Then April saw Chad. Being escorted toward the exit by two security guards, his mouth moving in that familiar pattern of volume-as-substitute-for-power. Still performing. Still convinced the world owed him an audience.
Her steps changed direction. Dante adjusted his pace automatically, letting her take the lead. He followed, half a step behind, his hand falling away so she could move freely.
At the booth, Killian started to rise—half out of his seat before Liam's hand landed on his shoulder. The gesture said everything:Sit down before you embarrass us more.
Killian sat.
Seven men stayed exactly where they were, watching April cross the club toward the man who'd shrunk her for three years.
She didn't look back to check if Dante was following. She could feel him there, a shadow with manners. It was hers to lead.
Chad saw her coming. His performance faltered for half a second before he tried to recover. "April, babe—listen, this is all a huge misunderstanding, these guys don't know the full story, we just need to talk this out like adults—"
Her voice cut through his. "Because you can't seem to understand it, I want to make it clear."
Security paused; one of them glanced at his partner then they both went still, hands loose at their sides, letting this play out.
"I am saying we are done." The words landed stilted, like someone who'd never learned how to be mean finally figuring out the mechanics. “I’m done changing my life for you. Or for any man. I'm done making myself small. I deserve—" She stopped. "I deserve nice things. You are not a nice thing."
“"You forfeited your right to my assistance, my support, my love when you cheated on me. You have been cheating on me every Tuesday like it's a lunch break for who knows how long. And you gave me a fake watch.”
The words rang louder in her chest than the club speakers.
From somewhere near the bar, a woman’s voice rang out: “Yeah, dump his ass!”
Energy rippled through the watching crowd; women raised glasses in sharp, gleeful solidarity. Most of the men looked annoyed or confused, like someone had paused the music without asking.
She glanced back toward the booth. Seven men sat utterly still, watching her. Jax lifted his glass in a slow, deliberate toast.
April smiled back, proud and a little wild. The kind that comes when you throw the punch and it lands. Security resumed escorting Chad toward the exit. April turned and walked away. The high hit her all at once, singing through her veins.I did it. I actually did it.
She made it three steps before she saw them: two big, tattooed men falling in behind Chad as he was pushed through the exit.
Through the club's glass front, she watched Chad notice them. His face drained white. He tried to walk faster. He did that panicked shuffle-jog of someone who knows they're being followed but doesn't want to make it obvious, doesn't want to run and confirm it—oh shit oh shit oh shit visible in every jerky movement.
One of the men reached into his jacket.
Chad flinched so hard he nearly tripped.
The man pulled out a coupon.
One conversation in a vault and the world had moved.
She couldn't help it. The laugh burst out of her—relief, victory, and the sheer absurdity of watching a man run from free tacos.
Dante's hand found the small of her back. "Efficiently."
She was still laughing when she reached the booth. Seven men looked up as she sank into the seat, cheeks warm, still riding the thrill of finally having the last word.
She would've been impressed by their synchronized attention if they hadn't already made it abundantly clear they could do it when it counted.
“This is Don Dante," April said, trying for casual, landing somewhere left of composed. "He's helping with… a thing."
Don sat down like he owned the club. Given the way the staff had suddenly become both attentive and nervous, he might.
Jax produced a blank metal name tag and held it out to Don Dante without a word. Don Dante took it, produced a Sharpie—because apparently everyone in the club carried office supplies—and wrote in precise letters:Don Dante. He pinned it to his shirt. Eight men. Eight name tags. Seven engraved, one in Sharpie that looked more permanent than all the rest. Nobody spoke, recalibrating around one new variable in black ink.
Arthur cleared his throat, eyes on April, because she was apparently the actual agenda. "You left upset."
