Quinn moves away from the window and drops into the armchair nearest the fire. The flames catch the glint of the steel in her eyes.
“I don’t trust Dante,” Lolita says. “Guy moves into town and suddenly runs the biggest underground ring on the east coast. Smells like blood money.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” Quinn replies coolly. “Guilty or not, Dante’s not clean. He lets shit happen on his turf.”
I pace the floor, fury curling tight in my gut. “Amber didn’t choose this. Someone made her feel like she had no other choice.”
LC gives a quiet grunt. “Stalking one of our girls? That feels personal.”
“Feels organized,” I say, pacing. “Professional. Like someone knew who to push. Who to isolate.”
Quinn watches me. “You think this is bigger than Dante?”
“I know it is,” I tell her. “But he’s tangled in it. Either he’s feeding the machine, or he’s stuck in the gears.”
Lolita scoffs. “You're gonna give him the benefit of the doubt now?”
“No,” I snap. “I’m giving the truth a chance to show its face before I cut the wrong throat.”
Quinn taps her boot against the stone hearth. Once. Twice. Then says, “We need to pull every thread. Dig into Amber’s movements, her texts, her debts. See if this was an isolated event or if this has been going on longer.”
LC nods. “We’ve got eyes in the streets. I’ll put some pressure on them. Maybe someone’s seen this mystery man.”
“I’ll check with Riot,” Lolita adds. “Maybe she knows who Amber’s been hanging with outside class.”
Quinn’s voice drops, “And if we find out Dante was involved?”
I meet her stare, unflinching. “Then I burn his ring to the fucking ground.”
The room goes still. Only the fire crackles. Until a rumble breaks the silence. At first, I think it’s thunder by the way the windows rattle but the sky’s clear.
Every phone in the room lights up at once, buzzing, shrieking, flashing red. The security app blaring the same warning across the Royal Harlots network:
Breach Detected
Quinn catapults out of her chair before the rest of us even blink. “Something’s coming in fast.”
LC’s already reaching for her pistol on the coffee table. Diesel lifts his head and growls like the air itself just turned hostile.
I head for the window, peel back the curtain. Headlights blind me as something barrels down the road, engine screaming.
It fishtails as it hits the gravel in front of the clubhouse gate. The passenger door swings open mid-turn, and something, or someone, is shoved out onto the pavement.
“Gate!” I bark, already moving.
I’m out the door and across the lot in seconds, boots pounding over cracked asphalt. The wind hits hard, but my blood’s hotter.
The car door slams shut, tires screech, and the car peels off like hell’s chewing at its bumper.
I reach the body, my heart hammering in my chest. Amber’s small frame is crumpled just outside the fence. Torn hoodie. Blood soaked through denim and pooled beneath her on the concrete.
“Fuck,” I whisper, dropping to my knees beside her.
Her lip’s split clean through. Her eye is swollen shut. There’s blood under her fingernails like she tried to claw her way free. Her breathing is shallow and rapid. There’s bruising on her neck. Rope burns on her wrists.
“I got you,” I whisper, pulling her in. I press two fingers to her throat. Her pulse is thready but it’s there.
Behind me, boots thunder as the others catch up.
