When he first met Brandi, she was trying to right the wrong she’d done to Wick. Tool remembered the moment he was willing to deal with her for his brother.
“Talk to me, brother. Do I step out and give you the room, or do I drag her down the back stairs?”
Tool hated a fucking liar. If he’d realized the girl had lied enough to make Wick almost choke her out, she’d never have made it back to the door. Back then, one word from Wick and Tool would’ve ended it. Would’ve hauled her out by the hair, handed her off to another club, and let them do what they wanted.
That memory was etched on his brain—he’d stood at the edge, ready to give her to monsters, just to settle a score.
It still haunted him—that he could’ve let them break her. That he’d been so willing to destroy something he didn’t understand just to protect his brother.
In the end, he’d kept her in Lampsing. Coveted her, even as she lived like a prisoner in a castle at the clubhouse. No car. No money, except what she’d stolen from Mischa. She should’ve left. Could’ve vanished. But she didn’t.
When he’d heard another patch holder had put their hands on her, he wanted blood. Wanted to rip the man apart with his bare hands and watch him bleed. That rage had twisted in his gut and settled there like acid.
He knew that feeling. Knew it too well. He’d felt it before, years ago, over another woman. He still remembered how that ended—standing in front of her, hands dripping with blood, heart pounding, eyes wild. The way she’d looked at him—horrified, distant, already gone. That look never left him. Not in all the years since.
It haunted him. That was what Brandi stirred in him. That edge. That heat. That dangerous loyalty. And it terrified him.
Now she was working for Lilly and Crow, making minimum wage, scrubbing sticky counters and scooping ice cream like her life depended on it. Out of that, she was paying full rent for the apartment and covering online classes. No handouts. No complaints. Just quiet resilience.
She lived like a ghost at the edge of their world, but there was nothing ghostly about her grit. No one saw it, not really—but Tool did. She lived quiet. Careful. Resilient.
He saw it. Every damn bit of it. And still, he stood on the outside looking in.
Because the truth was, he didn’t know if he was man enough to walk through that door. Didn’t know if he could claim her as his and not lose himself in the fire she lit inside him. Didn’t know if he’d survive it.
She didn’t know he was there. And maybe that was for the best.
Because right now, Tool had a choice to make.
Walk through that door and make her his ol’ lady… Or turn and walk away, before the past swallowed him whole.
Tool stood there a moment longer, forehead pressed to the door like maybe it would offer him answers. But it didn’t. It never did.
His fingers twitched near the knob. One twist. That’s all it would take. One decision. One step forward. Instead, he turned.
His boots moved heavily down the hall, each step a surrender. He didn’t look back. Couldn’t. There was too much weight behind him already.
Halfway to the stairs, he passed Gypsy.
The club president straightened off the wall, arms unfolding as Tool approached. His eyes narrowed, studying the man coming toward him like he expected something—words, a nod, anything.
Tool gave him nothing. Just a slight dip of the head, eyes unreadable, jaw clenched tight as he kept walking.
Gypsy didn’t stop him. Didn’t call out. Just turned to watch as Tool took the stairs two at a time and disappeared through the front door of the bed and breakfast.
The door creaked open, then shut behind him with a soft thud that felt far too final.
Gypsy stood there, frowning, the silence stretching. He didn’t know what kept Tool from claiming Brandi. Didn’t know what ghosts still had their hooks in the man’s chest.
But something was eating him alive.
And as Gypsy stared after the empty doorway, he knew whatever it was—it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
She had stayedin the hospital for another forty-eight hours before being released. The ladies had all hung out most of that time with her. They ordered food to be brought in, played board games and even snuck in cocktails that they refused to let her partake in. Once Brandi got back to Lampsing, everything went quiet.
Gypsy had told her not to worry about the SUV or the hospital bill. He’d help her figure it out, he said. And she believed him. Gypsy wasn’t the type to say something he didn’t mean.
