She doesn’t say anything, but her hands start shaking, just a little.
I slip into the ring and sit next to her.
“You know what I do when it gets bad?” I ask. “When the past starts clawing at the inside of my skull and I can’t sleep?”
She shakes her head.
I hold up my hands. “I wrap up, I hit the bag, and I bleed the thoughts out before they bleed me.”
“I’ve been hitting the bag for hours. I’m exhausted.” Devyn leans into my side.
I’m not usually one for touching. There’s too much risk in letting someone close, too easy to lose control when you're vulnerable. But I don’t pull away. I lock it down, stay still, and let her have this. Because right now, we both need this more.
“Need a place to sleep tonight?” I ask Devyn, eventually breaking the silence.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’s stayed at the clubhouse. We keep safe rooms ready for women and kids running from bad situations, survivors we’ve pulled from something worse, even for my girls when they’ve got nowhere else to lay their heads.
She offers me a half shake of her head. “No. I’m good.”
I stand up as she does, watching her brush off her jeans like she’s wiping off more than just dust. Her eyes are clearer now, but that storm’s still behind them. It’s just tucked back where no one can reach it. I don’t push.
“Text me when you’re home,” I say.
She nods then heads for the door without another word.
The second she’s gone, the cold creeps back in. I lock the gym door, giving it a tug to check that it’s secure. Then roll myshoulders, and crack the tension out of my neck. The weight of what Devyn told me sits like lead in my gut.
Amber didn’t go to Dante on her own. Someone made her.
Quinn needs to hear this. Now.
I head toward the side door of the clubhouse. The smell of burning wood and beer fills the main room. The glow from the flames flickers along the patchwork wall of graffiti and photos. A shrine to what we’ve built, what we bled for.
I pass by Mama Ru, tucked into her usual corner chair, and give her a small nod. She’s been around longer than some of the patched members, steady as a heartbeat, fierce as a storm when she needs to be. She’s not blood, but she’s a mom to the club all the same, feeding us, patching us up, keeping us in line. She’s earned every ounce of the respect we give her.
I find Quinn in the main lounge standing near the window, watching the street like she’s waiting for trouble to knock. LC’s on the couch, her legs stretched out and Diesel curled at her feet like a silent threat. She’s sharpening a boot knife on a whetstone with slow, practiced strokes. Lolita’s behind the bar, pouring two fingers of something amber and mean. They look like they’ve already had a night of it, same as me. All three glance up when I walk in, and I don’t waste time asking about their night, if they want to tell me they will and I have my own problems on my mind.
I grab the bottle Lolita’s pouring from and fix my own shot. I swallow it down fast, the burn igniting the hissing fuse within me. “Devyn says Amber didn’t go to Dante on her own.”
Quinn’s eyes raise in question. “You sure?”
“She told Devyn someone was following her.”
Lolita raises a brow, leans on the bar. “Did she say who?”
“No. But it could have been that Matty guy.” I run a hand through my hair. “Devyn thinks he threatened her. She seemed pretty sure of it.”
LC stops sharpening her knife. Wipes the blade clean and looks up at me. “Why wouldn’t Amber say something?”
“I don’t know. Because she’s used to not being believed,” I mutter. “Because she thought maybe she could handle it. I should have seen that something was off.”
Quinn’s jaw tightens. “Maybe she thought fighting was the only way to pay off whoever was pressuring her.
“My thoughts exactly,” I say.
Lolita crosses her arms, swirling her drink lazily. “Either way she ended up in Dante’s ring and we’re supposed to believe he’s not the reason?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I admit. “But my gut’s saying we’re missing something.”
