The meeting room door slammed. Boots pounded through the hallway. Jay’s voice, sharp and commanding, rattled through the walls as he gave orders. He was already carrying enough weight for all of them. For me.
I leaned my head against the glass, breath fogging the window. No, I wouldn’t add more to his load.
They didn’t have to let me go. I knew that. Hell, half the room had looked at me like dead weight when Jay said my name. Outsider, unpatched, Caleb’s ghost in a leather jacket.
I couldn’t sit in the clubhouse and sip whiskey while the Dead Knights bled for a truth I’d dragged out of the dark. Caleb hadn’t raised me to flinch, and if I wanted a place at the table, if I wanted them to believe I wasn’t there to stir shit, then I had to stand shoulder to shoulder with them when the bullets started flying.
So, when Jay saidwarehouse job, I didn’t hesitate.
If I died that night, at least it would be on my terms. Fighting for something, fighting for Caleb.
“Not in that dress,” Jay said. His voice carried no judgment. “You’ll get torn up in it.”
“Come with me,” he said and walked up to his room. He pulled a set of clothes from his chest, black trousers, worn but sturdy, and a long-sleeved Henley that smelled faintly of leather and his oaky aftershave. He handed them over without looking me in the eye, then gestured to the bathroom. “Change. We leave in five.”
I shut the bathroom door halfway. The clubhouse creaked, boots thudding in the hall downstairs, engines revving somewhere beyond the walls. I stripped out of the boho dress, the fabric sliding down my body in a whisper and pooling at my ankles.
Through the narrow gap in the door, I caught him watching. A flash of broad shoulders taut against the frame, jaw set like he was holding himself together by threads. His gaze flicked over me once, hot and sharp, before he dragged it down to the floor as if the effort cost him.
The air between us crackled. Want, dangerous and undeniable, and all the things standing in the way of it and I felt it, the want he was fighting. The same want that was tearing me open from the inside. He could pretend it wasn’t there, bury it under leather and harsh words, but I’d seen it in his eyes. God help me, it made me ache.
I pulled the Henley over my head. It swallowed me whole, soft and worn, sleeves slipping past my hands. The trousers fit better, hugging my hips, heavy enough to ground me in the moment. I laced my boots tighter, each knot cinching down the tremor that had nothing to do with fear.
When I stepped back out, Jay’s eyes finally rose to mine and that time he didn’t look away. The shirt hung loose on me, dipping at the collar, the sleeves pushed up to my elbows. His shirt. His clothes. His smell clinging to my skin.
Something in his face cracked. Desire, raw and unguarded, before he masked it again. But not before I saw it—he liked me in his clothes, maybe even loved it.
“You’ll do,” he said at last, voice rougher than before, gravel hiding under restraint. He turned for the door, shoulders stiff, but the weight of his stare still burned across my skin.
***
The van reeked of rust and burnt oil. Silence pressed against me like a weight, broken only by the tick of Jay’s cooling engine.
We checked weapons. Riot’s rifle clicked into place. Keno slid on gloves and cracked his neck. I felt the metal of my Glock dig into my palm, cold, solid, protection. Boxer, Link, and Finn had already jumped out and were scoping out the area.
Jay’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Treat any movement like a threat. Last chance to stay behind.”
I swallowed. “You really think I came this far to warm a seat?”
No answer, he just shook his head.
The warehouse loomed like a beast. Rusted steel groaned, shadows swirled. Two men paced near the back, guns swinging lazily.
Jay tapped my arm. “Left flank.”
My boots made no sound, my heart hammering in my ears was louder. The Fang’s back was to me. One strike of the pistol grip to his skull and bone cracked under the steel. He fell. Silence ruled for a heartbeat, then the thrum of my own pulse took over.
The second man whirled. Jay’s rifle barked, echoing off the metal walls. He hit the floor mid-step, arms splayed, eyes wide in shock.
Smoke from a flare stung my eyes and heat licked my cheeks. I could taste the gunpowder, the sweat, the acrid scent of fire.
Another figure burst from behind the cover of pallets, gun raised. Instinct caused me to fire before I could even think it. Two shots to the chest and he hit the floor hard.
Jay slid beside me, scanning. Not a word, but a nod of acknowledgment.
Riot and Keno flanked north. Smoke clung to them, swirling in the air like living shadows. I pressed forward, Glock low, muscles tense, senses screaming.
A man raised a rifle at Keno. I fired, bullet ripping through air, hitting his shoulder. He screamed, gun clattering to the ground. My ears rang, heart racing, lungs burning, every nerve alive.
