“You don’t get to walk away from this,” I whispered to the trees, the ghosts, the thought of her.
Her eyes flashed in my head, hatred, fury, the same stubborn fire Caleb carried to his grave. She dug up the bones I’d buried, but she hadn’t put me in the ground yet.
The duffel waited on the floor. The pistol inside was clean and oiled, the mag full. Cash was stacked beside it, enough to vanish.
The cabin’s silence wasn’t peace—it was waiting.
I grabbed the last burner. One number saved. One brother.
I typed slow, careful. No names, only the signal we’d agreed on months ago.
Me: It’s time. Still want what you said you wanted? I’ve got the match. You light it. Burn them down.
The buzz came quick. One message.
Unknown: Where?
A grin stretched across my face.
Me: Sunday. Come alone. Leave the kutte.
Phone dead, ashes in the fire.
Reaper thought the threat was outside the gates now. Fool.
“You should’ve walked away when you had the chance, Lucy.”
Then, I disappeared into the cabin’s shadows. Not running. Not yet.
When I came back, I wouldn’t kill her fast. I’d make her watch everything fall apart before her eyes.
Chapter 25
Reaper
The clubhouse was too damn quiet.
Even with the jukebox humming in the corner and the faint rattle of someone shooting pool in the back, the tension pressed down on my shoulders like a goddamn weight. It was in the floorboards, the sideways glances, the way conversations died the second I walked in. Word travelled fast in the club. Blood left a stain, even if there was no body.
I didn’t stop to talk. Didn’t drink. I walked straight to the war room and threw open the heavy door, letting it slam.
Riot was on my heels, silent as always.
“Get everyone,” I said.
He nodded, peeling off, already moving.
I headed into the room. Every meeting that mattered, every line drawn, every vote cast happened right here. This night would be no different.
Five minutes later, boots pounded in from every direction—back door, bunk rooms, garage, bar. Link. Boxer. Even Spider, who’d been absent for two months, showed up with grease on his hands and fire in his almost black eyes. His dark hair, too longto be tidy, hung in loose strands that brushed his jaw, and the stubble across his face made him look even more raw.
The door shut. Heat and seriousness thickened the air. Every man there had bled for their patch.
I stood, hands flat on the table and met eyes with each of them before I spoke. “We got the rat.”
Silence. No questions. No pushback. They already knew.
I continued. “Gage ran. He knew the second he saw the photo. Didn’t try to deny it.”
