Chapter Thirty-Six
Molly
I keep pouring drinks like my hands don’t know my life is on fire.
The Noble Fir is emphatic — leather and laughter and clinking glass — and it booms in my ears, along with the sound of Mayhem yelling about a bad poker hand, Tank looming like a thundercloud, Diesel on a flirtatious phone call with Samantha, Riley weaving between tables with trays balanced like she was born with them and only pausing to occasionally stop and flirt a little with Breaker.
Normal chaos. Familiar chaos. The chaos that usually calms me, because when I sit at the center of it, I feel in control.
It swirls around me, but I direct it, I run it, with drink orders, with shouts, with a simple look — I keep it in line.
But now, I’m dying inside it.
Two hours into my shift, my smile feels like it’s glued on wrong.
It makes my face hurt. Every time the door opens, my pulse spikes like I’m expecting Evan to walk in wearing a cut and carrying a gun, ready to execute the next phase of his plan to rip my life to shreds.
Every time someone laughs, my brain spits that text back at me like poison.
Good work getting the intel from the clubhouse, Gator. I knew sending you in to fuck that bartender would pay off.
I have to tell someone. I have to tell Claire and Rabid and probably everyone, and though I know I need to, that thought terrifies me, because it means that, once it comes out how I betrayed the MC and vouched for a spy — not just vouched, fell in love with — I’ll end up looking back fondly on how shitty I feel right now, because the MC will punish me and, if I’m lucky, just kick me out.
If I’m lucky; they’ve done worse for less.
I’m so wrapped up in imagining my life turned to ashes that, mid turn, I almost drop a glass.
Riley catches it, eyes narrowing. I never drop a glass. My hands never shake, not when I’m behind the bar. There could be a gunfight taking place ten feet away and I wouldn’t spill a drop.
“What’s up?” she says. “You almost dropped this.”
“Nothing’s up. Everything’s fine. I’m great.”
Her gaze flicks over my face, slow, and I hate that she knows me so well. “You look… not great.”
“No, really, I’m fine. Just tired from classes and homework and…” My voice cracks. I stop, inhale through my nose, force it down. “Cover for me. Ten minutes.”
Riley’s eyebrows lift. “Molls, we’re busy as hell.”
“Ten,” I repeat. Not asking. Telling. “And tell Diesel to stop asking Samantha for sexts and to give you a hand. He’s a big boy, he can earn his keep.”
She studies me for one beat, then nods. “Go. I got it.”
I move before I can lose my nerve; I’m tired of feeling like everything’s about to collapse and cost me my family — if my world’s going to fall apart, I’d rather just rip the Band-Aid off and let it happen.
Besides, as much as it’ll hurt to be kicked out of the MC and lose them as a family, it’s better than having them dead.
Around the end of the bar, past the kitchen door, down the hall that always smells like old paper and cigarette smoke and club business.
Past the door to church, where I know my fate will be decided later.
My boots feel too loud on the worn floorboards.
Claire is by the back door, talking low into her cellphone. Her head turns the second she sees me, eyes sharpening like she senses the storm. For a moment, she looks me up and down and then says into her phone, “I’ll call you back later. Something’s come up.”
“Claire,” I say. My throat is tight, my voice comes out hesitant, weak, so un-me I want to punch the wall. I hate what my heart is doing in my chest; I hate that I’m hurting, and that I’m about to hurt the people I love, too. “I need you.”
Her expression changes instantly; no jokes, no warmth, just the president’s ol’ lady turning into the club’s spine. “Now?”
“Yes.” I swallow. “And I need Rabid. And Goldie and Alessia, too.”
Claire’s gaze holds mine. Steady, not judging me, but I know she’s sizing up every potential outcome of what I’m asking. “That’s a closed-door list.”
“I know.” I force the words out like I’m dragging them up from my gut. “It’s about security. About the clubhouse.”
“Okay. Give me five minutes. We’ll go to Rabid’s office.”
Then she’s moving, fast and purposeful. I follow her down the hall toward the office, and with every step my shame tries to grab my ankle like a chain. Every step, it cries out: You’re going to ruin everything; you’re going to get yourself thrown out; you’re going to die alone.
Claire pushes the office door open.
Rabid is already inside, seated behind the desk, a ledger open in front of him. He raises an eyebrow as we enter. “What is it, my love?” He says.
“Molly’s got something she needs to tell us. Goldie and Alessia, too,” Claire says. “Take a seat, Molly. I’ll be back in a minute with the others.”
I sit. I wait. Rabid doesn’t say a word; his attention just returns to his ledger, and he works while I squirm in an office chair.
Claire returns, and she takes a seat beside Rabid. Goldie and Alessia enter; Goldie leans against the wall with his arms crossed. Alessia sits in a chair with one ankle crossed over her knee, lipstick perfect, eyes lethal. They all look at me.
The room feels still, heavy, like a weight hangs above me by a thread, and all it takes to cut that thread and crush me is one look from the MC president, Rabid.
His steely gaze pins me, slow and assessing. “What is it, Molly?”
My chest tightens, and my heart slows. Keeping my voice steady is the hardest thing I’ve done today. “I need to confess something.”
Goldie’s eyes narrow a fraction, his Zen showing an undercurrent of anger. Alessia’s expression doesn’t change at all, which is worse. Claire’s face is unreadable, but she’s close enough that I can feel her presence like a thundercloud.
