Cyclops shook his head. “They’ll trust you.”
She blinked at him, stunned. “Why?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Because I do.” Her throat closed as she let him pull her to her feet. His hand was solid and warm and painfully steady. And as he led her toward the door, surroundedby danger and betrayal and the smell of gasoline and gun oil, Trixie realized with brutal clarity that she wasn’t just halfway his anymore. She was falling all the way for Cyclops, and there was nothing she could do to stop it—not even if she wanted to.
CYCLOPS
Cyclops hadn’t felt silence this heavy since the night he’d earned his patch. Back then, it was a room full of outlaws waiting to judge whether he was man enough to bleed with them. But now, it was a room full of outlaws waiting to judge whether one of their own had betrayed them. And Trixie stood right beside him—shoulders stiff, chin up, and every inch of her coiled like a spring ready to snap. But she didn’t hide behind him. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask to sit this one out. Christ, he admired the hell out of her, but he wouldn’t say that right now. The room was tense enough.
“Church is in session,” Venom barked, slamming the gavel on the old wooden table. The meeting room was packed—every patched member was present, every prospect hovering nervously near the door. Cyclops took the head seat—Mace’s seat. For the first time all week, the weight of it felt heavier.
Ink leaned forward. “We all saw the picture. Someone’s feeding intel to the enemy.”
Razor spat on the floor. “Scum in our house. I swear to God, Cyclops, give me a name and I’ll make ‘em talk.”
Cyclops didn’t answer him, not yet. He scanned the room, watching faces for their reactions. Most were angry, and many looked betrayed. A few seemed nervous. And one wouldn’t meet his eye--Prospect Cory. Cyclops filed it away. He didn’t want to condemn the man without proof, but he planned on getting the proof that he needed to stop her father from ever seeing Trixie again.
“We’re not jumping to conclusions,” he said, his voice sounding like controlled steel. “We find the leak, and we handle it.”
Venom grunted. “What we know so far is that a picture was taken from inside the compound. The angle looks like a hallway camera or someone behind a door.” Ink swiveled his laptop so everyone could see the still image of Trixie framed in a window inside one of the compound corridors. Half the table cursed, and a few fists slammed down. Trixie didn’t move, but Cyclops saw her hand tighten around the edge of her seat.
Ink kept talking. “Time stamp puts it around ten last night. Only a handful of brothers were near that wing.” All eyes shifted to Venom as he began reading off the list of names that were in that area. “Me, Ink, Razor, Spade, and—” His voice caught, and Cyclops’s stomach dropped. “Cory,” Venom finished. The room murmured as Cory shrank in his seat. That was all the proof that he needed.
Cyclops stood, his chair scraping back with a sound that made every prospect in the room jump. “Prospect Cory,” he said, his voice cold enough to freeze bone. “Front and center.” Cory stumbled forward, wide-eyed. The kid was barely twenty, and he was nervous and fidgety. He was way too skinny for a biker, and way too jumpy to be a part of a biker club.
Cyclops circled him slowly, like a wolf deciding where to bite. “You got something you wanna tell us?” he asked.
“N-no, sir. I—I swear, I didn’t—” Cory stuttered.
“Stop talking,” Cyclops growled. “Think and then talk.” Cory’s breathing hitched. He looked around the room for help, but found none. Trixie watched him too, calm, cold, and studying him the way she’d study a threat.
“Start explaining,” Venom said from behind Cyclops, voice low.
“I didn’t take the picture!” Cory insisted, hands shaking. “I swear on my patch—on my—on?—”
“You don’t have a patch,” Ink said flatly. “You’re a prospect.”
Cyclops stopped in front of Cory, looking him dead in the eye. “Were you near the wing last night?”
Cory swallowed. “Yes—yes, but only because Ink sent me to check the generator.”
Ink frowned. “I sent Venom.”
Cory paled. “I—I must’ve misheard.”
“No,” Cyclops said. “You didn’t.”
He stepped closer, grabbing Cory’s shirt in a fist and slamming him against the wall hard enough to make the room jump. “Tell me exactly what you did. Every step you made and every fucking breath you took.”
Cory sobbed. “I—I walked past the hall. That’s all. I didn’t go inside! I swear?—”
“Did you take that picture?” Cyclops snarled.
“No!”
“Did you send anything to anyone?”
“No!”
