And the phone sits on the nightstand, screen dark.
CHAPTER 8
SABER
Shelby isasleep on my chest, one hand curled against my collarbone, her brown hair fanned across my skin. The room is bright with the afternoon sun. Her breathing is deep and even, and I have been lying here for twenty minutes doing absolutely nothing.
My phone is on the nightstand. The message from earlier this morning still bothers me. I reach over her, careful not to shift the mattress, and tilt the screen.
Razor: Nitro wants to talk. Neutral ground. 7 p.m.
I put the phone down. Shelby doesn’t stir. Her fingers twitch against my chest, and her lips part on an exhale. I want to stay in this bed until the desert swallows the highway and nobody can find us.
I can’t.
I slide out from under her. She rolls into the warm spot I left, presses her face into my pillow, and doesn’t wake up. I pull on jeans, a shirt, and my cut, and I stand at the dresser for a minute, looking at her.
Meeting with Nitro is something that can’t wait. But before I leave, I have something for Shelby.
The box is in my saddlebag. I bought it the morning after she told me she loves to draw. I’ve kept it there, waiting for a moment that didn’t come. Now the moment is her sleeping in my bed after I made her come three times.
I go downstairs, grab the box from the bag by the front door, and come back. Charcoal pencils. A set of blending stumps. Two sketchbooks. One small enough to carry, and one large enough to spread out on a table. I set them on the nightstand next to her phone.
No note. She’ll know.
I close the door quietly and head for Church.
Razor is already at the table with twenty more of my brothers. I take my seat at the head and don’t waste time.
“What did you find?”
Razor slides his phone across the table. “Diner surveillance. I pulled the last two weeks of footage from the owner.” He taps the screen. “Bull and Edge show up three times before that night. Different days, different hours. They sit in the lot, watch the building, and leave. They were mapping your routine. When you show up, how long you stay, and who rides with you.”
“They’re trying to encroach on our territory,” Duke says.
“Routes, habits, manpower.” Razor looks at me. “This was never about Shelby. She got caught in it, because you were there every morning.”
Nitro’s been at this longer than I thought. And Shelby walked into the middle of it, because I couldn’t stay away.
“The footage from that night is clean,” Razor continues. “Bull draws first. Gun comes up. Shelby hits him, and the gun goes off.Edge drops from Bull’s own bullet. She didn’t kill anyone. Bull did.”
“Anyone else in the lot?”
“Nothing on the cameras inside or out.” Razor pockets his phone. “But Joker never got the plates on that car peeling east. My guess is that’s how the Warriors know she was there. Their guy was too far out to see details. He saw the waitress standing there and Saber putting her on his bike.”
I look around the table. Every man in this room. My eyes land on the man at the far end—the one who stood up in my common room last night and called me weak.
He meets my gaze. Then he speaks.
“I was out of line.” There’s no groveling. “She protected you. We protect her. That’s the end of it.”
I hold his eyes for two beats. Nod. Move on.
“Some of you already heard what I told Deacon at the county line. I’m making it official. Shelby is mine—my Old Lady. Every man in this club treats her with the respect that comes with that title.” I stand. “I’m meeting Nitro today. Razor and Crash are with me. Duke, you’re on the clubhouse.”
The truck stop is a cracked concrete lot with two dead gas pumps and a boarded-up convenience store. Halfway between Ash Valley and Crimson Warriors territory. Nobody’s ground.
Deacon is there. So is Nitro.
