Page 9 of Malachi (Outsiders MC #1)

With no hesitation, I snatch the receipts off the counter, my decision already made. “Table. Now.”

Turning, I knock twice on the bar to get Kyle’s attention. He glances up from pouring a drink, and I slide a hundred-dollar bill across the counter. “Good work.”

He nods, pocketing the cash without a word. I don’t wait. I don’t cool down. We have business to handle. And Chuck’s about to find out exactly what happens when you start slipping.

He was there when we built this. One of the first. But no one’s untouchable. Not when their fall threatens to take someone else—her—with them.

The meeting room fills with the steady scrape of chairs against the floor as the officers take their places around the table.

These aren’t the full club meetings; those happen once a month and include every patched member.

This is just officers. A tighter circle.

Tighter stakes. Knox, my vice president, settles to my left, his usual unreadable expression in place.

To my right, Nash—our enforcer—leans back in his chair, arms crossed, exuding the quiet intensity that makes him lethal.

The air thickens as the door clicks shut. It’s a subtle shift, the kind that settles in just before a fight. Wood grain, cigarette ash, sweat, and something colder: reckoning.

“Hell of a fight tonight,” Nash says, his voice low but approving as we wait for East to round everyone up.

I arch a brow. “Didn’t know you were gonna be there.”

I caught a glimpse of him just before I stepped into the ring, but by the time I was out, he was gone. He only shrugs in response, offering nothing.

I glance at Knox, and he shakes his head slightly. Right .

Nash doesn’t lie. He just doesn’t volunteer the truth. I clock the look he gave one of the ring girls—interest, restraint, something haunted. We’ve all got our tells.

I grind my teeth, keeping my irritation in check. Nash wasn’t there for the fight. He was there for her . One of the girls who works the underground fights has his full attention, whether he’ll admit it or not.

The door swings open, and East steps in. The low murmur of conversation dies as they take their seats, the air in the room shifting into something heavier. Waiting.

The silence isn’t empty. It’s loaded. Every man here knows what’s coming, even if he doesn’t know the shape of it yet.

So I don’t waste time. “I learned something tonight that needs to be addressed.” I nod toward East. “Fill them in.”

East exhales, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his mustache before leaning forward.

“The prospect came to me a couple weeks ago with some unpaid tabs.” His voice is even, but his eyes flick to mine for the briefest second. If he can’t tell from my expression that he’s gonna get his ass handed to him after this meeting, he’s slipping. “They’re Chuck’s. Almost two hundred dollars.”

The tension tightens, coiling around us with suffocating precision.

A chair creaks. Someone shifts in their seat. The undercurrent of the room turns sharp.

“And,” East continues, “he’s behind on his dues.”

“How far?” Nash’s fingers drum against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Three months.”

Knox and I share a look as the room erupts with grumbles of disapproval and a few sharp what the fucks. My patience is already thin, and the noise snaps it.

I slam the gavel down hard. The sharp crack echoes, cutting through the voices with the precision of a blade.

East flinches. Even the veterans go still.

“First,” I say, staring East down, “we’re to be notified the second a member is thirty days past due. Got it?”

East narrows his eyes, but he nods.

“Second—tabs are paid at the end of the fucking night. No exceptions. If you can’t pay, you don’t drink. East and I will make sure Kyle enforces that.”

Nods all around. No one argues.

East shifts in his chair. “I talked to Chuck. He says he and his daughter are struggling.” He shrugs, unapologetic. “Didn’t press for details.”

Silence settles over the table, heavy and unrelenting.

The silence lasts too long. My fists clench under the table. I bite down on what I want to say. That she’s already paying for his mistakes. That if anyone in this room had really been paying attention, including me, they’d have seen her unraveling.

I let my mind work through the last few months, piecing together anything out of place. The only thing that stands out is Candace showing up at my fight tonight. Betting. That sure as hell wasn’t normal.

That same hum, that ghost of a melody, slips into my memory. Maybe that was her way of keeping herself steady. Maybe that was her trying not to fall apart.

But I keep that to myself. Not yet.

The truth’s a blade I’m not ready to wield. Not while she’s still hiding what it costs her to be here.

“He’s cut off at the bar until his tab is cleared,” I say finally. “If money’s tight, the last thing he needs is more debt. James, talk to him. Try to get him to open up. Until then, we’ll hold off on the dues.” My gaze sweeps the table. “Any objections?”

No one speaks. No one shakes their head.

I slam the gavel down, sealing the decision. Meeting adjourned.

“East, stay back.”

He leans back in his chair, all lazy confidence, as if he’s got nowhere to be, nothing to worry about. But I catch the flicker of awareness in his eyes. He knows I’m pissed. Knows he should’ve told me sooner. Knows, too, that we’re settling this shit tonight.

Knox stays quiet, watching the way he always does. Taking in every detail, every shift in tone. He leans back as though stretched out on a beach somewhere, but I know better. Knox doesn’t relax. He calculates.

Without a word, East reaches into his pocket, pulls out a crumpled pack of gum, and pops a piece into his mouth.

Nash scoffs beside me, arms crossed, one brow lifted. “Trying to quit again?”

East flicks him a dry look before his lips curve into that signature slow, lazy grin.

“Had to run two blocks the other day. Thought I was gonna fucking die. Figured if I don’t quit, it’s gonna start messing with my stamina.

Can’t have that.” He flashes a cocky smirk. “Gotta keep the ladies satisfied.”

Nash barks out a rough laugh, shaking his head. Knox smirks, amused but unimpressed.

I shake my head, fighting off a grin. “Why the hell were you running two blocks?”

East leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, eyes glinting as if he’s about to drop the best punchline of his life.

“Turns out the chick I was screwing had a husband.” He pops his gum, all nonchalance.

“One minute I’m deep in it, the next I’m sprinting ass-naked down the street.

Didn’t know if I was gonna drop dead from a bullet in my back or sheer lack of oxygen. ”

“Jesus,” I mutter, trying—and failing—to sound even remotely disappointed.

East winks. “Didn’t forget my cut, though.”

I roll my eyes, exchanging a look with Nash, then Knox.

The laughter dulls the edge, but not the weight. It lingers in my chest, thick as gunpowder. She’s still out there. Cleaning up her father’s messes while we joke about running naked through backyards.

The humor cools me down, but only just. The pressure in my chest is still there. A mix of rage and something else I don’t want to name. Something sharp and quiet that started the second Candace climbed off my bike.

Enough screwing around. Time to get back to business.

“Next time,” I say, voice low, “you tell me the second something’s off.”

East’s smile falters, just a flicker. He knows. “Understood.”

I lean back slightly, eyeing him. “I get why you waited. Chuck’s a founding member. We’ve all given him more grace than most would ever get.”

East nods, jaw tight. “That’s exactly it. Thought he’d get back on track. Thought I owed him that.”

I let out a breath, some of the tension bleeding off. “Yeah, well, I understand. But the second someone starts slipping, we have to be tighter. Too much is at stake.”

“Agreed.”

“Good.” I nod once. “Now go tell Chuck his bar tab’s frozen. Nicely.”

“I’m always nice,” East says.

“Tell that to the husband.”

East starts to rise from his chair, but before he does, the door slams open, crashing against the wall with the force of a warning shot.

My hand goes instinctively to my waistband before I remember I’m not carrying tonight. My pulse spikes. Fight or flight primed. But what walks through that door? That’ll determine what burns.