Chapter 10
The room goes still the second I step inside.
Not loud-still. Not dramatic. Just that particular kind of silence that settles when everybody in it understands something important is happening and nobody quite knows what to do with it yet.
The woman stands first. The kid doesn’t leave her side.
And I stop just inside the doorway with one hand still half-curled around the knob because for the first time since Logan hauled me out of bed and handed me a mystery job wrapped in bad instructions, I finally understand why the man had been so cagey.
Because this is not a package. This is not cash or intel or a weapons pickup.
This is a woman in a cheap blonde wig and oversized shirt with eyes too sharp and too tired for somebody who can’t be much older than her late twenties.
And this is a little girl clutching a stuffed bunny with one hand and the woman’s leg with the other like the world might tilt wrong if she lets go.
I don’t move right away. The woman doesn’t either. The kid definitely doesn’t.
Grinder, president of the Louisiana chapter and one of the bigger sons of bitches I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with across chapter lines, stands beside me like he hasn’t just rearranged the entire shape of the job Logan sent me on.
My irritation spikes hot and immediate. Not because I can’t handle it. Because I should’ve known what the hell I was walking into before I crossed two state lines and rolled onto another chapter’s property expecting a box and getting a woman and a child instead.
I turn my head just enough to look at Grinder. “You wanna tell me why the fuck nobody thought this was worth mentioning?”
His expression doesn’t change. “Because if you knew before you got here, that was one more place the truth existed.”
I let that sit for a beat. I don’t like the answer. I also can’t argue with the logic. That only pisses me off more.
So instead of wasting breath on it, I look back at the woman.
She’s trying hard not to show it, but she’s wound so tight I can practically hear the strain in it.
Her shoulders are stiff beneath the oversized shirt.
Her fingers are white where they grip the strap of her purse.
The cheap blonde wig is tucked under a baseball cap pulled low, but even with all that trying-to-look-like-nobody bullshit, there is nothing forgettable about her.
Her eyes are what hit first.
Amber.
Not light brown. Not hazel. Amber.
They catch the dim lamp light in the room and hold it in a way that doesn’t make any damn sense on a face that guarded. Eyes like that should belong to somebody softer. Somebody easier. Somebody who hasn’t been looking over her shoulder so long it’s become muscle memory.
Instead, they’re set in a face that is trying very hard not to betray anything.
She’s beautiful in a way that doesn’t feel polished.
More like something half-hidden and worn thin by too much pressure.
The kind of beauty that sneaks up on you because it’s buried under exhaustion, fear, and the fact that she’s clearly doing everything in her power to take up less space than she naturally would.
The little girl presses closer into her thigh.
I drag my attention down to the kid.
Big eyes. Tiny body. Little fist twisted in the fabric of that oversized shirt and the other hand gripping a well-loved stuffed bunny by one floppy ear. The rabbit’s fur is worn down in patches from too much holding, too much sleeping, too much being dragged from one place to another.
The kid’s gaze lands on me and stays there. Not curious. Not friendly. Assessing. Suspicious in the quiet way kids get when they’ve already learned to read rooms they shouldn’t have to understand.
That lands somewhere ugly in my chest.
I don’t like it. I like it even less when I realize Logan absolutely knew I’d react like this, which means he used that on purpose.
Motherfucker.
Grinder steps farther into the room, his presence shifting the air enough that the woman’s shoulders tighten for a different reason this time. She glances at him, then back at me, and I catch the moment she’s trying to decide whether I look like somebody she can trust.
Smart girl. Wrong world. Trust is a luxury around here.
Grinder clears his throat. “Raven.”
Her chin lifts a fraction.
“This is Joker.”
Her eyes come back to mine fully this time. No handshake. No fake smile. Just a long enough look to say she’s taking inventory.
Fair enough.
“She and her little girl are heading north with you,” Grinder says.
The woman’s mouth tightens like she doesn’t love hearing herself summarized like cargo any more than I love being sent for her without warning.
I don’t blame her.
I shift my weight and look back at Grinder. “You planning to give me anything useful, or am I supposed to freestyle a witness protection run blind?”
That earns the barest flicker of something from Raven, maybe surprise that I said it out loud. Grinder, on the other hand, just folds his arms over his chest and stares me down like he’s deciding how much to say.
“Bare minimum,” he says.
