Ryder shakes his head immediately. “No. Scar wouldn’t—no.”
Mihai’s brows pull together, his expression twisting into mock confusion as he looks at Ryder. “But why wouldn’t he?” he asks mildly. “Hellfire promised him the VP patch. Which is… better than what he ever got in your club, no?”
The words land like a detonation.
My own legs feel like they might give out any second. The traitor really was one of the officers.
Around me, the room fractures.
Ryder goes completely still. Like someone just ripped the ground out from under him. His lips part, but nothing comes out—no denial this time. Just… shock.
Ruin’s jaw clenches hard. His hands curl into fists at his sides, muscles in his arms straining like he’s barely holding himself back from tearing the room apart. “Fuck,” he breathes, but there’s no bite to it. Just raw disbelief.
Wolf doesn’t say anything. He just stares. And that’s worse.
Because I can see it happening right in front of me. The pieces clicking together. Every doubt. Every crack. Solidifying.
“Oh, Wolf.” Mihai sighs, almost pitying now. “You thought you could look into my family and I wouldn’t dig up every single grave of yours?”
My fingers curl into the fabric of Wolf’s cut, clutching it without realizing. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
“I’m not a threat,” Mihai continues, his voice dropping—cold, stripped of that playful edge, “…yet.”
A beat.
Then he tilts his head slightly. “But your Road Captain,” he adds softly, “the one who was promised something he didn’t get. Who my men just saw leave your compound an hour ago…is.”
THIRTY-THREE
Ruin
We’re back at the clubhouse, but nothing feels the same.
My gaze drifts across the brotherhood, one face at a time.
Familiar. Trusted. Or… I thought they were.
Sure, Scar’s the traitor. But is he the only one? Or just the one we know?
According to the Romanian fucker—and his mountain of a guard, Tudor—Scar was the only one acting off. The only one worth digging into. The only one who raised flags.
That doesn’t mean he was alone. That’s what’s got every single one of us on edge.
Wolf made the call not to tell the rest of the club. Not yet. Probably because we lost Scar before we even knew to look for him.
When we asked Mihai why his men let Scar walk out, the bastard just shrugged. Like it had nothing to do with him. Like he hadn’t been the one to drop the fucking bomb in the first place.
That amused, calculating gleam in his eyes irritated the fuck out of me, though. Like he was holding something back. Keeping his cards close to his chest. Of course he is. I would too if I were him. Still pisses me the hell off.
“Mihai and Tudor aren’t leaving,” Wolf mutters, dropping onto the stool beside me at the bar.
I frown, my gaze flicking to where the two of them are casually strolling through the main hall like they belong here. “Why?”
Wolf signals Heath for a drink before answering. “Something about wanting to be ‘at the battlefront’ instead of being reactive.”
I snort. “That is reactive.Proactivewould be finding Hell’s Army’s base and burning it to the ground.”
Wolf side-eyes me, a hint of amusement breaking through the tension. “You wanna tell him that?” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “Or should I?”
