Chapter 3 #2
I pass by Mama Ru, tucked into her usual corner chair, and give her a small nod.
She’s been around longer than some of the patched members, steady as a heartbeat, fierce as a storm when she needs to be.
She’s not blood, but she’s a mom to the club all the same, feeding us, patching us up, keeping us in line.
She’s earned every ounce of the respect we give her.
I find Quinn in the main lounge standing near the window, watching the street like she’s waiting for trouble to knock.
LC’s on the couch, her legs stretched out and Diesel curled at her feet like a silent threat.
She’s sharpening a boot knife on a whetstone with slow, practiced strokes.
Lolita’s behind the bar, pouring two fingers of something amber and mean.
They look like they’ve already had a night of it, same as me.
All three glance up when I walk in, and I don’t waste time asking about their night, if they want to tell me they will and I have my own problems on my mind.
I grab the bottle Lolita’s pouring from and fix my own shot. I swallow it down fast, the burn igniting the hissing fuse within me. “Devyn says Amber didn’t go to Dante on her own.”
Quinn’s eyes raise in question. “You sure?”
“She told Devyn someone was following her.”
Lolita raises a brow, leans on the bar. “Did she say who?”
“No. But it could have been that Matty guy.” I run a hand through my hair. “Devyn thinks he threatened her. She seemed pretty sure of it.”
LC stops sharpening her knife. Wipes the blade clean and looks up at me. “Why wouldn’t Amber say something?”
“I don’t know. Because she’s used to not being believed,” I mutter. “Because she thought maybe she could handle it. I should have seen that something was off.”
Quinn’s jaw tightens. “Maybe she thought fighting was the only way to pay off whoever was pressuring her.
“My thoughts exactly,” I say.
Lolita crosses her arms, swirling her drink lazily. “Either way she ended up in Dante’s ring and we’re supposed to believe he’s not the reason?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I admit. “But my gut’s saying we’re missing something.”
Quinn moves away from the window and drops into the armchair nearest the fire. The flames catch the glint of the steel in her eyes.
“I don’t trust Dante,” Lolita says. “Guy moves into town and suddenly runs the biggest underground ring on the east coast. Smells like blood money.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” Quinn replies coolly. “Guilty or not, Dante’s not clean. He lets shit happen on his turf.”
I pace the floor, fury curling tight in my gut. “Amber didn’t choose this. Someone made her feel like she had no other choice.”
LC gives a quiet grunt. “Stalking one of our girls? That feels personal.”
“Feels organized,” I say, pacing. “Professional. Like someone knew who to push. Who to isolate.”
Quinn watches me. “You think this is bigger than Dante?”
“I know it is,” I tell her. “But he’s tangled in it. Either he’s feeding the machine, or he’s stuck in the gears.”
Lolita scoffs. “You're gonna give him the benefit of the doubt now?”
“No,” I snap. “I’m giving the truth a chance to show its face before I cut the wrong throat.”
Quinn taps her boot against the stone hearth. Once. Twice. Then says, “We need to pull every thread. Dig into Amber’s movements, her texts, her debts. See if this was an isolated event or if this has been going on longer.”
LC nods. “We’ve got eyes in the streets. I’ll put some pressure on them. Maybe someone’s seen this mystery man.”
“I’ll check with Riot,” Lolita adds. “Maybe she knows who Amber’s been hanging with outside class.”
Quinn’s voice drops, “And if we find out Dante was involved?”
I meet her stare, unflinching. “Then I burn his ring to the fucking ground.”
The room goes still. Only the fire crackles. Until a rumble breaks the silence. At first, I think it’s thunder by the way the windows rattle but the sky’s clear.
Every phone in the room lights up at once, buzzing, shrieking, flashing red. The security app blaring the same warning across the Royal Harlots network:
Breach Detected
Quinn catapults out of her chair before the rest of us even blink. “Something’s coming in fast.”
LC’s already reaching for her pistol on the coffee table. Diesel lifts his head and growls like the air itself just turned hostile.
I head for the window, peel back the curtain. Headlights blind me as something barrels down the road, engine screaming.
It fishtails as it hits the gravel in front of the clubhouse gate. The passenger door swings open mid-turn, and something, or someone, is shoved out onto the pavement.
“Gate!” I bark, already moving.
I’m out the door and across the lot in seconds, boots pounding over cracked asphalt. The wind hits hard, but my blood’s hotter.
The car door slams shut, tires screech, and the car peels off like hell’s chewing at its bumper.
I reach the body, my heart hammering in my chest. Amber’s small frame is crumpled just outside the fence. Torn hoodie. Blood soaked through denim and pooled beneath her on the concrete.
