He huffs a humorless laugh. “Yeah.” Logan watches me like he’s deciding whether to say something else. He does. “If you see something off tonight—”
“I’ll handle it.”
He stares at me for a beat. “That’s not what I said.”
“I know.”
“You planning to ignore me already?”
I meet his eyes. “If I see something off, I’ll handle it smart.”
That’s the best he’s getting.
Logan studies me long enough to make clear he knows exactly what I mean by smart. Which is that if something feels wrong, I’m not riding away from it because a meeting ended with a reminder to be careful. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ. Why do I bother with you?”
“Habit.”
That gets the ghost of a grin out of him, gone as quick as it came. “Get the money and come back.”
I turn toward the door. “That’s the plan.”
“Cobra.” I pause. His voice hardens again. “We have enough heat.”
I look back over my shoulder. “Then let’s hope nobody adds to it.”
His stare holds mine for a second, then he gives one short nod.
Conversation over.
I step out of church into the hallway, and the change in air hits immediately. More space. More noise. Life moving. The clubhouse is full enough tonight that the place breathes around me, women talking in the common room, a television running somewhere, glass clinking, one of the prospects laughing too loud before another voice cuts him off. The smell changes too, smoke giving way to food, liquor, old wood, and the lived-in scent of too many people sharing the same walls. I move through it without slowing.
Casey flies past the end of the hallway with Amy on her heels, both of them talking over each other about something that sounds like the end of the world in teenage girl language. Neither looks my way.
Good.
A second later Knox tears after them for no reason except he’s two and apparently believes chaos is a calling, with Remy close behind and Mason screaming something that probably makes sense only to other little feral things. Mac shouts for them to stop running before they bust their asses, and somewhere in the middle of that I hear one of the men mutter that the boys come by it honest.
Probably true.
Doesn’t make them less destructive.
I step around the edge of the storm and keep going. Emma’s in the common room with Jason next to her, talking to Mac, Kya and Brooke.
Brooke glances up as I pass, her gaze catching mine for half a second. Not curious. Just aware. She’s one of the few who looks at me like that. Like she knows silence doesn’t mean absence. Just means I’m not wasting words. I give her a nod. Nothing more.
Outside, the cold hits harder. Winter dark has already swallowed the lot, leaving only the security lights cutting pale pools across gravel and chrome. My bike waits where I left it, black and mean under the glow, engine cold, metal reflecting just enough light to show shape and edge.
I pull my gloves on, swing a leg over, and fire it up. The engine growls to life beneath me, familiar and steady.
Inside church, Logan gave orders.
Out here, the world does what it wants.
That’s why instinct matters more.
A man can sit in a room and make plans all night. He can line up rules, strategies, contingencies, and all the rest of the polished shit that makes people feel in control. Then one wrong movement happens in the dark and the whole board changes.
I ease the bike out of the lot and onto the road, the clubhouse shrinking behind me in my mirrors. Bartsville at night looks like any other small Alabama town if you don’t know where to look. Storefronts shutting down. Streetlights buzzing. Neon signs humming over bars and late-open spots. People going home. People getting drunk. People minding business that has nothing to do with mine.
