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R unning my hands through my hair, the orange jumpsuit shifts, the abrasive material irritating my skin. It’s only been hours, but it feels like years since I last laid eyes on Remy. The woman I love is out there…unprotected…with him . Whoever the fuck he is. The steel bars in front of me don’t scare me half as much as my thoughts do. Don’t wanna hear no shit about how she can take care of herself or how deadly she is in her own right, either. It’s not just about her anymore. She’s carrying our baby, and if there’s anything I’ve learned recently, it’s that her mind isn’t as focused, as calculated , as it used to be. Hasn’t been since the Sinners entered the picture, not that I fault them for that. Hell, I’m happy that she’s embracing this second chance she’s been given. All those emotions she locked away ten years ago have fought their way back to the surface, and she’s feeling again. I’m just worried that with everything else going on, she won’t see the danger coming until it’s too late.

“You gonna sit there, moping, all day?”

Saint’s leaning against the cell door, arms crossed and lips quirked up in a grin.

“What the fuck else do I have to do?”

He scratches his beard. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. Maybe help the rest of us miserable fuckers plan our next move?”

General Population within the Maximum-Security wing is a dangerous combination of desperation and hate. Who thought it was a good idea to let twenty-to-thirty incarcerated inmates roam freely in an enclosed space? The illusion of freedom is often worse than being locked down in a six-by-nine cell all day. An internal hierarchy, where only the strong survive, is instinctually created, and you damn well better believe that will be me and my brothers. Part of me wonders if they purposely put the group of us together in the same block to see if we’d make their jobs easier by incriminating ourselves further or using this as an attempt to kill us off without getting their hands dirty. Lazy bastards. There’s no other reason that Ace, Rogue, and Saint, suspected serial killers, would end up in Gen Pop otherwise.

Standing, I stretch, practicing a yoga move Remy and I learned that always helps ease stress. Unsurprisingly, it does shit-all right now.

“Anyone figure out why we haven’t been able to reach Remy?”

“Ace finally got a hold of Big Mack. He assured him Remy’s okay, but some shit happened with her phone. She wouldn’t tell him the details. Says she’s got her hands full. The club’s in chaos. Etta and the guys were abducted. Cops are everywhere. Shit’s a mess, bro.”

“What the hell do you mean, Etta and the guys were abducted?”

“He didn’t have much information other than it was an intentional hit. Masked men pulled them out of the car, shoved them into a van, and drove off.”

I run my hand through my hair, my heart racing. This is worse than I feared.

“Fuck, man. We need to talk to Remy soon. If she’s gone radio silent, it can’t mean anything good.”

“It’s not like she can just pick up the phone and call when she’s got a free moment. We’ve caught her at bad times is all.”

I shake my head. “My gut tells me she’s fucking plotting revenge in that beautifully warped brain of hers, and we need to get the hell outta here before she goes off and does something crazy.”

“Maybe it’s time she lets the crazy out. You consider that?”

I blink up at him, replaying his words in my head.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s been holding herself back. I was only half kidding when I said she was all domesticated and shit. If I were her, I’d be giving that part of myself free rein right about now. Let those motherfuckers know who they’re really messing with.”

Holy fuck. Is Saint actually making sense?

My head tilts, and I study him a little closer. “You really do understand her, don’t you?”

His hand slaps his chest. “You wound me.”

“Shut up, fucker. You know what I mean.”

“For what it’s worth, I know that woman better than I know myself. I’ve been obsessed with her for years.”

“How the hell did I miss that, by the way?”

He brushes his shoulder off. “I’m just too damn good.”

I laugh. “Well, for her sake, I hope you’re right. Our enemy is too damn close, and if we can’t be there to look after her, she needs to be on guard.”

“She will be. I can almost guarantee it. Now, c’mon. The guys are all at a table downstairs, waiting on you. You’re the brainiac after all.”

Following him out onto the metal terrace, our feet clank off each step that leads us to where my brothers are sitting, heads down in low conversation. Before my foot even touches the ground, a loud voice shouts over the low din of inmate voices.

“Wilson. You got a visitor.”

