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Carter moves.

It’s not violent, not yet, but the suddenness of it makes Mia flinch and Ashton’s posture shift from relaxed to defensive in a single heartbeat. Carter steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Ashton, and I feel the heat of his body leave mine like a physical absence.

“Other clubs,” Carter repeats. His voice is low, controlled, the particular register that means he’s holding something enormous back by sheer force of will. “Other organizations. You’re telling me that my woman, the woman who was dragged toward a van yesterday, has a contract on her head that could be picked up by any two-bit killer with a phone and a reputation?”

Ashton meets his gaze without flinching. “Yes.”

“And you knew this. Two days ago. And you didn’t—” Carter’s hands ball into fists at his sides, the gauze darkening where blood seeps through the split knuckles. “You sat on this information for two days while someone tried to kill her.”

“I didn’t know it was her.” Ashton’s voice remains steady, but I can see the effort it’s costing him, the rigid control in his jaw, the careful placement of each word. “The name on the contract was Beatrice Reyes. I didn’t know she went by Trixie. I didn’t know she was connected to Mia. To any of this.” He pauses, and when he continues, his voice is quieter. “If I’d known, I would have come forward immediately. You have my word.”

“Your word.” Carter laughs—a sharp, bitter sound, nothing like a laugh at all. “Your word. A contract killer’s word. That’s what you’re offering me while my woman stands behind me with bandaged hands and bruises from men who were sent to collect on the job you turned down.”

I step forward. Past Carter’s arm, past the invisible barrier he’s created between me and the threat. His hand catches my wrist, gentle but firm, a silent command to stay behind him.

“Trix—”

“I need to see his face,” I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I expected. The nurse in me, the compartmentalizer, the woman who can look at the worst of humanity and still function. “Carter. Let me see his face.”

His grip tightens for one more second, a hesitation, a last stand of the protective instinct, and then he releases me. Not because he wants to. Because I asked.

I step around him, and for the first time, I’m standing face to face with Ashton Cole. Up close, he’s younger than I first thought, early thirties, with the weathered look of a man who’s lived harder than his years. The Savage Oath tattoo climbs the side of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar, and his eyes are the color of dark water—watchful, guarded, but not without depth.

“You denied the contract,” I say. Not a question. A confirmation.

“Yes.”

“Because of your code. Your oath.”

“Yes.”

I study him, the set of his jaw, the steadiness of his gaze, the way his hands remain at his sides despite the tension from Carter behind me. I’m looking for the lie. The tell. The flicker of deception that every nurse learns to read in the eyes of patients who are hiding something.

I don’t find it.

“Caldwell paid up front,” I confirm, turning the information over in my mind. “Which means the money is already in circulation. The contract exists, regardless of who accepts it.”

“Correct.” Ashton’s voice is careful, respectful. He’s speaking to me the way people speak to someone they recognize as intelligent, not patronizing, not simplifying, but matching my pace. “The brokerage fee has been paid. The contract is active until it’s completed or formally revoked by the client.”

“And Caldwell won’t revoke it,” I say, my voice flat.

The words hit me, and the weight of what we’re about to do settles over me like a shroud. We all make a plan to move to the clubhouse and to make a plan.

I can’t breathe past the rage in my chest, can’t think straight with Trixie standing three feet away, looking like she’s been dragged through hell while someone has a finger on a trigger aimed at her.

Chapter 16

Carter

“Then we move her,” Greyson says, his voice flat and final. He’s standing at the head of the table in the clubhouse war room, palms planted on the scarred wood, knuckles white.

“Somewhere Caldwell can’t find. Somewhere nobody can find.”

I shake my head. “No. Not just somewhere. Somewhere I know. Somewhere I’ve vetted.”

“Your cabin up north,” Matthew says from the corner. He hasn’t spoken much tonight. None of us have. The room smells like sweat and whiskey and the copper tang of blood still seeping through the gauze on my knuckles. “Nobody knows about it but us.”

“That’s two hours from here.” I’m already calculating the route, the roads, the choke points where someone could intercept. “She needs to be there tonight. Before Caldwell realizes we know the contract is still live.”