Then Victor and Olivia follow all refinement and quiet power. They bring their group with them, laughing softly, whispering about meaningless things to fill the tension hanging heavy in the air.
Then us. The Outsiders move through the space with the stealth of smoke; silent, sure, coiled and waiting. Dressed in tailored black and fitted gowns, everyone masked in onyx. Even me. The edges of mine itch slightly along my cheeks, but I keep it on. Tonight isn’t about comfort. It’s about watching without being seen.
Malachi’s hand is at the small of my back as we walk in, and I feel the weight of the club behind us. East with Darla beside him, her laugh quieter than usual. Frankie rides solo in a sleek black jumpsuit with boots that shine beneath her cloak, her mask painted with stars. Ruby falls in behind Nash and Kyle, her stride unbothered, curls bouncing, lips pressed into a smirk holding a secret no one else seems to know. Kyle keeps pace beside her, clearly trying not to grin. Nash notices. Doesn’t say a word. But I catch the slight shift in his jaw. Knox with Sloane beside him. James and Maggie. They all fall in, every step beating out a rhythm that echoes off marble.
Phoenix and McKenzie sit near the front. We haven’t spoken much over the last three years—they’ve both been through hell, and so have we—but I know he’s tried to keep in touch with Amelia. Built something close to a friendship with Victor too. It’s part of the reason we’re all here, why this night is happeningat all. Malachi guides us toward the back row, the kind of placement that feels deliberate. We’re not the stars of this show. We’re the shadows cast behind it. I settle beside him, trying to focus, trying to stay sharp. But my body’s already on high alert, senses stretched taut, breath shallow.
Then McKenzie’s spine goes ramrod straight, and through the comms, her voice threads through the silence. “She’s here.” I blink. Who?
Phoenix leans toward her. “What do you see, love?”
McKenzie’s voice drops lower. “Your mother. She’s here.”
My pulse kicks. I shift slightly in my seat, my eyes sweeping the back of the room. There are too many people milling about—drinks, masks, hushed conversations—but something… something makes my breath catch.
A woman in a black floor-length dress moves through the crowd. Her hair is red. A burnished, unnatural shade that seems lit from within under the chandeliers. Her walk is slow. Controlled. Every step claiming the air around her while everyone else merely exists in it.
There’s something about her. I can’t explain it. I don’t recognize her, not consciously. But every nerve in my body leans toward her with the pull of a compass finally settling into place.
She begins walking to the front. The crowd parts. With every step she takes, my lungs constrict more. No. No. She sits down, elegant and unbothered, directly behind Phoenix and McKenzie. The world slows.
Her profile sharpens through the mask. That jawline. The way she holds her shoulders. Even the way she crosses her legs, it’s all too familiar. A half-forgotten nightmare tearing free from the dark. I can’t breathe. I can’t blink.
Then Rex’s voice crackles through the comms, low and clear. “Boss. Your mother just sat behind you and Miss Kenzie.”
Just like that, the room tilts. A name crashes into me with the force of glass shattering against pavement. Alice. That’s her. That’s my mother. Which means... My head whips toward Phoenix.
Everything slows. My heart tries to beat out of my chest, but my body’s frozen in place. Heat rushes to my cheeks, then vanishes, leaving me cold. He’s my brother.
Phoenix is my brother. All these years. All the pieces I’ve buried, shoved into the back drawers in my mind—his eyes, his presence, that strange pull I couldn’t explain. It was blood. It was family.
My hands curl into fists in my lap. I try to steady my breathing, to keep the mask from slipping, figuratively and literally, but it’s too late. Everything’s already changed.
Malachi’s fingers shift against the small of my back, slow, intentional. He leans in, lips brushing the curve of my neck in a way that’s both grounding and possessive. The touch shouldn’t steady me, but it does. My breath stutters, the fire in my chest flaring sharper, hotter, but not from fear. His hand tightens just slightly at my hip, and I know he sees me unraveling. He’s holding me together without asking for permission.
Chapter 63
Candace
Thesunislazytoday, spilling gold across the sidewalk in slow ribbons of melted honey, moving with the ease of something that has nowhere to be. The air hums with a kind of quiet that only ever exists in small towns on Sundays, right after church bells stop ringing and just before the bars start filling up again. Willowridge wears its stillness as a badge. A town on pause.
My heart isn’t still. It thumps a little too loud in my chest as I cross Main Street, the soles of my boots whispering against the uneven pavement. A breeze tugs at my curls, and I catch a whiff of honeysuckle and distant cigarette smoke. My stomach knots.
I don’t know what I expected. Some back alley rendezvous? A booth at the clubhouse? Not this.
Phoenix Stone is waiting for me in front of the nicest restaurant in town. White tablecloths. Menu without prices. The kind of place where the forks outnumber your problems andpeople in my lane don’t usually get seated without a manager’s approval. Yet, here he is. Not hiding. Not watching. Just... being. Owning the space without needing to announce it.
He’s carved from shadows and precision, black tailored slacks, a slate-gray button-down that fits his frame with the ease of custom stitching, collar open just enough to hint at something dangerous beneath. There’s a platinum watch on one wrist, rings on a few fingers, and sunglasses folded neatly beside his untouched espresso.
Not a single hair is out of place. Not a wrinkle or a weakness. He’s the kind of man who turns the air into something heavier just by breathing it in.
I feel static in comparison. He looks up as I approach, and those calculating eyes soften, just a notch, just for me.
“Wasn’t sure you’d show,” he says, voice low, deliberate.
“Wasn’t sure you’d ask again,” I reply, slipping into the seat across from him. The chair sighs beneath me. I don’t meet his gaze right away.
He gives a faint nod, the corner of his mouth twitching with a restrained smirk. “Touché.”