My eyes snap over to Ace’s, then Rogue’s, then Trip’s.

Saint claps me on the back. “If it’s our girl, you better fucking tell her we’re doing what we can to get back to her and to not do anything too crazy without us. I’ll need a fucking outlet for all this pent-up anger.”

Making my way toward the door, I follow the officer out, complying with his order to face the wall and place my hands behind my back while he cuffs me. He leads me down a long cement-block hallway toward the visitor room. It’s eerily quiet, the smell of despair and sweat hanging heavily in the air. Other inmates line the counter, each station given the illusion of privacy by the thin partitions separating them. In every station, a simple black corded phone hangs on each side of the wall. Large glass windows are the only things keeping the innocent safe from the accused.

Arriving at the last available seat in the row, I see the puff of blonde hair before I even reach the metal chair, and I growl. I try to turn around, but the guard stops me.

“I don’t want to talk to that bitch,” I snap, angry eyes meeting his amused ones.

“That ain’t no way to talk about your mama, boy.”

“She’s nothing to me.”

“She said you’d say that, but she insisted you needed to hear what she came to say.”

I release a lungful of air, knowing a fight with an officer is the last thing I need right now, and turn to drop into the hard metal seat that’s bolted to the floor. He unlocks the cuffs, stepping back toward the exit. The second my eyes come up, they widen. One eye is purple, black, and swollen. There are stitches on her chin and a bruise over the bridge of her nose. Her right arm is in a cast, and when she shifts on the chair, she winces.

I try to drum up even the smallest hint of sympathy but don’t have any luck.

She picks the phone up off the receiver, bringing it to her ear. For a solid thirty seconds, I debate whether I want to deal with this shit. Her bottom lip quivers, and I roll my eyes. As far as I’m concerned, bitch got what she deserved.

I go to stand, but her good hand bangs on the glass.

Please , she mouths.

With a sigh, I grab the phone.

“Nothing you can say will change anything. I want nothing to do with you,” I mutter, then move to replace the handset on the base.

“No! Wait. I have information on Remington!” she shouts into the phone.

I freeze, every muscle in my body refusing to hang up the phone like I want to. Like I know I should. I can’t trust a word out of her mouth, but my instincts tell me I need to at least listen on the slim chance she’s not just throwing out another bullshit lie.

Slowly, I sit back in my seat and turn to study her face.

“You’ve got two minutes. If you lie to me again, this will be the last time I give you even that much.”

“I’m sorry. I never slept with Rock. They told me if I didn’t sell that story and get you to believe it, I wouldn’t live to see another day. I had no choice.”

“What did they have to gain?—”

“They wanted to split you and Remy up. They know they stand a better chance if the two of you aren’t together.”

“Who’s they ?”

“Storm’s got Colt in his ear at all times. They’re scheming behind the scenes, and it’s only a matter of time until something worse than a stint in prison is handed down to you all.”

I don’t let the shock at hearing those two names together show on my face. My mind starts to buzz, struggling to put together all of the scraps of information we’ve learned. There are a million questions I want to ask, but I don’t want to seem too eager, either.

“Why now? What the hell do you care what happens to me?”

She glances down at the dented metal counter, her lips trembling as she shakes her head.

“One minute, Stella. You’re wasting time.”

“I returned with the intention of slowly working my way back into your life. Believe it or not, I still love you. You’re my son.”

“You never loved me. The second an opportunity arose to wash your hands of me, you took it and ran. Never even looked back. So that’s bullshit, just like everything else you’ve said to me.”

Pulling the phone away, I hear her yell, “Please!”

Gritting my teeth, I place the hard plastic back up to my ear.

“I was addicted to drugs and heavily into prostitution back when Snake left me. I was no good as a mother, and Rock knew it. He sent me to get help. Told me he’d take care of you as long as I worked to get clean. It took me a couple decades, but I finally did it. When I decided to come back, I stopped into the Tucson chapter as a pit stop before heading into Deadwood Peak. Storm and I struck up a conversation, and he convinced me to stick around for a couple days. Get familiarized with the way things are now.” She laughs, but it’s not a pretty sound. “Should’ve seen that for what it was—another man using me to get what he wanted.”

