That was it. My hand shot up, catching her wrist, not hard enough to hurt but enough to stop her.
“Gabby,” I said, “you don’t want to push me tonight.”
The corridor seemed smaller, quieter. She pulled her hand back slow, eyes searching mine for whatever had crawled under my skin. She must’ve seen it because she stepped aside without another word.
Caleb’s old room hadn’t been touched since he left. No one wanted it ‘cause of superstition and ghosts. I stopped at the door, ran my hand over the handle, and took a deep breath before I pushed it open.
It had the same faded posters on the wall and reaper flag above the bed. The photo of him and Lucy was still taped to themirror, him in his kutte and her with smudged mascara and a crooked smile.
I sat on the edge of his bed, feeling the weight of his death settle over me.
Lucy was about to dig deep into a world she didn’t understand. She was smart, but she was also walking blind into a situation that could end up with her dead next. I hadn’t wanted her in it, but the kutte was the only way. If I went to her outright, the brothers would smell it on me. Better she came looking on her own, even if it killed me to watch her step into the fire.
I stood, grabbed the small lockbox from under Caleb’s bed—the one only he and I knew about—and cracked it open with the code he’d once given me whilst drunk off his ass, during a run to Reno.
Inside the box was a burner phone, a few photos, a slip of paper with a list of names I didn’t recognize, and a note addressed to me scrawled in Caleb’s untidy handwriting. A note that I had read a thousand times since hearing of his death.
If anything happens to me, start here. Trust no one, not even the ones wearing your patch. There’s another box for my sister, Lucy, stored in the place I like to be.
I stared at the note until the edges blurred then folded it, slipped it into my kutte, and closed the box, sliding it back under the bed. I lay back on the bed and shut my eyes, the weight pressing down on my chest until it hurt to breathe. With the pain came memories I’d spent years trying to bury.
Seven years back . . . the Dead Knights bar.
Caleb had dragged me out, swearing I needed to “earn my stripes” if I ever wanted a real shot with the club, no matter who my father was. Smoke was thick as tar, fists slammed on tables, and laughter was loud enough to deafen.
Then Lucy walked in.
Eighteen, eyeliner sharp as a blade, boots too big, chin tipped up. She wasn’t supposed to be there. Caleb knew it. I knew it. But Christ, the second I saw her, something lit up inside me.
I played it cool, called her‘Little Kane’the way I always did, as if she was just a kid tagging along. I ordered her a soda because no way in hell was I letting her drink anything poured in that place. But the truth? I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She sat across from me in the booth, legs curled under her, trying so hard to look like she belonged when she didn’t. She leaned in and whispered, “You don’t belong here either,” and I almost kissed her.
Almost.
But then Caleb came over, threw his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her away without a word. His eyes said it all:She’s mine to protect. Hands off.
So, I shoved it down and buried it under loyalty, leather, and silence.
But it never really died.
A year later, Caleb and I were parked outside town, passing a six-pack back and forth. It was an easy night of small talk until he dropped the grenade.
“Lucy’s leaving,” he said. “For good this time. Heading out tomorrow.”
I nodded like it meant nothing, as if it didn’t feel like someone was carving out my ribs. “Probably best.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. She doesn’t belong in this mess. I want her out while she’s still clean.”
I told him I agreed, but later, when we drove back, I didn’t go inside. I rode fast and hard until my lungs burned.Still, I ended up outside her apartment, helmet in my hands, like I had no control of my own damn bike.
She opened the door in sweatpants, hair tied up, looking surprised but not unhappy to see me. “Jay?” she whispered.
I wanted to tell her not to go. That I’d thought about her every day since that night at the bar. That she made the shit in my life feel like maybe it wasn’t all ruin.
Instead, I said, “So, it’s true? You’re running?”
Her jaw set. “I’m not running, I’m leaving. There’s a difference.”
