CHAPTER 6
I push through the door to Brick's office with my ribs screaming at me to stop moving. The taste of my own blood lingers on my tongue, a familiar reminder of consequences.
The room goes quiet.
Five men, five cuts, five pairs of eyes taking in the damage.
The fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows across weathered faces and battle-scarred knuckles.
Nobody asks if I'm okay.
That's not how this works.
Questions about pain are for civilians, for people who haven't chosen this life. Inside these walls, wounds are just evidence of commitment.
I plant my boots on the hardwood floor, shoulders carrying the weight of my cut that feels heavier than usual.
"Savannah stays," I say, voice rough, but absolutely resolute. "Forty-eight hours. Inside these walls. Under my cut and my personal guard."
Not a request or a suggestion—a statement of fucking fact.
I don't really have the right to make this demand, but I do it anyway.
The club hierarchy has rules, chains of command that don't bend for personal vendettas or old flames, but Savannah's place here needs to be established immediately.
As in,right fucking now, before anyone has time to think about what her presence means.
Brick doesn't move from behind his desk. Just fixes me with those ice-chip eyes that haven't blinked since I walked in. His fingers rest on the scarred wood, steady as stone. The silence stretches like a rubber band about to snap, tension building in the stale air that reeks of cigarettes, gun oil, and old leather.
Then everyone talks at once.
"You bring her straight here? Any trackers? Burner phones?" Roach paces the three steps his lanky frame allows in the cramped space. His fingers twitch like they're looking for a trigger, nervous energy radiating off him in waves. "Those Ashby fuckers got resources. Satellite. Private security. They could be?—"
"Unbudgeted liability." Ledger slams his ledger book closed. The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot. His glasses catch the light as he glares at me over the rims. "A fucking Ashby on our property? You know what that costs us? In legal exposure alone?—"
"Gate's soft tonight." Havoc doesn't look at me, just stares at the map on the wall, fingers tracing invisible routes across the terrain he knows better than his own face. "Two prospects, green as grass. If Ashby riders show up, we're fifteen minutes from full strength, minimum."
Diesel says nothing. Just moves three steps to stand at my back, arms crossed over his chest like steel beams. I feel the shift in the room's gravity.
Whatever else these men think about me bringing Savannah here, my sergeant at arms has just made his position clear.
Blood for blood, brother for brother.
My ribs throb with each heartbeat, a metronome of pain keeping time with my racing thoughts. The brand on my chest feels like it's burning all over again, the memory of the hot iron and pledged loyalty searing through skin and muscle.
But I start talking because everyone's nervous and no one needs that. In this room, fear is contagious, and right now, I need these men steady, not spooked. So I take a slow breath and let the pain keep me focused and present. I need that now more than ever—this sharp, relentless reminder that I'm still here, still standing despite everything this world has tried to do to break me.
"Let me spell out what happened." My voice stays level, quiet even. Not because I'm calm—because I'm so fucking far beyond rage that I've circled back to something that looks like peace. It's that dangerous stillness that comes when you've passed through the fire and emerged as something harder, colder, more focused than before.
"Savannah and I were having sex out at this silo where we always hook up. Cash, Wyatt, and Marcus White Jr.—Senator White’s son—showed up with ranch hands. They beat me until I couldn't stand, kidnapped me, and tied me to a support beam in a hunting cabin. Savannah?—"
I have to stop, swallow the blood that's pooling under my tongue. The metallic taste floods my mouth, bringing back memories of The Pit, of fights where I learned to keep going even when my body begged to quit.
"Marcus took her to another cabin on the Ashby land. Kept her tied to a bed for three days. Drugged her. Did things I'm still putting together."
The room goes still.
Even Roach stops fidgeting.
