Page 22
I look up at him, and for half a second, I almost spill it all—about the monster my ex became, about Lennox being my big brother and letting me hide in the shadows of my old home, the home that my dad built with the club and its legacy.
“You keep bringing up my past like I’m a fucking monster hiding in your closet. Also makes it seem like you’re worried about little old me.” I give a grin that reeks of attitude.
“I’m only worried about my club.” The corner of his mouth twitches, suppressing some form of anger. “You’re in it now. Whether any of us like it or not.”
“Boo!” I say sarcastically as he walks off toward the shop, broad shoulders disappearing inside. I sag against my Ninja, cool metal pressing into my back. I know bikes better than most men in this club. I could ride circles around them. But talking about who taught me means dragging Nicholas and Lennox into the light. Means explaining why I betrayed one club and came crawling back home to another. Means risking everything I just started to rebuild.
Not today.
I grab my helmet and head inside, engine still buzzing in my veins. For the first time in years, I feel free for a moment. Maybe even a little bit like I belong. But Corbin reminded me that belonging means questions. And he has the look in his eyes that says he won’t stop until he gets every answer.
I’ll just have to stay one step ahead.
CORBIN
Iwipe the grease from my hands for the third time, but it doesn’t do shit. The shop smells like burnt oil and cooling metal, the kind of scent that usually settles something restless in my chest. Not today. Today, my head’s still stuck on the way Tatum leaned into that last corner on her neon death trap, knee down, hair whipping behind her like she was born on two wheels. She may be a threat to the club, and she’s definitely a problem for me; but I know there has to be more about her. What the fuck is she hiding? I knew it the second she opened her smart mouth in church. I just didn’t expect the kind of problem that gets under my skin and stays there.
The garage door rattles. I don’t look up at first. Then I hear two sets of boots. Judge’s deliberate stride and someone else—lighter, hesitant. Thomas.
“Switch,” Judge says, voice low. The kind of tone he uses when shit is about to go sideways.
I toss the rag onto the workbench and turn. Thomas stands just behind him, shifting his weight like he’d rather be anywhere else. His face is pale, eyes darting. Judge wouldn’t typically drag a prospect in here. He's got information, and by my guess—it’s solid. “What’s this about?” I ask.
Judge glances over his shoulder, confirming we’re alone, then steps closer. Thomas follows, clutching his phone like it’s evidence in a trial. “Thomas came to me with this,” Judge says quietly. “He dug around after the ride today. Said something about her, just didn’t sit right.”
Thomas clears his throat. “I overheard some talk. Started checking old feeds and mutual contacts. Figured it was better to bring it to Judge first.”
My stomach tightens. I already don’t like where this is headed. “And?”
Judge nods at Thomas. The kid taps his screen a couple times and holds it up. A grainy surveillance photo fills the frame. Tatum, her signature purple hair a little shorter, standing next to a tall dark-haired bastard in a Redline Revenant cut. His arm is slung around her shoulders like he owns her. Nicholas. Their president. “She wasn’t just some club girl or side piece,” Judge continues, voice grim. “She was his old lady. Nicholas’s girl for almost four years, based on how far back the photos go.”
The words hit like a punch I didn’t see coming. I stare at the image—the way his fingers dig into her shoulder, the smile on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes. Hollow.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I drag a hand down my face. I noticed she knew too much about fighting and bikes, but this? “That explains a lot.”
Thomas shifts again. “There’s more. She wasn’t just riding with him. She was feeding intel. Spying on Iron Wraith’s deals when Redline was pushing into their territory. Security feeds, drop schedules, communications. She played both sides.”
Judge picks up the thread. “She helped the DEA take the whole club down. Framed their own guy for the double-cross and walked out clean while everyone else got hauled off.”
I drag a hand down my face, beard scraping against my palm. My mind flashes back to the gym yesterday, the way she moved like someone who’d been trained to survive, not just fight. The bruises. The knife scar. The way she scans every room like she’s waiting for the walls to close in.
Rage and something sharper—betrayal—twists in my gut. I voted to let her in. I stood there and said aye while she looked me dead in the eye and challenged me, knowing exactly what she was hiding. I pace a few steps, boots echoing on the concrete. “We knew that last part, but why the fuck would Lennox bring her here and make her a prospect?”
Judge exchanges a look with me before eyeing Thomas. “Lennox knows. There is no way he didn’t know. He’s vouching for her hard. But the rest of the club still thinks she’s just some girl who got caught up in bad shit and ran. They don’t know how deep she was in it.”
My hands flex at my sides. Part of me wants to drag her ass in here right now and demand every truth. The other part—the one that watched her ride like the road owed her blood—remembers how she looked at me while we were at the overlook. Tired. Defiant. Daring the world to come at her again. “She’s good at lying,” I say finally. “Real fucking good.”
Judge watches me carefully. “You gonna handle this? I already warned Lennox. He says she is a family friend, and he’s willing to fight this if he has to. He’s against dragging it out, but we’re brothers first.”
I meet his eyes. “Yeah. Church. Now. Officers only first. Get everyone in. No prospects except Thomas. Everyone else goes elsewhere.” I look at the kid. “You did the right thing bringing it forward.”
Thomas nods once and slips out. Judge follows to round up the rest.
Fuck.
I pull my phone out and fire off a group text to the officers.
Me:
