Page 86 of Break Me

And this one, I’m finally ready to pay.

Raven

I’m halfway through basting the roast when voices carry in through the open window. Not raised. But not careful enough, either.

I pause, brush still in my hand, as I move to get a better view.

On the porch, Sam stands with Knox and my father. Their bodies are angled in, shoulders tight. I don’t think they realize how clearly sound travels when the forest is quiet.

“Knox filled me in on what happened the other night,” my father says. “I only wish someone had told me sooner.”

“I didn’t keep it from you,” Knox replies. “I didn’t have all of the info myself.”

Sam doesn’t say anything at first. That’s how I know whatever they’re talking about is big.

My father’s gaze settles on him. “He told me enough. How it went down and who was there.”

Sam shifts, but he doesn’t deflect.

“You saved her,” my father continues. “And you saved him.” He nods once toward my brother. “I don’t take that lightly.”

Knox exhales through his nose. “I’m not pretending it didn’t matter.”

“Good,” my father says. “Because it did. They came onto my property. They came for my daughter. The only reason I’m not standing at her grave is because Wolf was there.”

Hearing Dad call him Wolf lands heavier than hearing them call him Sam ever could. I know how much being patched in, being part of the club, means to him. And I see how much being on probation hurts him.

Sam shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Has there been any word?” he asks finally. “Any movement?”

“You’re still on probation,” Knox says carefully. “I can’t just⁠—”

“They planned to use my wife’s life as leverage,” Sam cuts in. “If she’s in play, I don’t sit this out.”

“I didn’t say you would,” Knox snaps back. “I said I don’t know what I can share yet.”

“That’s not good enough,” Sam argues. “Not where she’s concerned.”

My father steps in before either of them can say another word. “Easy.” He holds up a hand between them. “We’re not doing this out here.”

They think they're protecting me. Like keeping me in the dark somehow makes me safer. Maybe there are times when ignorance is its own kind of mercy. This isn't one of them. If whatever's happening involves me, I deserve to know.

I bite back the urge to call them on it. Not yet. I wipe my hands on a towel, steady myself, and cross to the door. When I open it, the early evening air slips in, cool and damp, carrying the low hum of the forest.

“Dinner’s ready,” I say lightly.

Three faces turn toward me. Silence settles over the porch so quickly it's almost rehearsed. Sam's expression softens first, instinctive. Knox schools his features into something unreadable. My father lets out a slow breath.

I step aside to let them pass, smiling like I didn’t hear a word. For a few minutes, I’ll let them believe I’m still in the dark.

Sam takes his place at the head of the table. Dad and Knox sit in the extra folding chairs. I carry the platter of sliced meat and set it down.

Then I sit and reach for the serving fork.

“You want to tell me what you three were talking about out there?” I ask, “Or should I keep pretending I didn’t hear anything?”

All three of them freeze.

Sam turns first. His eyes meet mine, and I see it immediately. The calculation, the instinct to shield me from anything club-related.