Page 123 of Double Standards

“Axel is the oldest,” Trigger says eventually. “He’s the most experienced. And, well, he’s better than all of us.”

“You look up to him?” I glance his way. There’s no hiding the quiet respect that spreads across his face.

“Of course. He’s like our big brother. We are still five separate families, yeah, but we’ve built something different. Our own kind of family.” He turns the wheel, easing us onto the bridge. “We stay loyal. One of us calls? We show up.”

“What? No questions asked?”

“No questions asked.”

“What if?—”

“No questions asked,” he cuts in again, sipping from his cup like it’s the end of the conversation. And maybe it is.

I pivot. “So, who did that to your face?” I nod toward theswelling. The bruise on his cheek is darker now, angrier. His lip looks freshly torn.

“Just a disagreement with a mutual friend,” he mutters, tongue tracing the split like it stings to admit.

I blink, startled. “Axel did that to you?”

Trigger gives me a look. One brow arches high, his smirk laced with irony before he shakes his head. “No, Axel did not do this.”

Relief softens the knots in my shoulders. For a second there, I’d pictured him sending me into a den with a monster freshly unchained. If Axel had done that to Trigger, what the hell would stop him from hurting me?

But now, knowing he didn’t? I can breathe. Just barely.

Still, with these men, danger is always just beneath the surface. But so is protection. Twisted as it is, I always feel safer when they’re close.

Trigger veers off the bridge, weaving through side streets and past faded parks until we finally pull up outside Axel’s building.

“You look worried,” Trigger observes, turning to me as I stare straight ahead, unmoving.

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” My voice is quiet, laced with hesitation. I look up through my lashes, hoping for some kind of assurance.

“He’s a stubborn man,” Trigger says with a soft smile. The motion stretches his busted lip, and he winces, catching a trickle of blood with his thumb. “But you’re his weakness.”

“Men like him don’t have weaknesses,” I snap. “Men like him prey on weakness.”

My words hit something tender—maybe in him, maybe in myself. There’s a silence, then Trigger answers with something quieter than usual.

“All men inhabit fragility. It just depends on where and how big the crack is.” He caps the sentiment with a wink and steps out of the car.

He rounds the vehicle, waiting as I steel myself. I draw in aslow breath, then another, and climb out to meet him on the curb.

The front door looms, a solemn slab of black steel. Trigger runs a hand through his hair, punches in the code, and nudges it open with a metallic clink.

He places a steadying hand on my back and leans in, voice low, almost amused. “Give him hell.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Ihear the distinct click of the lock downstairs, echoing through the silence like a gunshot. Soft footsteps follow, padding across the floor below, unhurried but deliberate.

My pulse spikes, thundering in my ears. Glock gripped tight in my fist, I step onto the landing.

Since the shooting, I’ve buried myself in solitude. At first, it clawed at me. Now it’s just air. Heavy, quiet, familiar. People fear the dark for what it hides. I’ve learned to find peace in it. After a while, it stops being an enemy and starts to feel like armor.

Yes, the shooting broke something in me. I’m not ashamed to admit it. But it wasn’t the fear of dying that hollowed me out—it was something worse. Something deeper. A darkness I hadn’t known I carried until it swallowed me whole.

I still don’t know who pulled the trigger. Still don’t know who wanted me gone badly enough to take a shot. And while revenge is well within reach, my mind stays chained to one place—one person.