It wasn’t the added muscle or scars that made Jay a stranger. It was the way he stood behind the bar, calm in the chaos, every man’s eyes flicking to him before they dared move. He carried the patch like a crown, like a warning.
Yet, when his eyes found mine—cold, ice-blue, steady—I saw the boy I used to know. It was only for a heartbeat, and it hurt more than I’d expected.
“Lucy.”
“Jay,” I replied, stepping closer.
He leaned on the bar, slow and calm. “It’s Reaper now. Didn’t think Caleb had any family left that gave a damn.”
“I didn’t think you still wore that patch.” I crossed my arms and tilted my chin towards his chest.
Silence spread through the room like smoke from a fire.
“You here to mourn with us,” he asked, his voice a low growl, “or to start something?”
I met his stare and answered with a lot more bravado than I had. “That depends on what I find.”
Another pause.
Then Jay—Reaper—chuckled under his breath, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “You always had balls, Lucy.”
“I didn’t come here to flirt.”
His jaw flexed. “Then what did you come here for?”
I pulled the folded autopsy report from the inside of Caleb’s hoodie and slid it across the bar. His eyes didn’t move from mine, but his hand found the paper. He opened it, glanced at the top line, read maybe half a page, then stopped.
“I want to know who did this to him,” I said.
He tapped the report once then set it aside. “You know what Caleb was, Lucy. He had enemies. We all have enemies.” He gestured around the bar. “People who wanted him gone. I kept him out of as much trouble as I could, but I’m not God.”
“You were there that night, weren’t you? Maybe you didn’t only bury him. Maybe you helped put him in the ground.”
The words hung like smoke, choking the air.
Jay’s hand slammed the bar hard enough to rattle the glasses. Then, slow and deliberate, he stalked around the counter. My pulse jumped, but I didn’t back away.
A stool scraped across the floor. I turned my head and my eyes flicked to his patch. ‘Riot,’ ‘VP.’ He didn’t stand, didn’t raise his voice as he said, “Pres... eyes on you.”
Jay moved in close, and I felt the heat of him crowding me against the bar, one hand braced beside my hip, kutte brushing my chest. Trapped.
“Careful, Little Kane,” he said, voice low and lethal. “Say that again, and you won’t walk out.”
“You going to hurt me,Jay?”
He breathed in through his nose, his chest heaving, fists clenched and eyes burning through me.
I tipped my chin higher, even though my breath caught at the nearness of him. “Funny. You had plenty to say the last time I saw you. Remember that? Outside my apartment, telling me no one would miss me when I left?”
His jaw tightened, his eyes like steel on mine. “And you proved me right, didn’t you? You left. You stayed gone.”
The words hit like a fist, but I shoved the hurt down and let the fire rise instead. “Because you made damn sure I had no reason to stay.”
Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too quickly for me to name it. Pain, maybe. Regret. But then it hardened again, cold as ice.
“Never thought I’d see the day Pres lost his temper over a woman,” Riot muttered loud enough for us to hear. He sipped his drink, eyes on me.“Guess fire recognizes fire.”
“You honestly think I had something to do with Caleb’s death?” Jay asked, walking back behind the bar, a barrier between us once again. His voice was quieter, more dangerous.
