Gone.
“Get a grip,” I whispered to myself, forcing a shaky laugh that didn’t fool me.
I turned back toward the door and nearly collided with Ruby.
“Jesus,” I said, hand flying to my chest. “You scared me.”
“You’ve been out here a while,” she said gently. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “The fresh air helped.”
She studied me for a beat, then nodded like she didn’t quite believe it but would let it go. “Come on, sweetheart. Place is slammin’.”
I followed her inside, letting the noise close around me. The warmth. The lights. The safety of pretending everything was still normal.
But the feeling of eyes on me didn’t fade.
And deep down, I knew it wasn’t just my imagination.
Maybe I should talk to Chain. Tell him the truth. This lying wasn’t sitting right with me anymore. I cared about Zach—always would—but something in me whispered that he was wrong about the club not being able to protect us.
The problem was… once I told Chain, nothing would stay the same. And I wasn’t sure which terrified me more, keeping the secret, or finally letting it out.
CHAPTER FORTY
I SAT INmy office long after I’d stopped pretendingto work, the glow from the monitors casting pale, sickly light across the stacks of invoices spread out in front of me. Numbers blurred together. Dates meant nothing. My eyes kept driftin’ back to the security feeds, the fluorescent hum overhead gnawing at nerves that were already worn thin.
On one of the screens, I saw Lark.
She’d stepped outside.
No jacket. Arms crossed tight over her chest like she was bracin’ against an imagined cold. She wasn’t takin’ out trash.Wasn’t talkin’ to anyone. Just standin’ there in the alley, still as stone, starin’ off into nothin’.
Her shoulders were hunched. Her posture closed in on itself. The look on her face wasn’t just tired.
It was heavy.
That familiar ache flared in my chest, strong and unwelcome.
Why the hell won’t she talk to me?
I leaned back in my chair, scrubbin’ a hand over my face. I’d given her space all damn day, tellin’ myself it was the right thing. That she’d come to me when she was ready. But watchin’ her like that, alone and folded in on herself, made somethin’ inside me start to unravel.
“Dammit,” I muttered.
I shoved the papers aside and yanked open the desk drawer. The whiskey bottle waited there, half empty, label worn from use. The glass sat beside it like an old habit I hadn’t bothered to break. I poured a shot. Then another.
The burn slid down my throat, harsh and biting.
Didn’t touch the knot in my chest.
Maybe I should talk to Daddy. The thought came uninvited, and that alone told me how far gone I was. He’d always known how to talk to people, how to listen without makin’ it feel like an interrogation. He’d know how to handle Lark without pushin’ her so hard she shut me out completely. But even as the thought settled, another truth pressed in.
She was slippin’.
I could feel it. The same way you feel a bike start to fishtail before you lose control. Subtle. Dangerous. And not knowin’ why was startin’ to spiral me out.
A knock hit the door, loud enough to snap my head up.
