And none of it matters when I read that text.
Hi.
I should tell Savannah no. I should focus on figuring out what I’m gonna do. I should be sitting with Butch, or planning my next move.
But I know exactly where I'll be at midnight.
Same place I've always been when she calls.
Same place I'll always be.
Because when it comes to Savannah Ashby, I've never known how to say no. Not at sixteen. Not at thirty-two.
She is my poison fruit and I will never stop tasting her.
I light another cigarette, inhaling deep enough to burn. The nicotine doesn't calm me anymore, but the ritual gives my hands something to do besides reaching for her ghost.
I type out a reply to Mercy, delete it, type again. My finger hovers over the send button.
Focus on school. I'm proud of you.
It's the only clean truth I have left to give. The only part of me that isn't stained with blood, or lies, or broken promises.
Everything else is scorched earth. Club politics. Brothers who might be enemies. Brick's calculating eyes. Butch's blood drying under my fingernails.
And Savannah. Always Savannah.
I hit send and crush out my cigarette under my boot, calculating how long I have to wait to feel her wet pussy clench around me.
Then I turn back toward the clubhouse, already feeling her skin under my hands, already hearing her breath catch when I push my cock inside her.
Some men pray for salvation.
I just count the minutes until damnation.
CHAPTER 3
I sit at the breakfast table, running my finger around the rim of my coffee mug. It's seven-twenty. The silver spoons clink against porcelain. The staff move silently around us, refilling coffee, removing plates. Every sound echoes in the high-ceilinged dining room. Every movement feels choreographed.
I didn't want to come down this morning. Didn't want the food or the forced conversation. But here I am anyway, because that's what Eleanor trained me to do. Breakfast at 7:15, dinner at 6:30. Family meals aren't optional. They're religion. They're law.
"More coffee, Miss Ashby?" Miss Charlot asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice. The dark liquid pours, steam rising like a spirit escaping. I watch it curl and vanish.
Cash sits at the head of the table—Eleanor's chair. He's reading something on his tablet, barely acknowledging me. Three weeks since Legion walked out. Three weeks of this pantomime of family.
Wyatt stumbles in, twenty minutes late and riding some chemical high. His eyes are too bright, pupils pinned. Cocaine, probably. Could be pills. With Wyatt, it could be anything—henever did have any self-control. At least he showed up. As soon as Legion left, Wyatt came back to the family table like a vulture returning to a carcass.
"Morning, sunshine," he drawls at me, dropping into his chair. His hand shakes slightly as he reaches for the coffee.
I don't answer. Just take another sip from my mug.
The emptiness to my right is what gets me. That's where Colt always sat. My brother, my confidant. The one person in this house who actually saw me.
And now he's gone. Off with Destiny and the baby, somewhere out of reach and out of touch. Somewhere with a new life that doesn't include any of us.
I can't blame him for escaping. I just wish he'd taken me with him.
