Mine.
“I’ll be back soon, angel.” The word leaves before I think about it.
She doesn’t argue it.
I turn and walk out before I give myself time to do something I can’t take back.
Church is already full when I step in.
Smoke hangs low in the room. Men packed in tight. Cuts stretched across shoulders, tension sitting heavy between them. Logan stands at the head of the table, arms braced, jaw locked. This isn’t routine. This is pressure. And I’m the center of it.
Logan’s eyes cut to me the second I walk in. “You’re late.”
“I had shit to handle.”
His gaze sharpens. “I’m sure you did.”
I take my seat. The room shifts. Not loud. Not obvious. But every man here knows what this is about.
Logan doesn’t waste time. “We’ve got a RICO investigation still sniffing around our doors,” he starts, voice hard and controlled. “Brynn’s still getting calls about her brother. That hasn’t gone away.”
Murmurs ripple through the room. Low. Controlled. Unhappy.
“And now,” Logan continues, his gaze locking on me, “we’ve got a separate operation grabbing women off the streets with files on them.”
Silence drops heavy. No one likes that. No one here tolerates that.
“But that’s not the only problem,” Logan adds. His eyes don’t leave mine. “You brought an unconscious woman into my clubhouse with bodies in tow and heat already building. Then you walked past me when I told you to stop.”There it is. Laid out. In front of everyone.
Disrespect.
I don’t respond. Don’t defend. Don’t explain.
Logan watches me for a second longer, like he’s waiting for something. He doesn’t get it. “Punishment’s coming,” he says finally.
“Yeah,” I answer. No argument. No apology. Just acknowledgment. That settles something in the room. Not approval. But understanding.
Logan moves on. “We’ve got four men downstairs. Three dead One talking. We’ve got partial intel. Not enough motive. Not enough structure. Which means we’re dealing with something bigger than a one-off.”
Shadow nods slightly.
Hammer shifts his weight.
Blaze mutters, “Love that for us,” under his breath.
Logan ignores him. “Which brings us to her.” The words land. No name. Doesn’t need one. Everyone knows. “She’s not club,” Logan says. “She’s not tied to us. Which means we’ve got options.” He looks around the table. “Safehouse. Outside medical. Move her off property.” Each option lands. Each one makes sense. Each one is wrong.
“She stays here.” The words come out flat. Final.
Logan’s gaze snaps back to me. “Why?”
“Because they know her life. Not ours.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It is.”
Logan leans forward slightly. “You’re making this personal.”
