"That obvious?"
"You have SINS and RAGE tattooed on your knuckles. Subtlety isn't your strong suit."
He laughs. "Fair point."
I've screenshot everything, like a totally normal person who isn't betraying their brother's trust. The MC's page, the bikes, the few grainy photos where I can see broad shoulders and dark hair but no faces. Evidence of my treason, saved right next to photos of Miguel and me at our parents' funeral, both of us too young to be orphans.
"Angel?"
"Yeah?"
"I need to see you. Real life. Please."
My heart stops. Actually stops. This is how I die—not from the Mountain Dew addiction or the poor life choices, but from having to choose between the stranger who makes me come and the brother who made me survive.
"That's—"
"Dangerous, I know. Stupid. Probably the worst idea either of us has had."
"And we've had some spectacularly bad ideas."
"Yeah." A pause. "But I need to see you. Touch you. Make you come with more than just my voice."
My body clenches at the thought while my conscience hemorrhages guilt.
"When?" I hear myself asking, even as I imagine Miguel's face when he inevitably finds out.
"Tomorrow. Midnight. Doc's Diner on Route 66."
Doc's Diner. Neutral territory. Not Coyote ground, not Iron Talons ground. Smart. Like he knows there might be complications.
"Okay," I whisper, and somewhere in the multiverse, a better version of me is honoring Miguel's sacrifices instead of sneaking around like our mother did before she drove them both into that truck.
"Angel—"
"I know. This is insane."
"The insanest."
"That's not a word."
"It is now."
After I hang up, I lie in the dark, replaying Miguel's face, that careful control that means he's cataloging every detail for later analysis. What am I doing? This isn't just dangerous—it's a declaration of war against the only family I have left.
My medical brain diagnoses the situation: Acute Familial Betrayal Syndrome with a poor prognosis.
My vagina, however, has already started planning what underwear to wear.
Chapter ten
Brothers and Burdens
Zane
Ghost mentioned the Ghost Clinic and my blood ran cold.
Monday morning, Week one of Month two of whatever the fuck this has become. I'm at the clubhouse, trying to focus on the weapons shipment we're moving Thursday, when Ghost drops the name like a casual grenade.