“Of course.”
“She’s in danger.”
No shit.
I keep my mouth shut and let him continue.
“The ex is connected. More connected than he should be. The fewer names, places, and details floating around, the better.”
That’s not enough information to make me happy, but it’s enough to tell me this is not some run-of-the-mill asshole ex with a bruised ego and too much time on his hands.
Connected means money, law, politics, family, or some ugly combination of all four. Connected means the kind of man who can make problems without getting his own hands dirty. Connected means the reason they’re moving her like this is because conventional options have already become liabilities.
I glance at Raven again. Her face doesn’t change much, but her jaw tightens on the word ex.
That tells me enough.
Grinder keeps going. “He’s got eyes in places he shouldn’t. She disappears too obvious and he’ll sniff in the right direction eventually. That’s why you’re taking her at night.”
That fits better.
Night gives you fewer eyes, fewer cameras catching clear images, fewer random people remembering a woman and a child climbing into the wrong truck. Darkness makes everybody less distinct. Less memorable. If somebody is looking, you want them chasing shadows, not details.
I nod once.
“Get her to Bartsville without incident,” Grinder says. “That’s the job.”
Simple.
Except nothing about this is simple.
I lean one shoulder against the doorframe and look at him harder. “And when I get her there?”
“Logan takes it from there.”
That’s not what I mean, and he knows it.
“When I get her there,” I say again, slower this time, “what exactly am I delivering into my chapter’s lap?”
The room goes quiet again.
Raven’s fingers tighten on her purse strap.
The little girl presses even closer into her.
Grinder’s expression turns to stone in a way that has nothing to do with chapter politics and everything to do with personal rage held together by sheer force of will.
And that’s when it clicks. This isn’t club business wearing a personal face. This is personal business being handled with club resources because it got dangerous enough to stop pretending otherwise.
The threat is real. Not theoretical. Not messy divorce paperwork and a man refusing to let go.
Real.
I look at Raven again with that in mind, and suddenly every tight line in her body makes more sense than I’d like.
Grinder says, “You’re delivering my daughter and my granddaughter somewhere he won’t think to look first.”
Daughter. Granddaughter.
There it is.
The missing piece.
And suddenly the way he’s standing in this room, the way he’s keeping his voice even by force, the way the air feels just slightly too controlled around him all makes perfect sense.
This isn’t a president sending me off with a chapter obligation. This is a father trying not to rip the world open with his bare hands because it won’t fix the immediate problem.
I scrub a hand over my beard and blow out a breath. “Would’ve been real nice to know I was walking into family business.”
“You know now.”
“Yeah, and I’m thrilled.”
That gets me a flat look from Grinder and the faintest flicker of something almost embarrassed from Raven, like she’s sorry I got dragged into this.
I don’t know why that annoys me too. Probably because none of this is her fault and she still looks like she’s braced for blame. That’s usually a bad sign.
The little girl shifts behind Raven’s leg, and I finally drag my focus off the adults long enough to look at her properly.
“Kid got a name?” I ask.
Raven answers before Grinder can. “Lexi.”
Her voice catches me a little off guard. Soft, but not weak. Low enough to be careful, but with enough spine under it to tell me she didn’t always sound like somebody trying not to disturb the room.
“Lexi,” I repeat, mostly so the kid hears it in my voice.
She doesn’t answer. She just keeps staring at me around the stuffed bunny she’s now pulled up against her chest like a tiny shield.
I huff a quiet breath through my nose and push away from the doorframe.
The second I move toward them, Lexi’s grip on Raven’s leg tightens hard enough to bunch the denim under her little fist. Raven shifts too, not dramatically, but enough that I catch it. Protective. Instinctive.
Again, fair enough.
I stop a few feet away and crouch down instead of towering over the kid like some dumb bastard who doesn’t know how not to spook a child.
“Hey,” I say.
Lexi blinks at me.
That’s it. No smile. No wave. No hiding her face, either. Just a long, suspicious look like she’s trying to decide whether I’m dangerous, stupid, or both.
Honestly, that’s more personality than I was expecting.
I tilt my head slightly. “You always this friendly, or am I special?”
Nothing. Not even a twitch. Then she slowly shifts her bunny higher against her chest and narrows her eyes at me just enough to tell me the answer is probably yes, I am special, and not in a flattering way.