“Okay, my Charlotte,” she says warmly, oblivious to the cold panic rising in my chest. “Love you, sweetheart.”
I mumble a quick “love you too” as I slow to a stop. Then I open the message.
Ryder: Don’t panic just yet. Glory got out two days ago. I haven’t pinned down her exact location, but I’m working on it. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere alone. Drop your late-night bar shifts, too. Please.
My pulse spikes. What the fuck? Why the hell is she out? How the hell is she out?
I shoot back a thumbs up, because what else can I do? I can’t call in sick, not tonight. Not when I’m already running late.
The familiar neon sign of Cravin’ Tavern glows as I round the corner, and sure enough, Beau is already scowling through the window.
“Sorry, Beau. First and last, I swear,” I say as I walk in, breathless.
He grunts, relenting, and goes back to his clipboard and inventory.
The hours pass in a blur of spilled shots, chaotic laughter, and too-loud music. I even manage to forget the dreadful text for a bit.
Ryder and I talk maybe once a month. That’s more than I expected, honestly. After I left the club, I didn’t realize until dayslater he’d transferred back $100K instead of the $70K that was mine.
I’d called him, furious.“I don’t care if it’s shut-up money or guilt money. I’m sending it the fuck back.”
That launched a month-long negotiation—me trying to return it, him insisting it was a mistake but also not a mistake. Somewhere in the middle of all that yelling, I realized something.
Ryder did feel guilty. He didn’t just want to say it out loud. He apologized too, many times. He never pushed, though, unlike some people. And for that, I was grateful.
So now, we’re friends. To a degree.
It’s almost 3:30 a.m. when I finally finish closing. Maria and Rendall left half an hour ago. Beau dipped right after.
I’m dead on my feet. But it’s quiet now, peaceful. And I’m walking home with a sweet ache that comes from a day being productively spent. But I need to be on high alert tonight.
The streetlight flickers as I round the corner to my apartment. That’s when I see her.
Glory.
Leaning casually against the brick wall of my building, one foot propped up behind her, arms crossed like she owns the night.
She looks older. Haggard, even. Her skin is paler, hair thinner than I remember. But her posture? That’s exactly the same. Calm, unshaken, like she never left. Like prison was a goddamn vacation.
I’d expected this. Ryder’s message warned me. But not this soon. Not tonight.
My hand stays loose by my thigh as I quickly text Ryder, thumb tapping fast.
Me: She’s here.
When I look up again, our eyes lock. And fuck me, she smiles. One of those soft smiles she used to wear when I was fifteen and still stupid enough to think she was the coolest woman alive. A smile that says,I see you, I know you.
But she doesn’t know me anymore.
“I see you’re out,” I say casually, forcing stillness into my limbs. “What’s up?”
Small talk? Really, Charlotte?I internally smack myself.
Glory pushes off the wall and starts walking toward me, slow and steady. That’s when I catch the movement.
Two shadows slip out behind her. Men. Bigones. Both broad-shouldered, tattooed, moving in sync like they’ve done this before. Their cuts don’t match the local MC. Hell, I don’t recognize their patch at all. Not Wardens. Not Nomads or Reapers. Not anyone I’ve seen before.
My stomach plummets.Who the fuck are they?
