Page 28

I smirk despite myself. “Maybe that’s what I’m counting on, Spitfire.”

As she walks out, I stay in the garage, staring at her bike. The obsession is growing roots. I’m supposed to be watching her for the club’s safety. Instead, I’m watching her because I can’t look away. And when Nicholas eventually comes calling, I already know I’ll be the one standing between them.

No matter what it costs me.

TATUM

The rag in my hand is filthy, streaked with grease and dust from wiping down the bar for the third time this week. Prospect life is a relentless grind—endless bike maintenance that these machines don’t need this often, cleaning up after grown men who should know better, and rides designed to push every limit we have. My muscles ache in ways that feel almost honest for once. I still find time in the evening to hack both Redline’s cameras and Iron Wraith’s. Nothing suspicious still, which worries me some. However, for the first time in years, my hands are busy with something that doesn’t involve covering up someone else’s crimes or erasing digital footprints. It keeps my mind from wandering too far.

I glance toward the garage bay where Corbin is bent over a bike, his broad shoulders tense under his faded black tee. He’s been watching me more intensely since that night in the chapel. Cornering me in quiet moments. Touching me just enough to set my skin on fire without ever fully crossing the line again. It’s torture in the best and worst way. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do. But sometimes, I’m just a girl who’s been starved for something real. Rules and I have never been friends, and Lennox would lose his shit if he knew exactly how close his Sergeant-at-Arms and sister are getting. Still…worth the risk.

“Prospects!” Fuse barks from across the common room, snapping me out of it. “Church is in ten. Make sure everyone is out of the chapel and cleaning other areas.” We all nod, and Thomas, who was cleaning in there, rushes out. I finish the last of the glasses.

I catch Corbin’s gaze as he walks through the room. His green eyes find me and linger for a moment too long, almost like a silent ‘hey, you good?’ that sets my body on the edge of need and lust. I give him a small nod and my usual half-smirk. He doesn’t smile back, but the corner of his mouth twitches. The officers and members disappear into the chapel. Mason and the other prospects shoot each other looks, realizing it’s the perfect moment to relax. Everyone sits around or grabs pool sticks and starts playing.

Instead of sitting, I busy myself restocking the bar fridge. I do better when I’m moving. Sitting still gives my mind too much room to spiral, given the last time there was church, I got dragged into an interrogation session. The front door swings open, and Rook, one of the older patched members that always shows up thirty minutes late to church, storms in holding a plain white envelope. His face is grim, jaw set like he’s chewing on bad news. “Found this taped to the gate,” he growls, waving it. “No stamp. Hand-delivered. Addressed to ‘Tatum.’”

The room quiets instantly. My pulse kicks up hard. I set the beer bottles down slowly and wipe my hands on my jeans, trying to look calmer than I feel. Instead of handing the letter over, Rook rips it open while I try to snatch it from his grip. He scans the contents of the paper inside. His whole face darkens and he lets out a low, "Fuck."

What the fuck does that mean…?

He heads straight for the chapel door and bangs on it instead of going inside. A minute later, Lennox steps out, Ledger and Diesel right behind him. The rest of the officers follow, filling the common room like a storm cloud rolling in. Rook nods in respect before holding out the white envelope. Lennox takes it from Rook. His eyes flick over it, jaw tightening with every line. I edge closer, heart hammering against my ribs. When his gaze lifts and locks on me, I know. I used to see that look when he knew I was in trouble with Dad. “Everyone out,” Lennox orders the prospects and club bunnies. “Now.”

The room clears fast. I stay rooted in place, arms crossed over my chest like armor. Corbin moves to stand beside me—close enough that his arm brushes mine. The contact steadies me more than it should. Lennox's eyes cut to us, telling me he saw that and there will be questions to answer later.

He reads aloud, voice low and lethal: “To the Iron Wraiths: You’re harboring property that doesn’t belong to you. Tatum is Redline Revenant. She betrayed her man, her club, and her colors. Hand her over or kick her out by week’s end, or we’ll burn your precious Portland territory to the ground. We don't share, and that whore’s not worth it. Consider this your only warning. Blood for blood.’”

