"So you recruited him."
"I recruited him." The confession lands between us like a body. "Promised him it was low-risk. Surveillance only. We'd stay hidden, gather intel, get out clean."
"But it wasn't low-risk."
"No." He closes his eyes. "The operation was compromised. Someone in my unit, someone I trusted, was feeding information to the Cartel. I didn't know. Should've seen it, should've caught it, but I didn't. And wheneverything went to hell..." He stops, breathing hard through his nose. "I called him for backup. I was pinned down at the Royal Bastards clubhouse, extraction falling apart, and I called Alex because I needed someone I could trust."
The room tilts. "You called him into the ambush."
"I called him." He opens his eyes, and they're wet. "He came even though I told him it might be hot. Came because I asked. Because he trusted me. And when the shooting started, he pushed me into cover and took the bullets meant for me."
I can't speak. Can't breathe. The story I thought I knew is reshaping into something uglier.
"You got him killed," I whisper. The words don’t feel like enough. I want to scream. I want to hit him. I want to rewind four years and drag Alex out of that call before he ever answers.
Carter flinches like I struck him. "Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me this before? At the docks? When we met?"
"Because I'm a coward." His voice breaks. "Because I knew that once you knew the truth, you'd look at me exactly like you're looking at me right now. And I'm selfish enough to want... I wanted one more day before you hated me. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes."
"I don't." I stop. Do I hate him? I don't know what I feel. Anger. Grief. Something that might be understanding buried under the rage.
"You should," he says. "You should hate me."
"Did he know?" The question tears out of me. "Did he know the operation was compromised?"
"No. I didn't know until after. Until it was too late."
"What were his last words?"
Carter's breath hitches. "'Tell Vic I'm sorry. Tell her it was worth it. Protecting her.'"
The sound that escapes me is half-sob, half-keen. "He said my name."
"His last thought was you." Carter wipes his face roughly. "He made me promise to tell you he loved you. That everything he did, joining the Bastards, taking the job with me, all of it, was to make the world safer for the women you'd protect. For the shelter you wanted to build."
That breaks something open in me I’ve been welding shut since the funeral.
Through the walls, I hear the muted sounds of the clubhouse. French's laugh comes from somewhere downstairs. A bike engine is starting in the lot. Life continues like the world isn't cracking apart in this room.
"I should kick you out," I say. "Should tell you to leave and never come back."
"You should."
"But I can't." The admission costs me everything. "Because part of me understands. Part of me knows that if I'd been in your position, if I'd needed help and trusted someone enough to call them... I'd have done the same thing."
He looks at me like I've offered him something sacred he doesn't deserve. "Rebel."
"Don't." I hold up a hand. "Don't thank me. Don't tell me it's going to be okay. Just..." I stop, gathering myself. "Just tell me there's no more. No more secrets about that night. No more things you're hiding about Alex."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. That half-second of hesitation is louder than the gunfire, and in it, I see the truth.
"There's more," I say flatly.
"Classified details. Things I can't…"
"Bullshit." I stand, needing distance. "You just told me you recruited him and called him into an ambush. What could possibly be worse than that?"
