My throat burns and I start to reply, then choke up. I can’t let myself answer that. Not out loud. So I give her a nod that’sprobably just as likely to look like a neck spasm, and she takes it for what it is — someone broken trying to hold herself together.
When she walks away, the room feels bigger. Colder. Emptier.
The office door stays shut.
Minutes drag. My toes tap against the floor until I realize how nervous that must look and force them still. I press my palms flat on my thighs like I can pin myself down. Like I can stop the shaking by sheer will. I think about June. I wonder if she’s real, if she’s really in trouble, and really was the reason Evan —no, Gator,I remind myself — was willing to do every awful thing he did… or if he did it because he knew he could manipulate me and my feelings, my hurt, just didn’t mean that much to him to begin with.
What the fuck does it matter?
I want to stand up and scream, break something, let this hurt out and hope it never comes back to settle in my chest. I let him in. I brought him close. I asked for favors. I brought him into my family’s world because I wanted to help him. Because I believed the version of him he gave me. Because I wanted to be the kind of woman who could be brave enough to choose happiness for herself, despite everything in her past warning her to never,never, do that again.
Look where it got me.
I swallow hard.
The worst part isn’t the humiliation. It isn’t the betrayal. It isn’t even the fear of what Rabid might do to me.
It’s the grief.
The grief of losing a future.
Because I love each and every person here and looked forward to having a life full of many years alongside them.
Because I didn’t just go back to school to prove something to myself. I went back because I wanted tobuildsomething. I wanted to make The Noble Fir more than a bar and a clubhouse.I wanted the Devils to have legitimacy — money that didn’t smell like blood, stability that didn’t always depend on who was willing to get their hands dirty, growth that wasn’t built on violence and fear.
I wanted to be useful to the people who gave me a life. Who stood by me and counted me as one of their own in so many ways and so many times.
And now…
I might’ve shown them the terrible cost that their love brings.
The office door handle clicks.
Every sound in the room sharpens.
The door swings open.
The men file out. Grim. Quiet. Eyes that won’t quite land on me, as if looking at me would force them to feel something they don’t want to feel. That it’s easy for them if they don’t see me as Molly, but as just some nameless betrayer who put them and everyone they love in danger.
It doesn’t bother me too much.
I can’t really look at them directly, either.
Goldie comes out with his jaw set so tight the muscle jumps. Bishop doesn't look away from me. He holds my eyes for a full second, like he's running a diagnosis. Whatever he finds, he keeps it to himself. Tank doesn’t look anywhere but straight ahead. Mayhem looks at me, but he doesn’t grin. He doesn’t crack a joke. He just gives me this single, hard glance that lands like a 9mm round.
I swallow. Feel that motion in my throat threaten to start a chain reaction that’ll end with me bawling my eyes out. I shake my head, take a deep breath, and steady myself.
Claire rises and takes her place in the lineup. Her eyes find mine and hold for a beat — steady, painful, familiar. Alessia follows, her posture perfect, her mouth a thin line. She doesn’tshow what she feels, but it’s there in the way her fingers flex once at her side.
And then Rabid steps out from the back hallway.
The president doesn’t rush. He doesn’t hesitate. He comes to the center of the room and stops, owning the space with nothing but grim stillness. Rabid’s gaze lands on me. It is direct, unflinching, heavy as the verdict I’m about to receive.
Somehow, I force my legs to cooperate, and I push off the stool and stand.
I lift my chin.
If they’re going to cut me loose, I’m not going to shatter; I’m not going to beg; I’m not going to disgrace myself in front of them by turning into a sobbing mess they can dismiss as weak. I’ll be who I’ve always been: Molly Rogers.
