"The clubhouse has security, cameras, and brothers on rotation 24/7," Reaper explains. "It's the safest place for you until we sort this out."
I want to argue, but he's right. My apartment has practically no security. If these people are as professional as they seem, they could walk right in.
"What about James?" I ask. "We need to warn him."
"It’s solved," Ghost says. "Warden owes me a favor. He'll get word to your brother."
Maddie speaks up, her composure finally cracking slightly. "I should leave town. This is my problem, not yours."
"It became our problem the moment they targeted one of our prospects," Reaper says firmly. "And running won't help. They found you here, they can find you anywhere."
"He's right," I tell her, seeing the protest forming on her lips. "These aren't amateurs. Our best chance is to stay put, let the club help us figure this out."
She doesn't look convinced, but she nods reluctantly. "Fine. But I want to help. This is my mess."
"You can help by telling us everything," Reaper says. "Every detail about the job, the client, how you were contacted. Ghost and Ace will debrief you." He turns to me. "Dice, you need to get those cuts looked at. Blade will take you to the clubhouse apartment, get you settled."
It's a dismissal, and I recognize it as such. Reaper wants to question Maddie without me present. Smart move, given my obvious bias where she's concerned.
"Go," Maddie says, seeing my hesitation. "I'll be fine."
I don't like leaving her, but direct disobedience isn't an option right now. I've already broken enough club protocols tonight. So, I nod and follow Blade out of the chapel.
The clubhouse apartment is a small two-bedroom unit above the main bar, used occasionally by members who need a place to crash or family members. It's basic but secure, with reinforced doors and windows that only open to the interior courtyard.
Blade checks the space, then tosses me a first aid kit. "Clean yourself up. You look like shit."
"Thanks," I mutter, heading to the bathroom to assess the damage.
My reflection is worse than I expected: split lip, bruised jaw, and a cut above my eyebrow I hadn't even noticed in the adrenaline rush. My knuckles are raw and swollen, but nothing appears broken. I've had worse after bar fights.
I clean the cuts, wincing at the sting of antiseptic. Blade leans against the doorframe, watching me with calculating eyes.
"You know you fucked up, right?" he says finally.
"Which part?" I ask wryly. "Helping her with the theft or bringing her back to the clubhouse after?"
"Both." Blade crosses his arms. "But mostly the part where you let your dick override your brain."
"It wasn't like that," I protest, though we both know there's some truth to his accusation.
"Bullshit. You barely know this woman, and you're already risking your neck, and your standing with the club, for her."
I turn to face him directly. "She's James's family. That makes her mine."
"So you keep saying." Blade's expression softens slightly. "Look, I get it. She's hot, she's dangerous, she pushes all your buttons. But you need to be smart here, brother. There's more going on than we understand yet."
"You think I don't know that?" I throw the bloodied cotton balls in the trash with more force than necessary. "Those men knew about me, Blade. About my connection to the club. This isn't just about Maddie."
"Exactly. Which is why you need to keep a clear head." He taps his temple for emphasis. "Think with this, not what's in your pants."
I want to argue, but what's the point? He's not entirely wrong. From the moment I met Maddie, I've been off-balance, making decisions based on impulse rather than reason. It's my default setting, but now it's endangering more than just myself.
"Message received," I say finally. "I'll keep it professional."
Blade snorts. "Sure you will." He turns to leave, then pauses. "For what it's worth, you did right bringing her here. Reaper's fair. If she's straight with him, he'll help her."
"And if she's not?"
