Scar Brow snorted once, but he didn’t do it again. One look from Riot turned the sound to ash.
“Kingsley,” Jay said without looking away from me, “you got something to say about Ghost, say it.”
Kingsley wiped his hands again, like maybe that time the rag would help. “Your boy came through here a few times,” he replied. “Clean. Sober. Hungry enough to work half-rate. Then he stopped coming. Next thing I hear, he’s dead.”
“That’s a story,” Jay said, “not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
Jay stepped closer, and so did Link, a shadow of a shadow. I felt the room hold its breath, waiting for the moment when a word turns into blood. Jay broke first, his voice quiet.
“We’re not here to tear up your floor, Kingsley. Not today. But you corner Kane blood again, you’re going to find out what we do to men who like their odds.”
Kingsley looked at me, then at Jay, and made a decision I didn’t like. He nodded once, tight. “We done?”
“For now,” Jay said.
Barbed Wire muttered something about clubhouse pets, and Link’s head turned just enough that the man found something fascinating on the concrete by his boot. Riot breathed out a half-laugh.
“Let’s go,” Jay said to me. “You’ve made your point.”
I swallowed what I wanted to say and followed them out into the sunlight.
Out by the bikes, the prospect couldn’t help himself and blurted, “You okay, ma’am?”
“Ask me when I’m not shaking.”
Jay heard that—of course, he did—and rounded on me the second we hit gravel.
“What the hell was that?” he growled, quiet enough that it was worse than a shout. “You trying to get yourself killed, princess?”
“Don’t call me that,” I fired back. “And what was it? It was me doing what nobody else will. It was me not waiting for you to decide when I’m allowed to care.”
“You walk into a chop shop alone and start saying Ghost’s name like a prayer someone’s going to answer?”
“Someone did,” I said. “You.” Wrong answer. His jaw ticked, and he looked like he wanted to put his fist through something.
Riot stepped between us, not with his body but his attention. “She’s not wrong,” he said. “She’s just not subtle.”
“I’m done with subtle,” I snapped. “I did the polite thing. I asked the police. I asked my father. I asked you.” I planted a finger in Jay’s chest, right on the leather. “I am done waiting for men to decide when the truth is safe.”
Link’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. He looked away when Jay shot him a glance that could peel paint. Jay leaned in until I could count the navy flecks in his ice-blue eyes.
“You move without me again,” he said, voice so low I felt it in my bones, “I’ll chain the clubhouse gate with you inside and let you stew until you remember how to listen.”
“Try it,” I said, folding my arms. “You don’t get to put me in a cage because you couldn’t keep Caleb out of a coffin.”
Riot shifted enough to ease something that didn’t want easing. “Pres,” he said softly, “she’s already in it, whether you like it or not.”
Jay looked at him then looked at me, and something mean and exhausted in his face let go.
“Pup,” he said without looking away, “helmets on. You and Link run the perimeter and make sure our friend Kingsley remembers his manners.”
“Yes, Pres,” the kid said, too fast.
Link clapped him on the shoulder as they swung back towards the bay. Riot tipped his head at me, then he angled off, fishing a cigarette from behind his ear but not lighting it. It was a habit, not a necessity.
It left me and Jay in the kind of quiet that scrapes skin. He dragged a hand over his jaw, the rasp of the stubble loud in the hot air.
