"I know," I say quietly.
"Then understand this: if you're playing him, if you're using his feelings to manipulate him, there is nowhere on this earth you can hide from me."
The threat is delivered so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment to register its weight. When it does, I feel a chill run down my spine.
"I'm not playing him," I say, surprised by how much I mean it.
Reaper studies me for a long moment, then nods once, apparently satisfied. "Good. Because while I may be pissed that you've brought this trouble to our door, I protect what's mine. And like it or not, you fall under that umbrella now."
It's as close to acceptance as I'm going to get, and frankly, it's more than I deserve. I nod once in acknowledgment and follow Wilder out of the chapel.
He leads me through the clubhouse and up a narrow staircase to the second floor. The apartment door is solid steel, with multiple locks and what looks like a reinforced frame. Whatever else they may be, the Outlaw Order takes security seriously.
Wilder knocks twice, then unlocks the door with a key from his pocket. "She's all yours, prospect," he calls as he pushes it open. "Try not to let her talk you into any more felonies tonight."
Dice appears in the doorway, looking considerably cleaner than when I last saw him but still bearing the marks of our earlier adventure. His split lip and bruised jaw make my stomach twist.
Wilder departs with a knowing smirk, leaving us alone in the doorway.
"You okay?" Dice asks immediately. "What did Reaper say?"
"That he's furious, that I've endangered his club, and that he's going to help us anyway because you vouched for me." I step past him into the apartment, suddenly exhausted. "The usual warm welcome."
The apartment is small but surprisingly comfortable, with a modest living area, kitchenette, and two doors that presumably lead to bedrooms. Everything is neat, functional, and distinctly masculine.
"I figured out who's behind this," I say, collapsing onto the couch. "Tiernan Walsh."
"Who?" Dice sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body but not so close that we're touching.
"Irish businessman. James and I stole from him three years ago." I explain the connection, the watches, and Walsh's reputation for brutal retribution.
Dice listens intently, his expression growing more troubled with each detail. "And Reaper? What's his take?"
"He's not thrilled about an Irish organization making moves in Pine Haven," I say wryly. "But he's taking it seriously. The whole club is mobilizing—security, intelligence gathering, the works."
"Good." Dice runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I'm beginning to recognize as a sign of stress. "Walsh sounds like bad news."
"The worst." I hesitate, then force myself to say what needs saying. "You were right, Dice. Coming to the clubhouse was the right call. I... I wouldn't have known what to do on my own."
The admission costs me. I've spent years relying only on myself, viewing dependency as weakness. But tonight…
Tonight has shaken me more than I want to admit.
Chapter 8 - Dice
"You were right, Dice. Coming to the clubhouse was the right call. I... I wouldn't have known what to do on my own."
I can't help the smirk that spreads across my face. "I'm sorry, what was that? Could you repeat it? I think I'm hallucinating."
She punches my shoulder, not gently. "Shut up. It actually cost me something to admit that."
"I know." I rub my shoulder, still grinning. "That's why I'm savoring it."
She rolls her eyes, but there's the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.
"Why is it so hard for you?" I ask, suddenly serious. "Being honest about needing help?"
Maddie sighs, moving away from the couch to lean against the wall, her hair falling around her face in a way that catches the dim light. Even bruised and exhausted, she's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
