Ripper’s a good judge of character. He wouldn’t have pinned the name ‘Trouble’ on this one if it didn’t fit like a second skin. Despite that judgment, he loves to make decisions that irk me.
“I don’t want to be here,” he admits, and it sounds like the truth, scraped raw from the bottom of his soul. To my surprise, he reaches out and plucks the deck from my hands. His fingers, though bruised, move with a practiced, fluid grace. The cards snap and weave, a sharp, professional shuffle that mocks my own fumbling. “Meadow Falls is a death sentence, and Haven won’t leave that bastard’s side. Right now, this is all I’ve got. Even if all I’m getting is pitied looks and judgmental interviews from a man who thinks this conversation is necessary.”
“Can’t blame me, can you?” I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest. I try to pick him apart, looking for the lie in the set of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes. But all I see is the same damage I recognize in all my brothers—the broken edges and the stubborn pride. “Your president isn’t a fan of mine.”
“Blaze,” he seethes, the name a venomous curse, “can burn in hell. He’s nothing to me.”
“So, you’re telling me if we rode out tonight and put a bullet in his brain, you wouldn’t shed a tear? Wouldn’t hold a grudge and come looking for payback?”
A harsh, bitter laugh punches its way out of him. He grips his side, his face paling as the amusement aggravates his injuries. “Give me a gun,” he wheezes, shaking his head. “I’ll pull the trigger for you. Bastard deserves a twelve-gauge surprise party.”
Well. It seems we’ve found one patch of common ground.
His eyes drift past me, toward where Ghost is hunched over a laptop, his fingers a frantic blur. “He’s struggling, isn’t he?” Trouble says, his voice dropping. “Blaze knows where to put his money. I won’t be surprised if you can’t crack their systems. He pays their hacker well.”
I don’t like that he can read our struggles so easily, the weakness laid bare after less than a day. I bite the inside of my cheek, the coppery taste of frustration blooming.
“Take me with you.” He says it like it’s the simplest solution in the world, his brows drawn together in a determined line. “You need a guide? I’ll give you a grand tour of the place. Every back door, every weak spot.”
The anger in his words is a tangible heat. It’s rare to find resentment this pure, this undiluted. This can’t just be about the beating. There’s a deeper well here, poisoned at the source.
“Why? You’ve got no loyalty to this club. So why risk your neck going back? Unless you’re planning to slip right back into their good graces the second we turn our backs.”
He jerks his chin, avoiding my eyes. I think it’s a display of weakness until I realize he’s looking at Haven, who’s talking quietly with Ripper across the room. “You got family?”
The question is a gut punch. Only child. Mom croaked. Father’s a ghost I’d happily make permanent. “Can’t say that I do.”
“Well, he threatened mine. Haven’s been through hell, and I did stupid, ugly things to keep her safe. Things I regret.” His face contorts, a mask of pure agony that has nothing to do with his bruised ribs. “I owe it to her to fight with the strength she doesn’t have. You don’t have to give me a gun. I don’t give a fuck. Just take me with you. My bare hands will be enough.”
I’ll admit it—I like the heat burning inside him. That kind of devotion is a weapon. A dangerous, double-edged one, but a weapon nonetheless.
“You’re in no condition to fight,” I tell him, stating the obvious. I follow his gaze to Haven. “If you don’t betray us, you’ll hold us back. No offense. I mean, they did have to rescue you.”
His fingers curl against the cards, his knuckles white. The offense is clear as day. “They kept me tied up for a reason.”
Ripper said he still had fight in him when he found him, a bloody mess but not broken. He must have been a force. It makes me wonder what finally broke the camel’s back. Better to ask the source.
When I do, he just rolls a shoulder, a gesture of cold defiance. “Stole money. Paid off our debt with it. With Blaze, you’re always living on borrowed time. He’s gone mad, and I couldn’t risk waiting for the day he decided to collect, leaving that burden on Haven. If I had the chance to do it over, I would’ve taken more. Enough to run and never look back.”
“Does she know that?” I cock a brow, my mouth curving into a faint, knowing smile.
“Nope.” He returns his scowl to the table. “And I’m not going to tell her, either. Don’t need her to blame herself more than she already does.”
Well. At least one good thing about this new recruit—he’s more honest than I gave him credit for.
“Better avoid Stacks, then. He takes his job as club treasurer very seriously.” I crack a genuine smile this time and pushmyself to my feet. The chair legs scrape against the concrete floor. “Fine. You can come. Get yourself killed, and that’s one less problem for me. Survive, and you might just make us stronger.”
A look of pure, unadulterated relief breaks through the cracks in his hardened expression. He nods, surprising me with a quiet, “Thank you.”
Happy to make him feel even more at ease, I tell him he’s free to relax. With Smoke and Ace gone, he should try to enjoy himself.
Half of me hopes that he gets comfortable. If he is playing a double game, he’ll get sloppy and we’ll catch him in the act. The other half hopes he’s not that foolish. I don’t enjoy being the bad guy.
Either way, the club comes first. It always has. One small slip, one wrong move, and that’s all the excuse I’ll need to put him down. After that, no one else, not Ripper, not Haven, will be able to question my decision.
“A refresher.” Penelope slides a glass toward me as I settle back at the bar. The ice clinks, a cheerful sound at odds with the tension coiling in my shoulders. “Drink it.”
I grunt, my nose scrunching at the vibrant, fruity concoction. I cradle the cold glass in my hand, a sigh escaping me.
