I reluctantly raise my eyes to his. The intensity I find there makes my breath catch.
"This isn't temporary," he says, his blue gaze holding mine. "The people who killed your dad, who killed your mom—they're still out there. And they're looking for you."
My fork clatters against the plate. "But why? I don't understand what they want with me."
"Doesn't matter why. What matters is that you need to adapt to life here. Club life." He places both hands flat on the counter, leaning slightly closer. "It's the only way to keep you safe."
The kitchen suddenly feels smaller. The air between us grows thick, charged with something I don't want to name.
"What does that mean—adapting to club life?" My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
"Learning our ways. Our rules." His eyes never leave mine. "Understanding who to trust, who to avoid. What doors not to open. When to speak, when to stay silent."
He's so close now I can see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the slight silver stubble along his jaw. The kitchen that felt spacious moments ago now seems confined, airless.
"You need to trust me, Sasha." His voice drops even lower. "Your dad did."
The mention of my father makes guilt surge through me. What would Dad think of the electricity buzzing between Havoc and me? Of how my heart races when he's near?
With him standing over me like this—alone, close, commanding—I feel suffocated. Not just by his presence, but by everything: the club, the danger, the secrets, the confusing feelings I shouldn't be having.
The kitchen door swings open again, and Havoc and I jerk apart like guilty teenagers. I hadn't even realized how close we'd gotten.
Carol stands in the doorway, her eyes darting between us with a knowing look that makes my face burn. She's wearing a faded Wicked Sinners T-shirt that's been washed so many times the logo is barely visible, her grey-streaked hair pulled back in a ponytail.
"Morning," she says, her voice deliberately casual. "Hope I'm not interrupting."
"Just breakfast," Havoc says, moving back to his coffee mug with forced nonchalance. The careful distance returns between us, the spell broken.
I stare down at my plate, willing my heart to slow down. "Morning, Carol."
She comes further into the kitchen, pouring herself coffee while glancing sideways at us. "Didn’t you want to talk with Bone about those shipments from up north, Havoc?"
Havoc nods, draining his mug. "Thanks." His eyes meet mine briefly before he heads for the door. "Remember what I said, Sasha. Club life. Learn it."
The door swings shut behind him, and I exhale slowly, not realizing I'd been holding my breath.
"You okay, sweetie?" Carol asks, taking the seat beside me.
"Fine," I lie, shoving a forkful of egg into my mouth.
"Good," she says, patting my hand. "Because I could use your help this morning, if you're up for it."
"Help with what?" I ask, grateful for the distraction.
"Ruth and I are organizing some things from storage. Found some boxes that might have belonged to your mom." She squeezes my hand. "Thought you might want to look through them."
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. "My mom's things?"
"Just some odds and ends from when she and Viking lived here. Before everything happened." Carol's eyes soften. "Nothing special, probably, but I thought... well, you might want to see them."
"Yes," I say, my voice cracking slightly. "I'd really like that."
I force myself to finish the last few bites of eggs and bacon, even though my appetite has vanished under the weight of anticipation. Mom's things. After twelve years of Dad keeping her memory locked away, hiding photos and changing the subject whenever I asked questions, I might finally see something of hers.
"Thank you," I add, placing my fork down. "For thinking of me."
Carol pats my hand again. "Of course, honey. That's what family does."
