“With the help of the Royal Harlots MC,” I say. “Consider it one less favor I owe you.”
Sable’s jaw tightens, her lips part like she’s about to argue, then she looks off, fast, toward the black chop of the water.
“What’s that look?” I step closer.
She exhales slowly, pulling her coat tighter. “Didn’t expect you to acknowledge them.”
“That’s not what that was.” My voice goes hard. “You knew they bled for this city, same as me.”
Her gaze flicks up sharp in warning. “Careful who you tie yourself to, Cross.”
The words hang there, heavier than they should. Too pointed. Too personal. She clears her throat, straightening her coat like she didn’t just let something slip. “Serrano’s dead, but the supply lines? They’re not. Someone else stepped in already.”
My jaw clenches. “Who?”
“Cleaner. Corporate. Twice as dangerous.” Her hesitation lingers long enough to piss me off before she finally lets me in. “Isadora Vale. Serrano’s silent backer. Now she’s front and center.”
The lamppost hums, sputters, throwing shadows across her face as she goes on. “Rehab clinics. Shelters. A foundation built on contracts and charity photo ops. And underneath, a machine funnelling girls into the sex trade.”
The boards creak under me as I pace, rage crawling hot up my spine. Katana bleeding out flashes in my head, Serrano sneering as he calls me son.
“So Serrano was nothing but a pawn.”
Sable doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.
“Where is she?”
Her eyes harden. “We don’t know. Yet. But when we do, we won’t stop until we bring her down.”
I laugh, harsh and humorless. “Bring her down with what? Warrants? Subpoenas? She’ll own half the city before you finish the paperwork.”
Sable doesn’t flinch. “You do it your way, Cross. We’ll do it ours. Just don’t get in our way.”
Her calm is worse than Serrano’s threats. Because she believes it. She thinks Vale can be handled like any other criminal. I know better.
I’m halfway turned to leave when her voice cuts sharp. “One more thing.”
The wind claws at her coat, snapping the fabric around her legs. Her jaw works, teeth grinding, like she hates the words before she speaks them. “You’ve got a leak. Someone inside your circle was feeding Serrano.”
My blood ices. “Who?”
She doesn’t blink. “Riot.”
The name slams into me harder than any punch. Riot. Katana’s right hand.
“No way. No fucking way.” I grind out. “It’s gotta be a setup.”
“We have Serrano’s phone, we traced his phone calls and recent movements. The evidence points to Riot. Do what you want with it. Just don’t pretend you weren’t warned.”
The pier falls away behind me, but Sable’s words stick like splinters under my skin. My fists ache from clenching.
The drive back is a blur of dark streets and red lights I barely notice. My hand keeps twitching toward the pack of smokes on the seat, but even that won’t cut through the weight pressing down on me. Every block I get closer to the clubhouse, the tighter the knot in my chest winds.
I try to shape the words in my head. How to tell Katana that her sister in all but blood was Serrano’s eyes and ears. Nothing works. Every version feels like a betrayal before it even leaves my mouth.
I could keep it buried. Wait until I’ve got more proof. But if Sable’s right and I sit on it, that silence could cost lives. Could cost Katana. Either way I’m fucked and not in the good way.
By the time the clubhouse roofline cuts through the dawn, I know there’s no clean way. No gentle version. I either put thetruth in her hands now, bleeding and ugly, or I lie by omission and let it fester. And I’ve lied enough in my life.
