"I don't think it works like that." I thought about Slash, about the weight of his knife in my hand, about the satisfaction I'd felt when the blade moved. "I think you do terrible things because the alternative is worse. And then you live with it."
"That's bleak."
"Yeah." I bumped my shoulder against his. "But you don't have to live with it alone."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Sarah offered me a position. New task force she's building—internal affairs, specifically targeting corruption. She wants people who've seen it from the inside."
"That sounds perfect for you."
"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. "But I'd have to go through a review board first. Everything I did undercover, every protocol I broke—they'd pick it apart. I might end up with a commendation or I might end up in prison."
"Would it be worth the risk?"
"I don't know." He drank from his beer, set the bottle aside. "Part of me wants to walk away. Turn in my badge, disappear, build something new. The other part feels like I'd be running. Like all those years would mean nothing if I don't see it through."
"What does your gut tell you?"
He laughed, soft and tired. "My gut hasn't been reliable for a long time."
We sat in silence, watching the stars. Somewhere inside, Irish was telling another story, his voice rising and falling with theatrical flair. Declan's laugh carried through the walls.
"Whatever you decide," I said eventually, "you've got a place here. You know that, right? Phoenix would take you in."
"An ex-FBI agent in an outlaw MC?" Tyler's smile was crooked. "That would be something."
"Stranger things have happened. Apparently they accept nurses now too."
He laughed for real this time. "Yeah. Apparently they do."
I was heading back inside when I noticed Tank. He was standing at the edge of the property, near the tree line, staring out at the darkness. Alone. Something about his posture—tense, isolated—made me pause.
Then I saw Tyler change direction, move toward him instead of the house. I stayed in the shadows, watching.
Tyler approached slowly, giving Tank plenty of warning. The big man turned, and even from this distance I could see the wall come up—that guarded expression he wore like armor.
They talked. I couldn't hear the words, but I watched the body language. Tyler, hands in his pockets, shoulders deliberately relaxed. Tank, arms crossed, weight shifting. Whatever Tyler said made Tank's posture change—just slightly, just a fraction of the tension releasing.
Tank said something back. Tyler nodded.
Then Tank did something I'd never seen before—he laughed. Not the pained bark I'd heard when he was shot, but something genuine. Brief, startled, like it had escaped without permission.
They stood there for a while longer, two men at the edge of darkness, finding something in each other's company. When they finally headed back toward the house, they walked closer together than they had before.
I slipped inside before they saw me watching. Some things didn't need witnesses. They just needed room to grow.
Axel found me in our room, sitting on the bed, lost in thought.
"You okay?" He closed the door, leaned against it.
"Yeah. Just... processing."
"Anything you want to share?"
"Not yet." I held out my hand. "Come here."
He came. Sat beside me, close enough that our thighs touched. His warmth was grounding, familiar now in a way that made my chest ache.
"I keep thinking about what could have happened," I said quietly. "All the ways this could have gone wrong. You, dead in that farmhouse. Tyler, exposed and executed. The victims, loaded onto trucks and disappeared." I turned to face him. "But it didn't. We won. Everyone who mattered came home."
