Lex sighs. “Can we get back to the cult before this turns into whatever the hell this is?”
Rye throws his hands up. “Royal’s got a savior complex. Wants to be God while dressing like the damn devil.”
Legend taps the table once. “Back to Pearly Gates.”
Derby spits a seed into the ashtray. “Another one?”
Legend nods. “Girl went missing Sunday. Family says she ran. Sheriff Dix says she left town. Pearly Gates says she’s finding herself.”
Derby snorts. “That cult finds a lot of girls.”
Royal’s voice drops. “And buries the ones that don’t cooperate.”
The room goes quiet.
Lex folds his hands. “We ain’t in the business of rescuing the church’s daughters.”
“No,” Legend says calmly. “But we are in the business of keeping trouble off our doorstep.”
His eyes flick to me again, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
Young girl in our house last night. Club-adjacent now, whether I like it or not.
Legend’s voice stays even. “Hear me clear. Any girl, I mean any legal aged woman, walks into our house, she gets out the same way she came in. On two legs. Breathing. Anybody forgets that, they answer to me. Otherwise, I couldn’t give a goddamn.”
Eyes lock around the table. It settles in my chest, heavy as a stone.
Legend stands. “Church ain’t done yet. Let’s pray none of you embarrass me before noon.”
As chairs scrape back and noise picks up, Derby leans close and mutters, “For what it’s worth, VP, Hell’s already talking.”
I look straight ahead. “Hell always does.”
And that’s the problem.
I think about Brittany behind the counter at the pawn shop. Hungover. Soft-spoken. Too damn visible.
I don’t like the way my gut tightens.
Legend keeps talking like he always does, calm and dangerous, built like a man who learned early how to survive violence without letting it rot him from the inside out. Royal stands off to the side, black as sin, eyes sharp.
“This ain’t a call to arms,” Legend says. “Yet. But we keep eyes open.”
He finishes up and dismisses us. The brothers break into clusters. I start to step away.
When I step out of the old warden’s office, Bethany steps in front of me.
She didn’t have to come. Bethany’s at the Lockup because she wants to be seen. Her nails dig into my arm. Not affectionate. Territorial.
“You’ve been busy,” she says under her breath.
I don’t look at her. “Church.”
“Funny,” she replies. “Heard you were bouncing instead of praying.”
“I was working,” I say.
She laughs soft. “Sure you were.”
