“If you still want to.” I held his gaze. “You can ask me.”
He looked at me for a moment — careful, reading it, not ready to move until he was sure I meant it.
I did.
“Dinner?” he said, finally.
“Dinner,” I confirmed with a nod.
He watched me for one more second. Then he got out of the car. Closed the door quietly. Stood on the other side of the glass for just a moment — not lingering, just finishing the thought — before he turned and walked back toward the clubhouse without looking back.
That, too. That restraint. That was always one of the things.
I watched him go. He was almost at the door when he stopped and turned back. I rolled down the window.
“Text me when you get home,” he said.
“Okay.”
He held my gaze for a second — just long enough to make sure I meant it — then turned and went inside.
I pulled out of the lot smiling faintly. It wasn’t a request, not really. I’d learned that the hard way three months ago, when I hadn’t texted and he’d shown up outside my building, engine off,just sitting there in the dark until my light came on. He hadn’t mentioned it afterward. Neither had I. But I’d texted every time since.
Chapter 4
?
— Holden —
Church at two meant everyone in their seat by one forty-five. That was how Dutch ran things—expectations were clear, and you exceeded them or suffered the consequences. I’d seen him freeze out brothers who strolled in at the actual meeting time, giving them that cold stare that said more than any lecture.
I was there by one-thirty, because that was how I ran things.
Church was the heart of the clubhouse, a windowless room at the back with a heavy wooden table and chairs for the officers. Dutch’s seat at the head was slightly larger than the rest, carved with the Venom Riders logo. The walls were decorated with photos of fallen brothers and framed club patches from alliances going back thirty years.
I spread my maps across the table before anyone else arrived, weighting the corners with the ashtrays that no one used anymore since Dutch had quit smoking. The route was perfect. I’d checked it a hundred times. But seeing it laid out, every detail accounted for — that helped.
Colt was the first to arrive. He nodded at me and took his seat, moving with an ease I still wasn’t used to seeing from him. For seven years, Colt had walked around like a loaded gun with the safety on. Now that Lilac was back, that tension was gone. Today, though, he looked like he’d had a sleepless night — and not thegoodkind.
“The boys keeping you up?” I asked.
“Luca had a nightmare last night.” Colt’s expression softened in a way I’d never seen before Lilac. “Climbed into bed with us at three AM and kicked me in the kidneys until dawn.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It was.” He said it without irony. Meant it, too. “Knox slept through the whole thing, naturally. That kid could sleep through a hurricane.”
Handful came in next, loud and grinning as always. He draped himself over his chair like he owned the place, immediately pulling out his phone to show Colt something that made them both laugh.
“What’s the joke?” I asked.
“Nothing. Club business.” Handful’s grin widened. “The very serious business of ranking the prospects by how badly they fuck up simple tasks.”
“That’s not club business.”
“It is when the fuck-ups affect club runs.” He leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Which reminds me, you putting Danny on this one?”
“Yes.”
