Page 17

“After years!” I almost yell at him, the ache of letting it happen for so long is still a fresh wound.

His expression hardens. “You came home,” he says quieter now. “That counts for something.” The lump in my throat grows painful. I look away before I embarrass myself completely. Lennox stands from the sofa with a grunt. “Get some sleep, you look half dead.”

“I always look like this,” I mutter with a small smile.

“Bullshit.” He laughs, heading for the door before pausing and turning around. “Oh, and Tate?”

“Yeah?” I answer softly.

“Try not to antagonize the other prospects tomorrow.” There's that teasing tone again.

I smirk faintly. “No promises, Pres.”

He groans. “Jesus Christ.”

He makes it all the way to the door before I call out, “Hey.” He glances back with his hand on the doorknob. I smirk sweetly. “At least they won’t underestimate me anymore.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Tatum,” he says with his own small smile, “the second you rolled into this lot on a neon-green Kawasaki, every man in this club underestimated you.”

Fair point.

He opens the door before adding one last thing, “But they won’t for long.”

The door clicks shut behind him. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my shaking hands. For the first time since I ran, no one can get me here. I should feel safe. Instead, dread settles low in my stomach. Because I know this peace won't last. He'll come looking. Men like him always do. And when he finds me⁠—

My gaze drifts to the closed door.

I have to be ready, because if not, everything is going to burn.

CORBIN

I'm at her door at 5:50 a.m. sharp. I know I said 6 a.m., but I doubt she'll actually be up. Talk is easy; showing up is harder. She's got a sharp tongue and a body that turns heads, but neither of those things matter much here. What matters is discipline, commitment, and the willingness to do the work when nobody's watching. Plenty of people look the part. Far fewer have what it takes to earn a place as a prospect—let alone prove they're worthy of becoming a full member. To my surprise, the door swings open two minutes later. She's dressed and ready, though the look she gives me could strip paint. "You're early," she deadpans.

"You're awake," I reply, trying to keep the shock out of my tone.

She rolls her eyes, grabs her bag, and pulls the door shut behind her. We head out without another word, the morning air cool and quiet around us. The ride to the gym is mostly silent, the city still half asleep as the sky begins to brighten. My eyes keep gravitating to the way her ass looks in those workout leggings.

What I would give to take a bite out of her…

When we arrive, she falls into step beside me. Together, we push through the front doors and into the smell of rubber mats, metal, and sweat, ready to see if she can back up all that attitude with action. Fuse already has the early prospects moving through warm-ups. The air sits thick with sweat and stale coffee. Heads turn immediately as we approach and curiosity sharpens Fuse’s face.

The prospects fall into a ragged line along the far wall. Tatum slips away from me without a word and takes her place at the end. Some look half-dead. Others force hard stares that don’t reach their eyes. A couple already wear the hollow look of men realizing they fucked up. Good. The ones who still think this is a game won’t last long.

This life doesn’t hand out patches for showing up. It takes everything and only returns scars that show you’ve made it another fucking day.

I lean back against the boxing ring ropes, arms crossed, watching Fuse rewrap his fists. He peels off the bloody tape from the last round and eyes the lineup like he’s choosing which one to break first.

“Think any of ’em make it six weeks?” he asks me loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Two. Maybe...” I shrug at him with a grin.

“Feeling optimistic today, Switch. I can’t wait to see what that means for them.” Fuse chuckles, getting his wraps tight.

I shrug. Most men romanticize club life from the outside—roaring engines, cold beer, unbreakable brotherhood. They never see the cost until it stares them down: loyalty that can get you killed, time you’ll never get back, blood on your hands, and the freedom you surrender the second you take the oath. When shit goes sideways, some fold. Others break. Only a few endure. I don’t take any of it lightly. Once the fantasy wears off, not everyone can stomach that it takes a special kind of person to choose this life, and it’s something I don’t take lightly.

My gaze drifts down the line and locks on Tatum. She derails every goddamn thought in my head. Black leggings hug her toned legs. Her faded cropped sweatshirt rides up just enough to show a sliver of soft skin. No makeup. Dark purple hair tied back, exposing the clean line of her neck. For half a second, every other thought in my head flatlines.

Her neck would look good with my hand wrapped around it.