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"If you're lying," I started, but she cut me off.

"Then you'll kill me," she finished calmly. "I know, Dex. I know what betraying the club means, what betraying you means. I'm not stupid enough to try it twice."

That was the problem—she'd never been stupid. Damaged, desperate, manipulative, but never stupid. If she said she had intelligence that could help, she probably did. The question was whether the price would be worth it.

"Two hours," I said finally. I had to drop by my place to check on Cleo first. "Neutral ground."

I gave her the location—a coffee shop halfway between club territory and civilian world, public enough to discourage violence but private enough for real conversation. She agreed without argument, which somehow made me more nervous than if she'd pushed back.

I had one hour to decide whether to trust the woman who'd already betrayed me once. Two hours to figure out if Vanessa's redemption was real or just another manipulation. Two hours before I either saved the operation or destroyed it by believing pretty lies from a pretty liar.

The phone buzzed again. Different number this time, one I recognized. Cleo, sending a photo from the apartment—her in one of my t-shirts, smiling despite everything, ready to face whatever came next. Trust shining in her eyes like a beacon.

That trust decided it. I'd meet Vanessa, hear what she had to say, verify what I could. Because Cleo deserved better than my paranoia if it meant missing crucial intelligence. She deserved every chance at survival, even if it came from the woman who'd taught me how betrayal felt.

Time to find out if redemption was real or just a code word for trap.

B ack at the apartment, everything felt bizarrely normal. Cleo sat curled on the couch, and when I walked in, she gave me a sweet, nervous smile. I smiled back, but I got the sense that somehow she knew something had happened.

"What’s up?" She set the book aside carefully, like it was made of glass. Her hands folded in her lap with the kind of deliberate calm that meant she was already bracing for impact.

I crossed to sit on the coffee table in front of her, needing to see her face for this. Our knees almost touched, close enough that I could feel her tension like electricity in the air between us.

"I got a call," I started, then corrected myself. "A text first, then a call. From Vanessa."

The name landed like I'd expected it to—her whole body going still, that particular stillness that meant she was processing too many emotions at once. I watched her cycle through them in rapid succession. Surprise. Fear. Jealousy that flashed hot before she locked it down behind careful control.

"Your ex," she said, voice neutral as water. "The one who betrayed the club."

"Yes." No point in dancing around it. "She says she has intelligence about the Serpents. About what they're really planning today."

"And you believe her?" The question came out steady, but I could hear everything underneath—the fear, the jealousy, the anger.

"I don't know," I admitted, taking her hands because I needed her to feel the truth of this. "But she knew about today's operation. Knew about your father's plans. And she said something that changes everything if it's true."

I told her about Jessie, watched her face go white as she understood the implications. Her hands trembled in mine, and I held them tighter, anchoring her while her mind raced through the same calculations mine had.

"They have her because of me," she whispered. "They took her to use against me."

"If Vanessa's telling the truth, yes." I kept my voice steady when what I wanted was to rage at the cruelty of it. "She says your father plans to use Jessie to force you into meeting him alone. She also said that the money—the 200 grand, it’s real."

“Real? I don’t get it.”

“Me neither.”

For a moment, I thought she was going to cry. But she didn’t. Instead, she straightened her spine and looked me dead in the eye. "You have to meet her."

The strength in her voice knocked me back. Three weeks ago, she'd been ready to run rather than trust me with danger. Now she was sending me to meet the woman who'd hurt me, who'd betrayed everything we stood for, because it was the right tactical decision.

"Cleo—"

"No." She pulled her hands free but only to cup my face, forcing me to see the determination in her eyes. "If there's even a chance she's telling the truth about Jessie, you have to find out. If there is some money somewhere that belonged to mom, I need to know."

"And if it's a trap? If she's working with them, setting us up?"

Something fierce flashed across her face. "Then you'll handle it. Because that's what you do—you handle the hard things so other people don't have to."

The faith in her voice humbled me. This woman who'd been lied to and abandoned by everyone who should have protected her, who'd learned to trust no one but herself, was putting everything in my hands without hesitation.

"I do love you," I said, needing her to hear it clearly. "Whatever Vanessa says or offers, that doesn't change. You're not just my little girl, Cleo. You're my future. My everything."

Her smile was radiant despite the tears gathering in her eyes. "I know. That's why I can send you to her. Because I trust that you'll come back to me."

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to mine, and we breathed together for a moment. Her hands stayed on my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with the same tenderness I usually showed her.

"I won't lie and say I'm not jealous," she admitted quietly. "Won't pretend the thought of you seeing her doesn't make me want to mark my territory somehow. But this is bigger than my feelings. Jessie's life matters more than my insecurity."

"You have nothing to be insecure about." I turned my head to kiss her palm. "Vanessa was a mistake I learned from."

"Smooth talker." But she was smiling now, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "How long do you have?"

"Forty minutes to get there." I glanced at my watch, then back at her face. "Will you be okay here alone?"

"Thor's posted prospects outside, hasn't he?" At my nod, she continued, "Then I'll be fine. I'll stay here, stay safe, let you handle the dangerous parts. Like a good little girl."

The last part held a hint of her usual sass, and it made my chest tight with love for this woman who could find humor even now. Who could be brave and vulnerable and trusting all at once.

"That's my girl," I murmured, pulling her into a proper kiss. She melted into me, hands fisting in my shirt like she wanted to keep me there forever. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing harder.

"Go," she said, giving me a gentle push. "Go find out if Vanessa's really trying to help. Save Jessie. Stop my father. Be the hero you always are."

"I'm no hero." The protest came automatic, but she pressed a finger to my lips.

"You are to me." Simple words that carried the weight of everything we'd built together. "Now go, before I change my mind and decide to keep you here where it's safe."

I stood, already feeling the pull of duty warring with the desire to stay. She walked me to the door, stood on her toes to kiss me one more time.

Then I turned and stepped into the past.

I spotted Vanessa immediately through the coffee shop window, corner booth with her back to the wall, and the change in her hit like cold water. This wasn't the fragile girl who'd clung to me like salvation. This was someone who'd learned to save herself.

She'd traded the desperate edge for quiet confidence, shoulders straight instead of hunched, meeting eyes instead of ducking contact.

Even her clothes had shifted—professional blazer over dark jeans, like someone who'd found the balance between who she was and who she needed to be.

The contrast to three years ago was stark enough to make me pause at the door.

"Thank you for coming," she said as I slid into the booth across from her. No wasted motion, no nervous fidgeting. Just acknowledgment and patience while I settled. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Talk," I said simply. No pleasantries, no catching up. Lives hung in the balance, and we both knew this wasn't a social call.

She nodded, pulling out a tablet loaded with enough files to choke a server. "Three years ago, after everything fell apart, I wanted to disappear. Would have, if the Serpents had let me. But they knew I'd seen too much, heard too much. Viper gave me a choice—stay useful or stop breathing."

The files she showed me were comprehensive beyond what I'd expected.

Financial records tracking money through shell companies.

Communication logs between Serpent leadership.

Photos of meets with cartel representatives.

Names, dates, amounts, all documented with the kind of obsessive attention to detail that spoke of someone with nothing left to lose but revenge.

"They think I'm still theirs," she continued, swiping through screenshots of text conversations.

"Still feeding them intel about law enforcement movements, rival club activities.

What they don't know is that every piece of information I give them is calculated to keep them confident while I document their operations. "

"Playing a long game." I studied the financial records, recognizing patterns that matched what we'd suspected but never proven.

The files were insanely detailed. Years of documentation that painted the Serpents as more than just another outlaw club—they were a full criminal enterprise with tentacles reaching into trafficking, murder for hire, drug distribution networks that stretched three states.

Financial records showed money flowing through legitimate businesses, washing blood off bills before they reached cartel hands.