“And the others?”
“Yes.”
I exhale slowly.“You’re paying for me to be here.”
“It’s my choice,” he corrects.“They need to respect my authority and know that the choices I make are for the betterment of this club.”
“That’s worse.”He doesn’t argue.“I won’t leave,” I say quietly.
He turns to look at me.“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know but I’m telling you anyway.I want to be here and not just because the cartel is hunting my ass.”
He studies my face.“You don’t have to be the hill I die on.”
“I’m not,” I reply.“I’m the ground you’re standing on.Whether they like it or not.”
Something in his expression tightens.“You’re becoming a symbol.”
“I don’t want to be.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
I laugh softly.“Figures.”
We sit there in silence for a long moment.“They’re going to force your hand,” I say finally.
“Yes.”
“And when they do,” I continue, “don’t protect me by pretending I don’t exist.”
He frowns.“You need to explain that.”
“If you pull back now,” I say, “they’ll think you regret it.And then this fracture becomes a wound.”
He considers that.“And if I double down?”
“They’ll test you harder.”
His mouth curves into a wry smile.“They already are.”
I look at him.Really look at him.The man who chose publicly and paid immediately.“I won’t apologize for wanting to be here,” I say.
“I don’t want you to apologize.I don’t want you to do a damn thing you don’t want to.”
“I won’t ask you to justify me.”
“Good.Because I don’t need to.”He stares off into the distance.
“And I won’t play savior or liability.”
He turns his head at my words and his gaze locks on mine.“What will you play?”
I smile, slow and sharp.“Honest.”
That, finally, earns a breath of laughter from him.He stands first, offering me a hand without looking at me.I take it without hesitation.Below us, the club hums, tense, watchful, and waiting.
The crack hasn’t broken anything yet.But it has a shape now.And I know, deep in my bones, that when it finally splits, it won’t be because I ran.