The words land like punches. Someone curses. Fuse cracks his knuckles. Judge’s face goes lawyer-cold, already calculating. My skin crawls. Nicholas knows. Or at least, someone close to him does. The letter confirms it—someone saw me leave, pieced it together, or maybe Eric pieced it together before they locked him down tight. I did frame him. I thought I’d covered my tracks better. The wiped footage, the planted evidence, the burner phone I ditched. But Nicholas was always good at digging around in shit that he isn’t meant to know.

Lennox crumples the edge of the paper in his fist. His eyes meet mine across the room, raw with the kind of brotherly fury I remember from when we were kids and someone messed with me on the playground. Only this time, the stakes are lethal. “Chapel. Now,” he says, coming over to me and throwing his arm around me possessively.

I follow them back into the chapel on shaky legs. The door shuts with a heavy finality. I stand at the end of the table again; the same spot where I bared my soul weeks ago. Corbin takes his seat, but his eyes never leave me. There’s fury there, and something deeper—possessive heat mixed with worry that makes my chest ache in ways I’m not ready to name.

They debate for twenty minutes. Voices rise and fall. Fuse wants to hunt down whoever delivered it. Judge suggests tightening security and looping in contacts. Diesel pushes for me to lay low. Ledger’s already pulling security footage from the gate.

At least they’re not trying to throw me to the wolves.

Through it all, I stay quiet, until Lennox calls on me, “Tatum. What do you think?”

I swallow hard. “It’s real. Nicholas doesn’t bluff. If he sent this, he knows it was me who flipped. He’ll come himself or send whoever’s left loyal. I’m not safe here if I stay visible. But running again…” I shake my head. “I told you before, and I’ll say it again. Regardless of if I’m here or not, he’s coming. Not just for me, but for the Iron Wraiths as well. But I could disappear if it helps members feel better.”

Switch’s voice cuts through, rough and final. “She’s not going anywhere. We voted her in. She’s prospecting under my watch. And she’s got more potential than any other prospect we’ve got. She was practically born for club life. We protect our own.”

The table murmurs agreement, but the wariness is back—the same looks from when they first learned I was Nicholas’s old lady. I get it. I’m a liability wrapped in purple hair and a trail of bad decisions.

Lennox slams the gavel. “We double patrols. No one rides alone. Tatum stays on compound unless I clear it. We don’t hand over shit. If anything, this was an exchange– Eric for Tatum. This is our territory, and we aren’t tolerating this bullshit. We should have taken care of these fuckers long before now.”

The meeting breaks. Officers file out, but Lennox grabs my arm gently. “Stay. You too, Switch.” Corbin lingers, leaning against the wall like a sentinel. Once we’re alone, Lennox pulls me into a hug that crushes the air from my lungs. I sink into it, the familiar scent of leather and home grounding me even as tears prick at my eyes. “Fuck, Tate,” he mutters into my hair. “I thought we had more time or maybe that we’d be in the clear. Whoever delivered that letter knows you’re here and exactly who you are. I’m supposed to be protecting you—that's my job.”

I pull back, eyes burning. “It was only a matter of time. I was his old lady, Len. He owned me in every way that mattered to men like him. The DEA couldn’t keep my name completely buried. Someone talked. Or there is another rat here.” Lennox’s face hardens. He looks so much like Dad in that moment—iron fist, protective rage simmering just under the surface.

“He doesn’t get to own you anymore. You’re part of this club. And this club? We don’t bow to threats from dead men walking.” Corbin clears his throat, reminding us he’s still here. We separate and turn to him.

Corbin steps closer, his presence filling the room. “He’s right. Nicholas wants a war? We’ll give him one. But you…” His green eyes bore into mine, intense and unyielding. “You stay close. No rides for now. No stepping outside the gates without one of us. I mean it, Spitfire.” The nickname in that gravelly tone sends a shiver down my spine despite everything.

I nod. “I’m not going anywhere. I chose to leave him. Now, I’m choosing to fight with this club.”

Lennox watches the two of us for a second, something knowing flickering across his face, but he doesn’t call it out. “I vow this, Tate: No matter what comes—Nicholas, the remnants of Redline, the DEA sniffing around—I will protect you. With my life, if it comes to it. We don’t break easily.”