“And what did he want?”

“What does every asshole biker want, Grant?” she scoffs. “Except pussy and blow jobs were’t enough. He took more and more until I almost didn’t recognize myself again. This last beating helped me realize that he never really cared about me. I was just a means to an end.”

“What’s his goal? A takeover?”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t, not at the time. Storm’s not smart enough for that, but ever since Colt showed up, I’ve noticed shit starting to change. Things were happening that didn’t make sense, especially considering the kid was just a prospect, and Storm was listening to him more than his own officers. Of course, they don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground, but that’s neither here nor there. Then they came to me with that ridiculous plan to drive a wedge between you and Rock’s girl. Said shit was going to change. They didn’t care that I didn’t want to lie to you. Didn’t care that what I really wanted was the chance to get to know my son again. They took that from me, and I… Well… I don’t blame you if you hate me. I just wanted you to know the truth. I don’t know what’s coming, but I know it ain’t good. You need to watch your back. All of your backs. Including Remington’s. I don’t know who you can trust. They’re up to something, and I don’t know how or why he’s involved, but it’s got Colt’s name written all over it.”

I process everything she just said, rolling through the different angles and possible scenarios. As much as I hate to admit it, things are starting to make a little bit of sense. Funny thing is, I actually believe her this time, but I’m not ready to forgive and forget. We’re a long, long way off from that, but I appreciate her risking herself to come here today.

“Thank you. I’ll make sure to tell the others.”

She nods, her chin dipping again as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. When her eyes come up, there’s a glossy sheen sparkling in the light.

“I really am sorry, Grant. I’ll never be able to say that enough. I… Well, I can’t stick around town now. They’ll know I came here and won’t take too kindly to me blabbing all their secrets. If things change, maybe I’ll come back, but if not, just know I love you and I’m so fucking grateful Rock did the one thing I never could have managed. He made you into a decent man. I’m… I’m so proud of you, son. Love that girl right, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

A tear rolls down her cheek. “Take care of yourself, Grant.”

“You too, Stella.”

With a shaking hand, she replaces the handset onto the receiver and stands. She walks toward the exit, briefly looking over her shoulder before opening the door and walking out of my life, possibly for good.

I slowly stand, my brain a clusterfuck with all the thoughts rolling through my head. Storm, or if Stella is to be believed, Colt is the one responsible for some of the shit that’s been plaguing us. How in the hell is the prospect tied to all of this?

Fuck. I should’ve seen this coming. Just how deep does the betrayal run?

“Was it worth it?”

The guard’s words drag me out of my mind.

“Yeah. I think it was.”

“All people have the potential for change. Most never take it, but sometimes they do. You lose nothing but a few minutes of your time to hear them out and judge for yourself.”

I nod because what else can I fucking say?

All the way back to Gen Pop, her words are on repeat. My gaze finds the table where my brothers are waiting as I enter the door, and with one look at my face, they stiffen.

“What is it? Give it to us straight,” Ace murmurs.

“Was it Remy?” Trip asks, his eyes full of worry.

I shake my head.

“Then who the hell was it, bro?” Saint snaps, his nonexistent patience already at an end.

“Calm down,” Rogue says softly, eyeing the room.

“It was Stella.”

I recount the entire conversation as their eyes widen in disbelief.

“He’s been to our new house.” Trip’s horrified whisper is barely heard over the noise from the other inmates. “Fuck, how could I be so stupid?”

“Let’s not rush to conclusions. We don’t know if he’s the one responsible or if Stella was just bullshitting, but I don’t want to waste time we don’t have either.” Ace looks at Rogue. “Any chance your contact could do some digging on the prospect?”

“We use an encoded message system. I don’t have access from here.”

Ace’s shoulders droop. “Fuck! Fine, then the next priority is getting a hold of Remy. Each of us calls until she finally fucking answers.”

We share a look loaded with things none of us will say. Our woman is out there, alone, with an enemy who may be closer than we even realized, and there’s nothing we can do to help her.

I’ve never felt so hopeless in my life.