Page 15 of Massacre

Dante finally spoke, his voice low and measured. “Did you tell him anything about Sypher? About us?”

I shook my head. “No. I didn’t tell him anything. I just—He scared me. I tried to get out before I slipped up.”

Haizley squeezed my hand, her voice a mere whisper. “You did the right thing. We’ll figure this out.”

I nodded, trying to believe her faith in me was deserved. “He knows something, though. He won’t stop looking.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, the promise of retribution darkening his features. “Neither will we.”

The room felt different now—closer, almost conspiratorial. I realized then that my fear wasn’t only for myself, but for everyone here. Whatever secrets I’d stumbled into, whatever danger I’d inadvertently invited, it was no longer mine alone to bear.

Even so, I drew comfort from their certainty, from the way they closed ranks around me. We were in this together, for better or worse. I couldn’t change my past, but my future was still mine to fight for.

Someone knocked on the door before it opened and in walked King.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, King.”

“Amber, I know you’re in a lot of pain, but I need to ask you something. It’s personal about your past and I’m sorry, but your word on the matter could really help me out here.”

“Okay,” I whispered, looking at Haizley, then my brother.

“When you were rescued in Louisiana, did a Golden Skull brother give you his patch?”

I frowned as I looked at Haizley and accused, “You promised you wouldn’t tell him. I told you that in confidence.”

Haizley’s brow furrowed as she glared at King. “It wasn’t me, Amber. I would never break patient confidentiality. Who told you that, King?”

“I need a moment alone with Amber,” King ordered.

“No,” I snapped, my hand tightening in hers. “They can stay. Who told you about that patch?”

King took a deep breath, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, “The man who gave it to you.”

I couldn’t breathe.

No. King was wrong. He had to be. There was no way Massacre knew where I was. After that day in Chicago, I left. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. I just packed my bags and vanished.

“Amber,” King carefully said, choosing his next words wisely. “Do you know what it means when a club brother gives a woman the patch off his cut?”

I slowly shook my head.

“In the biker world, our cuts are an extension of us. Like our bikes, our cuts represent a second skin. They protect us while warning others who we belong to. Generally, our cuts are our own. It’s one of the few things we don’t share. When a brother claims a woman, typically he will buy her a brand-new cut and have new patches put on, symbolizing who she is and who she belongs to. Like Blade, Jackass and the others have done for their women. But in some rare cases, and I mean it’s reallyfucking rare, a brother will rip his own patch off and gift it to the woman he’s claimed.”

“He said it was to protect me,” I whispered, trying to comprehend his words.

King nodded. “Oh, that patch means more than protection, sweetheart, and had I known you had his patch, things would have been a hell of a lot different.”

“I don’t understand,” I muttered, confused.

“I know you don’t and I’m going to let him explain, but just so we’re crystal clear here, once again, you are confined to the clubhouse until this matter is settled. I’m moving you upstairs to a guest room, where you will continue to stay until arrangements can be made to take you to California.”

I shook my head. “California? But I don’t want to leave. My home is here.”

King sighed and turned to leave. “I’m sorry, Amber, but this is out of my hands.”

“KING!” I shouted as he walked away, closing my door behind him. Turning to Haizley and my brother, I asked, “What the hell was that?”