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EIGHTEEN

DASH

Walking back into the clubhouse feels like I have a target on my back. This is the first time I’ve stepped foot in the building since the attack Diesel and I got caught up in. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but what transpires is not it.

Crank is sitting at his usual table, completely unfazed. I expected the club to be in fight mode, not calm. Not breathing easy.

Diesel is standing in his usual spot, leaning against the wall, watching. Waiting. He’s hard to read at the best of times, but every time Crank laughs, Diesel’s eyes twitch.

I don’t see Riot or Mace, but Nic is leaning against the bar, his shoulders taut like a bow. He looks up as I approach, his eyes saying a thousand things his mouth isn’t.

“How’s the head?” he asks.

“Fine. I was expecting a little more… action when I got back.”

He snorts. “I ain’t sure he even knows you were in the hospital.”

I see red. This isn’t even about the fact that someone tried to fucking kill me. It’s about the club’s reputation. It’s about what it means if we don’t fight back.

Our enemies already think we’re weak. That puts not only the club at risk but the people around it.

People like Dayna.

“Fuck this.”

I move before he can stop me, fury bubbling through me. Crank doesn’t look up until I’m standing right at his side.

“Good to have you back, brother.”

I grind my teeth at him calling me that. ‘Brother’ implies loyalty, family, bound by more than blood.

“You got any leads on who attacked us?” I demand.

He leans back in his chair as if he doesn’t have a fucking care in the world. As if the rot in the club doesn’t start with him.

“Attacked you?” He scoffs. “It was hardly an attack. Wrong time, wrong place, that’s all.”

I stare him down, trying to keep a tight rein on my anger. If I show my hand now, it’ll be all over, but if I do nothing, that might also look suspicious. As always, when it comes to the club, I’m straddling the line between two worlds, both of which can swallow me.

“It wasn’t random. There was a fucking note?—”

He waves this off. “Probably just pissed-off patrons trying to get back at that idiot who owns the bar.”

I count back from ten, my nails digging into my palms as I fist them at my sides.

“A note that was directed at us.”

He dismisses this too. “A vague threat that could have meant anything.”

“You don’t think it’s coincidental that the bar was attacked at the exact same time two patched brothers happened to be inside?”

“I don’t believe in coincidence, Dash. But I had no idea you were so fucking superstitious.” His eyes are cold. “I’m not going to tear apart the city looking for answers that don’t go anywhere. Besides, you’re fine, aren’t you?”

Like a busted skull and dodging bullets are just minor fucking inconveniences. Like I didn’t pass out covered in blood next to my brother in a shithole bar.

I could fucking kill him right now. Just end this without any fucking fanfare. It would be so easy…

“Brother.” Diesel’s voice cracks with warning. As if beneath all the quiet weirdness, he knows this is a crossroads, understands it’s one I might not come back from.

I step back, one pace, then two. I don’t take my eyes off Crank. “There used to be a time when protecting this club meant something.”

Crank twitches in his seat, his shoulders pulling back as if he’s ready to fight the world. Except the man can’t even fight for the people in this room. “You got something you want to say to me, kid?”

I think about flipping the table for half a beat and calling him a coward. But Diesel squeezes my arm in warning.

I take it. I know I’m treading on dangerous ground here.

I shake my head. “Not a thing.”

Diesel steers me away, out into the fresh air. I ignore the disapproving look Nicky fires my way.

Fuck him.

He didn’t have to watch his girl fall apart at his bed side.

The breeze ruffles my hair, and I take my anger out on a nearby bin, kicking the trash everywhere. Diesel watches my outburst with his usual indifference.

“Feel better?”

“No,” I growl.

“Anger is a useless emotion,” he says.

I glare at him. “I don’t have the patience for any fortune cookie bullshit, Diesel.”

“Did you know that fortune cookies were?—”

“Brother.” My growl is low.

“Right. But your outburst won’t pluck out the disease growing in the club.”

I freeze. It feels like the world holds its breath. He doesn’t say more, doesn’t need to. It just hangs between us, inflammatory and dangerous.

Is he saying this to test my loyalty? To see if I’ll bite?

“We almost died, and he doesn’t want to even ask why.” I’m walking a line now, but I want to test, to push him.

“Crank… isn’t a good president.”

I don’t confirm or deny what he says. Because now, we’re both hanging off the fucking edge of that line.

Diesel heads back inside, and I pull out my phone. Dayna’s been quiet today, so I don’t expect to see a message from her, but there’s one waiting. Some of my shitty mood is chased away, until I open it.

Dayna:

I have a migraine. Can we leave tonight?

Concern claws at me. Knowing she’s suffering and alone…

I want to take care of her.

You need me to bring you anything?

Dayna:

No, I’m good. All I need is a dark room and a good night’s sleep. Speak later x

I stare at the message, rereading what she wrote. There’s nothing weird in it, nothing that should give me pause, but the tone is very un-Dayna-like. My instincts are screaming.

You need me, I’ll be there.

She doesn’t reply. I pocket my phone. You’re just on edge because of everything that’s happened in the last week.

She’s got a migraine. She’s not pulling back. And even if she’s trying, too bad because I’m not letting her go.