The air leaves my lungs.
I look at Bronco's body, then back at Shiver.
The bloody knuckles. The torn shirt. The absolute fury still radiating off him in waves.
"Where is she?" I ask, holstering my weapon.
"Upstairs. Her room. She locked herself in after..." He swallows hard, his throat working. "After he was done with her.I heard her crying, and found this bastard down here looking pleased with himself. We fought. He didn't even try to deny it. Said she was his. Said heboughther."
My vision tunnels.
The edges go red and hazy, and for a moment, all I can see is Bronco's corpse on the floor.
Not dead enough.
I want to shoot him again.
Want to empty an entire magazine into his skull until there's nothing left but pulp and bone fragments.
Want to make him hurt the way Grace is hurting.
But he's already gone, and Shiver beat me to it.
"Good," I manage, my voice rough. "He deserved worse."
Shiver lets out a bitter laugh. "I should've made it slower. Should've made him suffer. But he started talking about her, about what he did, and I just..." He looks down at the gun in his hand like he's surprised to find it there. "I pulled the trigger."
I move closer, taking in the scene.
There are signs of a struggle—overturned chairs, blood spatter on the wall that's not from the gunshot, broken glass.
They fought hard before Shiver ended it.
"We need to move him," I say, already planning. "Stage it. Make it look like something else."
Shiver's eyes meet mine, and I see the question there.
The uncertainty. "You're gonna help me?"
"Yeah." No hesitation. "I am."
"Why?"
Because Grace is eighteen years old and just had the worst thing that can happen to a woman happen to her.
Because her father arranged her marriage to the man who ultimately raped her.
Because if we tell Phantom the truth, she'll have to relive it, explain it, and watch her father tear himself apart with guilt.
"Because he deserved to die," I say instead. "And because Grace doesn't deserve to have this follow her for the rest of her life."
Shiver nods slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "She made me promise not to tell Dad. She was upstairs, begging me through the door not to say anything."
"Then we don't say anything." I look at Bronco's body. "We could say it’s a rival club. Break-in while everyone was on the run. We heard the commotion, came running, and he was already dead."
"No, that doesn’t work. Dad will ask more questions, want blood for another club taking our own. I have to tell him I killed Bronco."
"Brother, I understand what you’re saying, but there are plenty of other clubs we can go after. Too many people have started shit. Why not do this my way, then the secret dies with me." I meet his gaze. "No one will ever know I was part of this. You shot an intruder defending the clubhouse. I backed you up. That's the story."
