“The ring took Scout,” he said. “Because they thought he saw something. Because they wanted leverage. Not because of you.”
My stomach twisted anyway.
“I still feel responsible,” I said softly.
Doc shook his head. “Guilt’s easy. Blame’s lazy. Don’t take on shit that isn’t yours.”
Brutus nodded at that which was a rare agreement.
Ranger exhaled slowly. “We’ll get him back.”
Ghost didn’t say anything, but the tension rolling off him was darker than anything else in the room.
The silence settled like smoke. Thick, low, hard to breathe through.
I swallowed, pushing past the tightness in my throat. “What can I do?”
Wrecker stepped beside me. Close enough that his arm brushed mine. “Just stay with us,” he said.
It wasn’t a plea.
It was an order wrapped in concern.
But underneath it, buried deep, I heard something else:
He expected things to get worse.
The kitchen noise slowly returned. Brutus clanking the pot. Ranger picking up the knife. Doc flipping a page he wasn’t reading. Ghost typing again like nothing could distract him.
But something had shifted.
A line had been crossed.
And the room wasn’t just a kitchen anymore. It was a war room waiting for someone to light the fuse.
3
WRECKER
Amanda lasted maybe ten minutes in the clubhouse before the walls started closing in on her.
I watched her try.
I watched her sit at the table with Brutus and Doc, watched her pet Smoke when he dropped his slobbery ball on her lap, watched her pretend she wasn't flinching at every heavy footstep on the wood floors. She kept smiling like her face hadn’t forgotten how, but the tension in her shoulders told the truth.
By the time Ranger stepped out for patrol and let the door slam shut behind him, she jumped so hard her fork clattered on the plate.
That’s when I stood.
I didn’t have to say a word. She followed me out the back door with Smoke trotting behind her like a damn shadow.
The morning air was cool, quiet, open. The compound stretched around us in solid lines of fence, trees at the edge of the property moving just enough in the wind. Bikes were lined up where the brothers left them after breakfast. Tools were scattered across Coyote’s workbench. Engine oil faint in the air. Normal MC shit.
But Amanda walked like she was trying not to collapse under the weight of everything she hadn’t said yet.
Ranger was already moving along the perimeter, eyes on the ground for fresh prints, fresh tracks, anything that didn’t belong. He lifted a few fingers when we stepped outside, his version of a wave, and kept going.
I brought Amanda to the far fence line, the spot where the noise from the clubhouse faded. Smoke nudged her hip before flopping into the grass with a groan, rolling onto his back like he knew she needed something soft to look at.
