The air changes, thickens with a tension I recognize—the collective rage of men who understand exactly what I'm not saying, who know what happens to women in cabins where no one can hear them scream.
"Colt Ashby broke ranks. Got me out. Brought horses." I press my palm against my side where something's definitely broken inside. Each breath sends jagged shards of pain through my ribs, but I keep my face blank, unreadable. "We rode to the cabin where Savannah was. Found Marcus standing over her with a syringe. I beat him until Colt pulled me off and shot him with a tranq gun."
Havoc nods once, his eyes meeting mine. He understands exactly what I'm not saying. He knows what I did to Marcus so far has nothing to do with what I will still do to him when this is all over.
"We didn’t have no phones on us. So no one tracked us that way. We didn’t have any vehicles, we crossed Ashby land on horseback. So they didn’t track us that way either. We went straight to the trailer and I made exactly one call on the landline." I point to the floor beneath us, to the clubhouse that's become more home than the trailer ever was. "I calledhere. Colt took the horses back to the ranch and told me he was gonna handle his brothers."
"And the senator's son?" Brick finally speaks, each word measured like expensive whiskey, poured with deliberate precision. His steel eyes track every twitch of my face, reading the truth beneath my words.
"Alive." The word tastes like failure. "No bodies. No murder charges. No federal spotlight on Badlands before the next gun run."
Ledger snorts, tapping his pen against the desk. The rhythmic click-click-click counts down the seconds until my fateis decided. "Alive doesn't mean whole. What's the tangible cost to us? Hard numbers."
I reach into my pocket, fingers finding the rubber-banded stack that Brick handed me just weeks ago. Prison payout. New life money. The cash that was meant to give me and Mercy a fresh start away from everything we came from.
I peel the rubber band off and place the stack on the desk with steady hands that don't betray how much this costs me.
"You guys can take whatever's left of my stack. Dock whatever you need for security costs, additional men, whatever fines the club sees fit." I don't blink, don't hesitate. Nothing matters except keeping Savannah here, under my protection. "This buys her safety until we figure out the next steps."
The pounding in my head intensifies, matching the throbbing in my ribs. My mouth is blood and the edges of my vision are starting to blur, darkness creeping in like the shadows that always seem to find me.
I really need a drink right now. Something strong enough to dull this fire burning through my side, to quiet the screaming demon in my head.
But this business needs settling first.
The club comes before comfort. Always has.
I plant my feet wider, lock my knees to keep from swaying. The floor seems to tilt beneath me, but I refuse to show weakness.
Not here. Not now. "So. Are we good?"
Brick still doesn't look satisfied. His eyes narrow to winter slits, the kind of cold that kills men who underestimate it. The money I've thrown down—my whole future—isn't enough. I can see it in the way his jaw works, grinding thoughts between his teeth like he's processing something bitter and unpalatable.
"There's more," I say, the words scraping out of me like they're made of barbed wire and desperation. "The Ashbys owe me now."
I feel Diesel shift his weight behind me, leather creaking as his massive frame adjusts. This is new information to him too. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head, calculating what this means for the club.
"Cash and Wyatt know. They know this isn’t over. I will…” I sigh. Tired. Hating that I have to make this promise. “I will give up my right to vengeance for the sake of the Club. I will smooth it all over. They’re old money. They’re used to this kind of bargaining. It’s a second language to them. It’s a game, ya know? If I want in, they’ll play."
Brick's expression doesn't change, but I see the thinking going on behind his eyes—cold, precise arithmetic of power and leverage.
His face might be stone, but his mind is always counting.
"And Marcus White Jr.—the senator's boy—" I add. "He's tranquilized but breathing. He’s obviously a psychopath. But his father has a name to protect. You know how boys like that are. In the shadow they rise, in the shadow they fall. Nothin’s gonna happen. I’m gonna make sure of it."
The room pulses with my heartbeat, or maybe it's just the blood rushing in my ears. The fluorescent light above us flickers once, casting momentary shadows across Brick's weathered face.
"Hell,” I say, ready to sweeten the deal. “Maybe it’s a blessin’ that those Ashby boys lost their fuckin minds? That I live rent free in their heads? I mean, there’s gotta be at least a dozen back-door gun corridors through Ashby land, right?" I've got their full attention now. Kidnapping me isn’t enough to put it all on the line. Torturing my woman, not even close.
But securing a new route? One that’s not on any map? Yeah. That’s somethin’ they can get behind. That’s worth certain high-risk situations.
I'm not sure I mean it. Even less sure I could actually deliver it.
But I'll say anything right now to keep Savannah here with me, to build a fortress around her that not even Ashby money can break through.
Brick drums his fingertips against the desk, a slow rhythm that matches the throb in my broken ribs. His eyes never leave mine, searching for weakness, for lies, for the faintest trace of bullshit.
Looking at him, meeting his gaze, takes more strength than I have right now. But he cannot sense weakness or it's over. So I hold as the seconds tick off, one by one, until we’re way up in the double digits.
