Malachi
Candace’staillightsdisappearintothe dark, swallowed by the curve at the end of the street. I don’t turn back. Not until the last flicker of red fades. My chest rises and falls too fast, as if I’ve just run from a fight, not won one. The cold settles in slowly, wrapping around my ribs with a quiet grip. My pulse still beats with the echo of her engine—too fast, too sharp—and when it fades, it leaves a hollowness I can’t quite name.
She didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t look back. That silence, the way it hung heavy in the air, crawls under my skin now, sharp and gnawing. I keep wondering why she bet on me. Why she risked it. Why she keeps running even when she’s clearly exhausted. And why the hell I care so much.
It’s not just duty anymore. I tell myself it is, but the lie is fraying at the edges. She’s not my problem. She never was. But every time she walks away, it feels as though something I should’ve held onto is slipping through my hands.
There’s something about her that keeps pulling me in. The fight in her, the way she doesn’t flinch when she’s surrounded by chaos. She doesn’t want to be saved; she just wants to survive. And I still want to save her anyway. Not because she’s fragile. But because somewhere between the barbed edges and that bruised pride, I see her. It fucks with me more than I’ll ever admit out loud.
I push through the front door of the clubhouse, making the hinges groan from the force. The usual haze of smoke, leather, and noise doesn’t touch me. My boots hit the concrete with the rhythm of war drums, echoing with every step as I make my way toward the meeting room, the tension in my shoulders drawn tight as a bow. The smell of old whiskey and engine oil clings to the air. Familiar. Grounding. But tonight, even the comfort of the clubhouse feels brittle, every solid thing seeming just one breath away from cracking beneath me.
Inside, Knox, East, Nash, and Chuck are already waiting.
Chuck leans against the table, clearly aiming for casual, but the twitch in his fingers betrays him. His eyes flick to me, then away, braced for the blow he knows is coming. He’s not wrong.
I stop in front of him, jaw clenched. “Go home. Check on your daughter.”
He nods, already stepping forward, relief written in the sag of his shoulders. But I shift, blocking the door. His breath catches.
“You’ll thank her for paying your debt,” I say quietly, too quietly. “And if I ever find out she’s covering for you again, I will make damn sure you’re voted out of this club.” I lean in just enough for him to feel it. “You understand me?”
He swallows. There’s something in his eyes. Shame maybe. Or the ghost of pride, withering away. “Understood.”
This isn’t just a line in the sand. It’s a fucking canyon. And he knows it. Hell, I know it. Once you let someone like Candace carry your shame, you’ve already lost the right to call yourselfa man. I step aside, and he slips out, the door clicking softly behind him.
The quiet doesn’t last.
My hands slam onto the table. “You better fucking explain.”
East doesn’t flinch. He leans back in his chair, stretching as if he just woke up from a nap. His usual cocky smirk dances on the edge of his lips, but he reins it in. Smart. Because tonight? I’m not in the mood. My palms sting from the impact, but the pain helps. Keeps me steady. The old instincts, the ones that kept me alive in darker days, are clawing up from the pit of my gut.
He laces his fingers behind his head, exhaling. “Maybe I let it get out of hand.”
I cut a glance at Nash. He raises one brow but says nothing.
“Maybe?” I echo, voice sharp as a blade. I drop into my chair, eyes locked on East.
His grin fades. “Chuck’s a founding member, Kai. I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not trying to hide it. I just figured he’d handle it.”
“You figured wrong.” The words come out low, but tight with fury. My throat’s dry. “How the hell did we miss it?”
Knox steps into the room, quiet as a shadow. “Had to call Sloane back,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind him and takes the seat to my left. His gaze sweeps the room, and as always, he’s reading everything. The tension. The posture. The energy.
“You’re talking about Chuck?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “And how no one thought to mention he was three months behind on dues and had a tab running longer than a damn grocery list.”
East rubs the back of his neck. “I was gonna bring it up this week.”
“You were late.” I grind my teeth. “She said this isn’t the first time. She’s been covering for him. For years.”
He nods. “I know.”
I press my fingers to my temples, disgust curling in my gut. “We’re supposed to look out for each other. That’s the code. That’s the damn point. So how did we let this happen?”
“Because Chuck’s been spiraling,” East says, quieter now. “Since the anniversary.”
Nash leans forward. “Anniversary of what?”