Rabid nods. “Start talking.”
I open my mouth and shame surges — hot, desperate, choking — trying to make me babble.
Trying to make me soften the truth. Pad it.
Wrap it in excuses so they don’t see how stupid I’ve been for falling in love and trusting a man.
For letting myself believe that someone out there could hold my heart and not break it to pieces.
“I brought a man near the club,” I say. “I didn’t bring him in through the front door. But I got him work here. I vouched for him. You know who I’m talking about.”
I can’t say his name.
Goldie’s head tilts. “The contractor. Evan.”
“Yes.” My jaw clenches. “Evan Wilder.”
Claire’s voice is quiet. “Why are you telling us this now?”
“Because I found out who he really is.” I keep my eyes forward.
Don’t look down. Don’t flinch. Don’t look anyone in the eyes because I don’t want them to see how shattered and broken I feel — if they’re going to kick me out, I don’t want their last remembrances of me to be as some bawling mess.
“His road name is Gator. He’s working for an enemy club.
They sent him here to infiltrate us and get information. ”
Claire’s inhale is sharp. “Molly, are you sure?”
Rabid’s voice is low. “What club?”
“The Sons of Sorrow,” I say.
“Tell me how you know this.”
I lift my chin. “Because I saw a text on his phone from a man named Midnight congratulating him on doing the job he was sent here for.”
Rabid’s eyes harden. “You went through his phone.”
He doesn’t say it, but the question’s there — how the fuck was I in the position to read Evan’s cellphone?
“Yes. I read his phone. It went off when he was sleeping. Next to me. We’d been… seeing each other. We knew each other before, in high school. Back then, he left town, and me, but he’d moved back recently and we reconnected.”
Alessia’s brows lift, just barely. Claire’s mouth tightens like she’s trying not to react.
Rabid’s gaze doesn’t move from my face. “Reconnected.”
I don’t look away. “I loved him. Back then, and before I read what was on his phone.”
Rabid’s hand tightens on the edge of the desk. “And you’re sure he got information.”
“He got something. He did a roof job the club didn’t need.
He was around the garage. Around the back corridors.
I can’t tell you exactly what he saw because I didn’t know to watch him, but whatever it was, it was enough for Midnight to tell him he did a good job.
” I let the words sink in before I say what really matters. “This is on me.”
Claire’s eyes flash. “Molly, there’s more to it than that.”
“No,” I say, cutting her off, not unkindly, just firm. I look at Claire, then back at Rabid. “Don’t. I’m not doing the ‘poor me’ thing. I made choices. I let my guard down. I brought him close because I believed him. Those were all things I did, and things I should be responsible for.”
Rabid’s expression says nothing. That scares me more than yelling.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” I say. “I’m telling you the truth so you can protect the club. And I’m telling you what I’m willing to do to make it right.”
Goldie’s voice is flat. His eyes are cold. “Which is?”
“You want me off the bar? I’ll quit. You want me to leave town?
Done. You want me to help set a trap? I’ll do it.
You want to use me as bait because Evan’s still in love with me and the Midnight guy he’s working for seems like he’d probably love to go after me, too?
I’ll stand in the open and smile for those two motherfuckers while you do what you need to do.
I know I fucked up, I know I put you all in danger, and I love you all and want to do whatever it takes. ”
Claire’s eyes widen a fraction at that, but she doesn’t stop me.
Alessia uncrosses her ankle from her knee, leans forward, and studies me like she's reading fine print. Whatever she finds, she keeps it off her face. “And if it gets ugly?”
“It’s already ugly,” I say. “I’m just done pretending it isn’t.”
Rabid’s chair creaks as he stands. The room seems to shrink. He walks around the desk slowly, boots heavy, stopping close enough that I can feel the heat of him. Power. Authority. The man people obey because the alternative is pain.
He looks down at me. “Tell me how long you knew.”
“Since this morning,” I say. “I came in today to work. I tried to keep it together. I couldn’t.”
“You slept with him.”
“Yes. I slept with him, I loved him, and now I hate him. If you want to call me a liability for that, then do it. But don’t call me a liar.”
For a long moment, nobody speaks.
Then Rabid turns his head slightly. “Goldie.”
Goldie straightens. “Yeah?”
“I want you to go out to the bar and calmly and quietly make sure every civilian leaves. I want an orderly exit. And then I want you to lock down the clubhouse. Claire, Alessia, I want you two to stay with her.”
I’m her now. Not Molls, not Molly, just her.
Which, I suppose, is a step up from traitor.
At least for now.
Rabid leans, his eyes coming level with mine.
“You don’t go anywhere in this clubhouse alone.
You do nothing without someone knowing where you are and watching you.
Nothing. You need to eat? You ask for permission first. You need to use the bathroom?
It happens only after Claire or Alessia allows it.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, happens without them knowing first.”
I can only nod. “Understood.”
Rabid steps back. His eyes circle the room, taking in the other three.
“Once lockdown is complete and I’m certain we’re secure, we’ll brief the club.
Then, tomorrow, we’ll hold church and a vote.
” Rabid’s voice goes colder. “And understand this, Molly: we’re not just voting on what to do with you.
We’re voting on whether you’re still family. ”