I open the door into the hallway, easing it shut behind me.
The clubhouse is almost quiet. It’s too early for the usual crowd, but the hardcore insomniacs and the unlucky are already up. There’s an aftertaste in the air of bacon grease and the faintest ripple of gun solvent from somewhere down the hall.
At the bar, Mayhem, Reaper, Tank, and Molly are already posted up, nursing mugs. Molly, eyes bloodshot but still sharp, is wiping down the counter and prepping for the day. Havoc and Diesel man two stools at the far end, half-watching something on Havoc’s phone. Everyone looks like they’ve slept in their clothes, which most of them probably have.
I try to slip past, aiming for the coffee on the counter, but the room goes dead silent as I clear the hallway threshold.
Half a dozen heads turn as one.
I freeze, every muscle tight, and look up. I expect the normal morning ribbing, but there’s something off about the way they’re all staring. Not a word, not a grin, just a slow, synchronizing up-and-down scan of my entire body.
I follow their gaze.
And realize that I am naked. Not a single thread between me and the grimy linoleum. Sleep-mussed hair, dog tags swinging, and a string of tattoos the only things keeping me modest.
For exactly one second, no one says anything.
Then Mayhem, always the first to fire, lets out a slow wolf whistle. It echoes in the dead space of the bar, loud enough to wake the dead and probably Riley, two rooms over.
Tank drops his fork, sausage and all, and buries his face in his hands. “Fucking Christ on a Suzuki.”
Reaper, dignified as ever, considers me with something akin to anthropological curiosity. “New house policy, Breaker? Or is this a special-occasion thing?”
Diesel, mouth full of toast, snorts so hard he nearly aspirates it, then gives up entirely and just starts wheezing into his sleeve.
I lift my chin and square my shoulders, because that’s all that’s left to do when you’re caught with your pants down — or standing bare-ass naked in front of your friends. “It’s called confidence, brothers. You should try it sometime.”
“Sure, sure,” Havoc says, not looking up from his phone. “But just so you know, you’ve got a bruise on your ass that looks like a sad dolphin.”
“I feel exactly like that dolphin does right now,” Mayhem says.
Molly is the first to actually move. She slaps a greasy rag down on the counter and fixes me with the kind of glare that could curdle paint.
“Conrad ‘Breaker’ James,” she says, and the world seems to tilt on its axis a little, the way it always does when someone uses your full name. “You get your bare-assed, cock-dangling self back down that hallway and put on some goddamn pants before you traumatize this morning’s customers and I get written up by the health department for six code violations. And, trust me, it is six health codes. Six exactly. Go ahead, ask me how I know the specific number.”
Mayhem and Havoc both raise their hands, grinning and eager.
But Molly barrels on. “You parade your fine marine assets in the privacy of your own room. Or in the lot. Or, hell, at the next charity car wash. But not in my bar, you degenerate. Move.”
I salute — full fucking salute, of course — and pivot on my heel.
I reach my room, back against the door, and let out a breath. Riley’s still asleep, thank Christ, curled in a sunbeam and tangled in the blanket. I slide in, careful not to wake her, and pull on the first pair of jeans I can find. They're covered in dried mud and blood from the bounty hunt, but I don't care. I pull on a shirt, then my jacket, building my armor back up piece by piece.
Once I'm dressed, I glance back at Riley — still sleeping, still peaceful — then slip out through the back door. The morning air is sharp and cold and burns away whatever peace I woke with to leave only the raw, choking fear underneath.
I pace the parking lot, running a hand through my hair, trying to breathe past the tightness in my chest.
Riley. Her past. Whoever is threatening her.
I need something to hit.
I need something to chase.
I need an enemy I can see.
That’s when my phone buzzes.
Viper:Got a lead on our guy. Need you ASAP. Sending address.
