“Cute, Gator,” he says. “Very cute.”
His men lock down positions. Two at the windows. Three by the front. A couple in the hallway. One near the kitchen door, gun angled toward the bar like he’s waiting for Molly to move wrong.
Molly’s voice is low and lethal and directed with equal venom at every cut-wearing Son of a bitch in the room. “You all better get the fuck out of my bar.”
Midnight doesn’t look at her yet. He keeps his eyes on me, as if I’m the only thing he needs to address. He never was a very smart man. “So,” he says. “This is what you give me? A staged parking lot and an empty clubhouse? Where the fuck are the Twisted Devils?”
“They’re not here.”
“No shit,” he says. “Where are they?”
“Busy.”
His eyes sharpen. “Busy where?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, you tailpipe-sucking asshole.”
“Seems you made a choice about June,” he says it slow, like he’s tasting the name as it crosses his wormy tongue. “Decided that her life just isn’t fucking worth it. You know, I always thought you’d do something stupid and sacrifice yourself — you seemed the type to do that idiotic shit. But I thought you’d at least wait until that young, sweet cunt you call a sister was safe. What the fuck changed? You suffer brain damage since the last time we talked? Because we sure as fuck are going to take our time with her, now.”
The rage that floods me is so violent it makes my vision pulse. I keep my hands flat on the bar top, visible, controlled, like I’m not one second from tearing someone’s throat out with my teeth.
“You made a big mistake, Midnight. Riding into Ironwood Falls like you own it.”
Midnight laughs. “I own you, Gator.” Midnight turns his attention to Molly, slow and deliberate. His eyes rake over her like she’s an object he gets to appraise. He lets loose a slow, murky chuckle. “And you… the bartender… I can see why Gator kept trying to string us along. If I was fucking you each night, I’d want to take my time before finishing the job, too.” He chucklesagain. “Of course, nothing says I can’t get myself a taste before I slit your throat. It’s been a while since I had my nose buried in some short, copper-colored curlies. Tell me, Gator, does cunt taste like strawberries?”
Molly doesn’t shrink. She lifts her chin.
“Try it,” she says, voice like ice. “I fucking dare you. I’ll cut that one-inch nub you call a cock off with my fucking lime knife, you bent-nosed motherfucker.”
God damn. Even now, even with guns in her face, she’s still a relentless storm. I grin despite myself.
Midnight steps forward, and his men tighten the circle around us. The guns raise, take aim, hammers cock, and the air gets thinner.
“Your sister dies for this,” Midnight says.
The words should gut me.
They do. With sharp pain that slices through my insides, aiming right for my heart.
But something else rises through the panic — something steady, sharp, almost calm.
Because I finally understand what I’ve been refusing to accept: June is not a bargaining chip to Midnight. She’s a toy. Even if I’d done everything perfect, they would still kill her.
Because all Midnight cares about is cruelty.
I laugh.
“You fucked up, Midnight. You came into Ironwood Falls heavy. You brought a fucking parade. The Devils don’t just own this clubhouse,” I say. “They own this town. They keep an eye out for the community, and the community keeps an eye out for them. By the time you were on the road with your silly fucking caravan, they were already moving.”
“Liar,” Midnight spits, but there’s a sliver of uncertainty in his eyes.
Molly’s voice slices in. “He’s not lying. Evan’s got you figured out, you simple-minded chucklefuck. You know how many locals come in here? How many people in this town we know by name? Fuck, I said ‘hi’ to your mother just last night.”
I don’t look at her, but her words hit me like a hand on my back. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But something.
Midnight’s jaw flexes, his eyes flicker again, but he laughs.
“Fine,” he says. “Your friends have left you here to die. The fuck do I care? I’ll burn this place down and take what I came for.”
