"You want to explain to me what the fuck you were doing alone with my sister? AGAIN?" Tank demands, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Luna and Amelia freeze in their treatment of Rookie and Chaos, all eyes turning to the brewing confrontation. Anna clutches Hoppy tighter, shrinking against her mother's side.
"Not now, Tank," Beast says evenly, though I can see the tension in his shoulders. "We've got bigger issues."
"Bullshit," Tank spits. "You know she's off-limits. Everyone in this fucking club knows that."
"I'm not a piece of property, Tank," I interject, stepping forward. All heads swivel toward me. "And I'm certainly not off-limits, not to Beast, not to anyone I choose to spend time with."
Tank turns to me, his expression a mix of anger and brotherly concern. "Jenny, you don't understand. Beast isn't—"
"If you say he's not good enough for me, I swear to God I will hit you," I cut him off, advancing until I'm standing between him and Beast. "You lost the right to an opinion on my dating life when you left me alone with Dad for four years."
Tank flinches as if I've slapped him, hurt flashing across his face before his expression hardens again.
"That's not fair," he says, voice lower now.
I immediately regret my outburst. We've been over this ground before, reached an understanding about our shared past. But in my anger, I've reopened old wounds.
"You're right, it's not fair," I say, softening my tone. "I'm sorry. I know why you had to leave, and I don't blame you. We're fine, we've been fine. But Tank, I survived. I'm not a defenseless kid anymore. I can make my own choices about who I spend time with."
The clubhouse has gone deathly quiet, everyone watching our family drama unfold with varying degrees of discomfort and curiosity.
"I think what Jenny's trying to say," Beast interrupts calmly, stepping up beside me, "is that she makes her own choices. And right now, she's chosen to be with me."
I glance up at him in surprise. This wasn't part of our agreement. Maintaining the lie to Tank, yes, but declaring it so publicly?
Tank's eyes narrow, gaze shifting between us. "Is this true? You two are... together?"
Before I can formulate a response, Beast's hand slides around my waist, pulling me gently against his side.
"Yes," Beast says simply, his deep voice resonating with conviction. "We're together."
I should correct him, stick to our original plan of coming clean, but the solid warmth of him against me, the protective way his hand splays across my hip, the defiant look he gives Tank… It all makes the lie feel dangerously close to something I actually want.
So instead of the truth, what comes out of my mouth is: "That's right. And I'm not asking for your permission, Tank. I'm just expecting you to respect my choice."
Tank looks stunned, his anger momentarily displaced by sheer surprise. Amelia steps forward, placing a gentle hand on his arm.
"Marcus," she says softly, using his real name. "This isn't the time. We have bigger concerns right now."
The tension in Tank's shoulders eases slightly at her touch.
"This conversation isn't over," he says finally, though his tone has lost some of its heat. He points a finger at Beast. "Don't think for a second I'm okay with this."
"Noted," Beast replies evenly.
Before the confrontation can escalate further, King strides into the room. Shadow is back and follows close behind, carrying what looks like surveillance photos.
"We've confirmed Kemp's location," King announces, cutting through the tension. "He's at their machine shop headquarters with at least six other Eagles, including two of the shooters from tonight."
"When do we move?" Tank asks, instantly shifting from protective brother to club VP.
"Now," King says decisively. "The longer we wait, the more chance they have to prepare or relocate."
Chaos and Rookie push themselves off the couches where Luna had been treating them, both moving with obvious discomfort but determination.
"We're coming too," Chaos declares, pressing a hand against his bandaged arm.
