff for later.” I gesture to the tote slung over my shoulder.
JC shakes his head. “He hasn’t shown yet. I tried calling him, but it just goes to voicemail. You okay?”
I nod, though I’m not sure it’s true. “Just a long day.”
He studies me for a second, like he wants to say more, then just squeezes my shoulder gently. “If he shows, I’ll send him your way. You want to wait in the back room?”
I try to hide my disappointment, glancing toward the crowd like maybe Jinn will appear if I wish hard enough. “Yeah. Maybe he’ll turn up soon.”
JC squeezes my shoulder, gentle and familiar. “He’ll show. He always does.”
I nod and give him a grateful smile, letting him guide me past the crowd and into the quieter back room—still hoping, still clinging to the idea that tonight, somehow, everything will fall into place.
2
JC
Friday night at the clubhouse is louder than usual. The air inside is thick with beer, sweat, and the heavy scent of fried food drifting from the kitchen. I lean against the wall near the back exit, arms folded, one eye on the main room and the other on my phone.
Jinn is late, and that has everyone on edge. This party was supposed to be for him, another excuse to celebrate a new deal he swore would make us rich. He said he would fill me in, told me to trust him, but he’s nowhere to be found.
Carrie is here. I spotted her the second she walked in, shoulders a little tense, still scanning the room like she’s waiting for someone to call her out. She doesn’t belong in this world, not really, but she keeps showing up anyway. I can’t figure out what Jinn is doing with her. She’s not his usual type. He likes girls who push back, who live for chaos. Carrie isn’t like that. She’s all heart, the kind who remembers your birthday and brings you coffee when she knows you had a bad night.
Not that she’s not beautiful. She is. She’s stunning, in a way that sneaks up on you if you let yourself look too long. She has the kind of curves you want to reach for, and I’ve caught myselfthinking about her more than once, especially when I know I shouldn’t. Jinn never appreciated that about her. Maybe that’s why he keeps her around, just to have something soft to come back to.
She asked about him the moment she came in. I had nothing to give her. He said he would be here early, had some big plan, new people coming into town, another one of his “this will change everything” moments. I told him to slow down, but Jinn never listens to anyone, not even me.
Blade and Wrecker are at the bar, drinking like the world is about to end. Blade keeps tapping the countertop, his knee bouncing restlessly. Wrecker barely talks, just watches everyone like he’s waiting for someone to make a mistake. The twins don’t trust the new deal Jinn is pushing, and neither do I.
Eight thirty comes and goes, and still no sign of our president. My phone stays stubbornly quiet, every minute that passes turning the knot in my stomach a little tighter.
Whale passes by, dropping his voice low so only I can hear. “Heard from him?”
I shake my head. “Not a word. He’s not picking up.”
“Maybe he’s busy with Marcy,” Whale mutters, looking toward the hallway that leads upstairs.
I don’t want to think about that rumor. It’s been going around for a while, and I hate it. Carrie doesn’t deserve that, and it makes me sick every time I see her looking hopefully at the door.
Blade slides over, his gaze flicking from me to the front entrance. “Nothing yet?”
“Nothing,” I say.
He glances at Carrie, who’s sitting alone in a corner booth, holding a Coke and tracing the rim with her finger. “She know where he is?”
“She’s waiting on him just like the rest of us.”
Blade gives a short laugh, shaking his head. “If he stands her up, he’s a bigger idiot than I thought.”
The clubhouse sits at the edge of town, a squat brick building half-hidden behind a row of battered bikes and faded flags. Out front, the porch sags under the weight of two old couches and a pair of sleeping dogs. Inside, the walls are covered with framed photos, club patches, and hand-scrawled warnings about starting trouble. The place is never quiet. There’s always laughter, raised voices, the thump of boots on the floor, and the pulse of music from battered speakers in every corner.
I walk through the main room, weaving past tables crowded with bikers and old friends. The pool table is busy, the bar is lined with empty glasses, and the kitchen door swings open and shut as someone hauls out another tray of wings. This place is home, for better or worse. I’ve been part of this club most of my life, ever since I got out of the army and Jinn offered me a spot. I needed something to believe in, somewhere I belonged. The Reapers gave me that.
