Chapter Ten
Jet
The compound never really sleeps.
Engines come and go. Laughter bleeds through the walls. Doors slam. Voices rise, then die out. Every sound keeps me on edge, waiting for something that never comes.
The others, Devil, Lyric, even Lucy, move through this chaos like it’s normal. Like the noise comforts them.
Me?
It just feels like static crawling under my skin.
A week’s passed since the ride with Justice. One ride, and everything inside me’s been off balance ever since.
That night I felt different. The road was quiet, the wind was cool against my face and he didn’t talk much, he didn’t need to. I felt it in the way he rode, in the way he slowed down just enough so I wouldn’t feel scared. A strange gentleness from a man built for violence.
But that’s what makes it dangerous, isn’t it?
Gentleness from a man like him isn’t trust. It’s the calm before the storm.
The kitchen’s empty when I step in. The smell of coffee hangs thick in the air, and the old floor creaks under my bare feet. Sunlight slices through the window. There’s no one else in here and I breathe a sigh of relief. At lease I don’t have to make small talk with someone.
A half-empty mug sits at the far end, the black liquid has long since gone cold.
Justice is outside in the garage. I saw him there earlier. I could feel his eyes on me, but couldn’t get myself to say hello.
Devil says he’s harmless unless he’s pushed. But men like that don’t stay harmless for long.
The screen door creaks open behind me. My instincts kick in, fists tighten, my breath catches, but it’s only Lucy.
Reaper’s ol’ lady moves with purpose, a flower tucked behind one ear and a no-bullshit look that could slice steel. “Didn’t think I’d find you up this early,” she says.
“Didn’t sleep.”
She pours herself coffee and glances over her shoulder. “None of us really do. Comes with the life.”
“I’m not part of this life.”
“Not yet,” she says, taking a sip. “But you’re breathing our air, eating our food, wearing our clothes. That counts for something.”
The way she says it isn’t a threat. It’s truth. Straight and simple.
“What’s your story, Lucy?” slips out before I can stop it.
She smirks. “Reaper’s story.” Then, softer, “Used to be on the run. I was hunted. Our stories aren’t that different. Reaper and the Bastards saved me.”
Our eyes meet, and the silence between us feels heavy with things neither of us says.
“Devil told me you were looking for work,” Lucy says, switching gears. “There’s always something that needs doing around here. Laundry, kitchen, books. Are you any good with numbers?”
“I used to keep the books at a store I worked at. My brother got me the job,” I say before remembering who I’m talking to.
“Hawk,” she says quietly. “Reaper told me about him.”
The name hurts less now, but it still hits like a bruise. “Yeah, he trusted the wrong people.”
“Yeah,” Lucy murmurs, then tilts her head to the side. She opens her mouth to say something, but the back door opens.
“Lucy, Creed’s looking for you.”
Justice.
His cut’s gone, his T-shirt is dark with grease, his eyes catch mine.
Lucy nods and slips past him, patting his chest as she goes. “Play nice.”
He watches her leave, then turns back to me. “You sleep okay?”
“Not much.”
“Still not trusting me, I mean us?”
A humorless laugh escapes. “You’re asking the wrong question.”
“What’s the right one?”
“Why should I?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies me like he’s trying to read something written beneath my skin.
“Because we’ve got no reason to lie to you.”
“Everyone says that before they do.”
“Then let me prove it.”
The words hang between us, heavy, dangerous.
I cross my arms. “You always this smooth, or is it just when you want something?”
His grin fades. “Want’s got nothing to do with it. I don’t promise. I do. That’s the only justice I believe in and I don’t want anything from you.”
The name fits him too well. It’s not just a title, it’s a warning.
A sound from outside breaks the moment, a shout, boots hitting gravel, the roar of an engine. Justice glances toward the window, jaw tightening.
“Stay here,” he says, voice dropping low before he heads for the door.
Through the screen, the compound hums to life. The Bastards are gathering, their voices sharp and low. The air feels charged, like a storm’s rolling in.
Being near an MC is like standing too close to a live wire, eventually, you’re gonna get burned.
These men breathe danger, and no amount of kindness can change what they are.
Maybe it’s time I stopped pretending I belong here.
Maybe it’s time I faced my mother, looked her in the eye, to see if there’s anything left of the girl I used to be.