“I want in,” I said, a snap decision that I was sure I’d regret, but I had to find out what happened to Caleb, even if it was the last thing I did.
He blinked, and his brow furrowed further. “In what?”
“The club. The world. The whatever-it-is you’re all so afraid to name.” I gestured around the bar with my hands.
Jay laughed once, low and humourless, as he shook his head. “You think this is a game?”
“No. I think it’s a labyrinth, and you’re standing at the centre along with the real answers about how my brother died.”
“You wouldn’t last a week.” He scoffed, placing both hands flat on the bar top.
“I’m stronger than you think. Try me,” I almost begged. Getting my foot in the door would be a big first step towards finding out what had happened to Caleb.
Jay stared at me for a long time, almost as if he was sizing me up. Then he picked up the bottle and poured us each another drink.
“Finish that,” he said, “then we’ll see if you still want in.” He picked up his glass and downed it in one.
As I reached for the glass, movement at the far end of the bar caught my eye. A woman with warm skin and dark hair pulled into a loose braid was coming towards us, carrying a tray of empty bottles. She was older than most of the women I’d seen there, maybe mid-forties, but her smile was genuine, not the painted on kind I’d been getting since I walked in.
“You must be Lucy,” she said, setting the tray on the counter. Her voice was quiet and smooth, with a hint of gravel.
I blinked. “Yeah, and you are?”
“Maria.” She nodded towards Riot. “Riot’s old lady.”
That surprised me, not because she didn’t look the part, but because she didn’t act like she had something to prove. She stood there, calm and steady, her eyes soft in a way that didn’t match the rough edges of the room.
“I knew your brother,” she said gently. “Caleb. He was a good one. Always made sure I got home from the bar when Riot was stuck on a run.”
The sudden ache in my throat caught me off-guard. “You . . . you remember him like that?”
“Like that and better.” She reached across the bar, squeezing my hand once before letting go. “I’m sorry for your loss,mija. You’re family here, whether you believe it yet or not.”
I didn’t trust my voice enough to answer, so I nodded as tears pricked at my eyes.
Maria gave me a small smile before collecting her tray again. “Don’t let the noise in here fool you. There are people worth trusting, you just have to find them.”
She drifted away towards the back hallway, and for a moment, the knot in my chest loosened. Then the front door opened, and a group of men strode in, eyes raking over me, and the moment of warmth was gone.
Chapter 7
Reaper
She had no right being there. No patch, no protection, nothing but fire in her eyes.
I scrubbed the rim of a glass so hard, it squealed against my rag. My hand didn’t stop even when the prospect beside me glanced up, nervous, like I might snap the thing in half.
Lucy leaned on the bar, chin high, like she belonged there. Like she wasn’t two seconds from being torn apart.She tugged that old hoodie tighter as if it could hide her. It didn’t, not from me. I saw every curve she tried to bury under cotton and grief, and fuck if I didn’t want to put my hands on every inch of her softness. All the hard, sharp girls around there were easy to touch and easier to forget. Lucy was different. She was built to be remembered.
I told myself to look away. Instead, my gaze dragged back, caught on the set of her jaw—Caleb’s jaw—and something twisted in my chest until my grip slipped. The glass clattered against the counter. I caught it, too fast, too tight. Nobody called me on it, but a few heads turned. I forced my shoulders to loosen and my breath to even out.
I watched her as I gripped the glass tighter, and while she laid into me like she belonged there, like she had a right to answers. Maybe she did, but rights meant nothing in my world. Respect did. Blood did. Loyalty did.
And grief? Grief got you killed if you weren’t careful. Hadn’t anyone told her that walking into a reaper’s den meant you might not walk out?
Caleb had been my best friend, more like a brother. He’d patched in under me, rode next to me, bled for this club on runs where I couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. When my old man died and left this whole damn mess in my lap, Caleb was the only one who didn’t flinch. He took the fall for things he didn’t do. He buried bodies we weren’t supposed to have. He kept his mouth shut when silence was the only thing that would keep us alive.
Then, one day, he walked away. He didn’t give a speech, didn’t make threats. He handed me his patch, told me he was getting clean, and begged me not to stop him.“If I stay, I lose myself. If I leave, I might get out alive.”So, I let him go.
