“That’s horrible,” Tank grunts. “I’m sorry for your situation.”
Bishop sets his coffee down. His voice is blunt, but there’s something under it that isn’t hardness. “What kind of medical problem?”
“Complicated,” I say. “I’m not a doctor.”
“That’s fine,” Bishop says. “I am.”
I look at him.
He taps the side of his head. “Not, like, full-time. But I’ve got training. And I know people. Doctors. Clinics. You need someone who doesn’t ask questions and gets shit done… we’ve got that.”
Tank nods. “Devils take care of their own.”
The words land wrong in my gut. They sink in and twist like a jagged, rusty knife; I’m not one of them — I’m just sleeping with their bartender — and yet I’m a human with a problem and they want to help. I wish they were as big of assholes as they look; this would be so much easier.
Mayhem points a screwdriver at me. “And before you go all proud-man about it, taking help doesn’t make you weak. It makes you not stupid.”
Bishop holds my gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that makes me look away. Like if he stares too long, he’ll see through my lies. “What’s her name?”
“June.”
Bishop nods once, like he files it away. “June. Alright. If June needs extra help, you call me, OK?”
I swallow. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us,” Tank says. “Just do right by her.”
“And do right by Molly,” Mayhem says. “Family takes care of you, you take care of your family, you know?”
My hands go still. Work stops.
Bishop’s mouth tilts, almost amused.
“Careful,” he says. “You stand there like a statue, Goldie’s gonna start asking questions.”
I force myself back into motion — hammering, lining, fastening — like the sound can drown out the truth. Because the truth is, for a few minutes up here, I almost forget Midnight. Almost forget the noose around my sister’s throat. Almost forget why I’m in Ironwood Falls at all. The only thing I’m surrounded by are people who genuinely give a damn about me and about the woman I love. A real brotherhood, not the nightmare of threats and murder that has me in its grasp.
“We’ll let you get to it. You need any help, you just holler,” Tank says. “And don’t fucking fall. Molly’s been in a good mood lately, and I don’t want it spoiled.”
Bishop lingers a second longer, eyes on me, both sharp and kind. “Take care, Evan,” he says. “You and June.”
Then he turns away too.
And the second their backs are to me, the warmth drains out of the air. My breathing slows to nothing, like a hand’s around my throat. Because now they’re not just bikers, not just enemies — they’re men who offer help when they don’t have to.
Men with names and jokes and a code.
I stare at the shingles under my hands, the clean line of work, the stupid, unnecessary job Molly pulled strings for… and remorse hits so hard it’s almost physical.
I whisper it under my breath where no one can hear.
“I’m sorry.”
Then I pick up the hammer again and keep working like I’m not building my own damn gallows.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Molly