“Fuck,” I whisper, dropping to my knees beside her.
Her lip’s split clean through. Her eye is swollen shut. There’s blood under her fingernails like she tried to claw her way free. Her breathing is shallow and rapid. There’s bruising on her neck. Rope burns on her wrists.
“I got you,” I whisper, pulling her in. I press two fingers to her throat. Her pulse is thready but it’s there.
Behind me, boots thunder as the others catch up.
“Oh my god,” Lolita breathes. “Is she alive?”
“Yeah,” I grit out, brushing blood-matted hair from Amber’s face. “But barely.”
“She looks like she was worked over for hours,” LC mutters, crouching opposite me, jaw locked tight.
“She was dumped,” I growl. “Like trash.”
Quinn kneels beside me, steady and quiet. Her hand goes to my arm, “Let’s get her inside.”
“I’ll grab the med kit.” LC bolts toward the clubhouse.
Amber’s mouth moves. Her voice is a cracked whisper but I can’t hear her over all the commotion. I lean in closer. “Who did this to you?”
Her good eye flutters open. “Red-eyed snake…” and then it closes as quickly as the words leave her mouth. Her head lulls to the side.
I freeze. My pulse stalls.
Lolita kneels beside me. “What’d she say?”
“She said ‘red-eyed snake.’”
Quinn’s eyes meet mine. Cold. Calculating. “Does that mean something to you?”
I shake my head slowly, blood roaring in my ears. “No.”
We rush Amber inside. Riot’s perched on a barstool, her eyes going wide the second she sees her in my arms. I blink. Had Riot been here the whole time? Or did she just walk in? I file it away for now, Amber’s bleeding and that comes first.
“Riot, grab a blanket. She’s freezing.”
Amber barely stirs. Her head lolls against my shoulder as I lay her out gently on one of the long leather couches. Blood’s smeared down her temple, her lip’s split in two places. Someone worked her over good. But this wasn’t a fight. This was punishment. This was a message.
Quinn drops to her knees beside us with antiseptic, gauze and that clinical calm she’s always carrying when I can barely think straight. Amber twitches as I dab at the blood with gauze.
“No more… please. I did what they said…” she cries.
“Amber,” I murmur, crouching close. “You’re safe. You’re at the clubhouse. No one’s gonna touch you now.”
Her eyes open barely. They’re bloodshot, ringed in purple. She looks at me like she can’t believe that’s true.
She shudders, lips trembling. “I’m sorry. He said that if I didn’t show… they’d take someone else. Said girls disappear all the time.”
“Did Dante do this?” Quinn asks, sharp.
“No.” Amber tries to shake her head in slow motion. “Dante said I didn’t belong there.”
I exchange a look with Quinn and then LC. The shift in my gut is instant and sickening. Because this changes everything. If it’s not Dante Cross, we have a bigger problem on our hands.
Riot kneels beside me, her face pale. “Do you think this could be linked to the other girls?”
I blink. “What other girls?”
“A girl named Alicia was attacked at Cross’s place the other night and word on the street is girls have been disappearing for weeks.” Riot shrugs her shoulders as if what she’s saying is nothing, “That shit happens all the time on the street.”
Fuck.
This is bigger than I thought. I rise to my feet, my fists clenched. “I need to talk to Cross again.”
Quinn pushes to her feet. “You sure he’s not in on it?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” I admit, “But if Cross knows something, I’ll pry it out of him.”
“You think he’ll give it up just ‘cause you ask?” Riot snaps.
“I don’t plan on asking.”
The noise in my head drowns out the voices around me.
I feel the weight of their eyes. I feel their uncertainty, their rage, but I also feel something deeper.
Something I haven’t let myself admit. I’ve been dancing the line between survival and fight for too long.
But I swear on everything I’ve bled for.
Whoever did this? They’re about to meet the wrong kind of storm.
I turn and look at Amber again. She’s propped up on the couch, half-conscious, her skin pale and bruised. I reach down and brush a strand of hair from her bruised face.
I want to fight back. My whole body hums for it. To get on my bike and ride until I find Dante and rip the truth out of his mouth.
Quinn steps in before the fire in me boils over. “Everyone stays put until we know who we’re dealing with.”
I grind my teeth. She’s right. As much as it kills me, rage without strategy is just noise. And we’re past noise now.
Amber didn’t just end up in Dante’s ring, someone delivered her to our doorstep like a fucking message. This goes deeper. And if I make the wrong move now, I’ll walk us right into an ambush.
So I stay. I pace. I plan. I sharpen the blades and burn the names into the back of my skull. Because the storm’s coming and when it hits, I want to know exactly where to aim it.