“Borrowed table.”
“You nearly died.” I choke on the word died.
He cracks a smile. “Nearly doesn’t count, Wildcat.”
Something in my chest twists. “You’re impossible.”
“Funny. You said the same thing the first time we met.”
“Yeah, and you still haven’t proven me wrong.”
Allura ties the final knot, presses gauze, and nods. “He’s good. Keep him awake. No hero stunts for forty-eight hours.”
Divine’s already at her laptop, half the screens flickering with feeds from the gala fallout. “News outlets are calling it a terrorist scare. Nobody’s saying the word Vultures yet. Gentry’s missing. Our leak’s working.”
“Bones?” Raven asks.
Divine shakes her head. “Gone before the cops got there. Two bodies left behind, one sniper rifle. That’s all.”
Silence hits, thick as smoke.
I sink into a chair opposite Carter. My knees won’t stop bouncing. “I should’ve seen the laser sooner,” I whisper.
Carter’s good arm reaches out, fingers brushing my wrist. “Stop. You saved me.”
“I froze.”
“You moved,” he says. “And that’s the only reason I’m still breathing.”
French tosses me a clean rag. “You two gonna start a poetry slam or what? We’ve got blood on the floor and an empire to burn.”
“Let her have a minute,” Allura says quietly. “She lost one brother in the past and nearly another tonight.”
That shuts us all up.
Raven finally breaks it. “What’s the play?”
Divine’s eyes don’t leave her screens. “CallowayHoldings is the money spine. We hit them next with clean, quiet, surgical precision. But we rest first. The Harlots ride better when the engines are warm, not shaking apart.”
Calypso mutters, “Amen to that,” and starts pouring whiskey into mismatched glasses. She hands one to me. “To the ones still standing,” she says.
I clink the rim against hers. “And the ones who bought us the chance.”
The first swallow burns, the second steadies. Around us, the clubhouse exhales, the sound of women who’ve been through hell and plan to go back if they have to.
French flips on the jukebox, something slow and bluesy. Sloane starts humming along, off-key on purpose, until Raven throws a rag at her. Laughter sparks, thin but real.
Carter watches it all from the table, color creeping back into his face. “You run this place like a storm,” he says.
“Storms clean the air,” I answer.
“They also tear things down.”
“Sometimes that’s the point.”
He smiles, tired but sure. “Remind me never to get between you and your sisters.”
“You already did,” I say, meaning the bullet, the dance, the chaos. He understands anyway.
