Chapter 12 Nic
TWELVE
NIC
I’m sitting at the bar, strangling a glass between my hands like it owes me money. Riot’s on my left, his voice rolling over details about club protection.
I nod at the right places, or I think I do. Every word coming out of his mouth has blended into static, and my mind has wandered off the board completely. I haven’t heard a single thing he’s said in the last five minutes, maybe more. I’m not sure how long he’s been talking at me.
I should be listening. Especially considering I’m still trying to decide how much of a threat Morozov really is.
But I’m not.
My gaze drifts across the room and settles on Keeley without meaning to. I’ve been doing that from the moment she walked in, circling back to her like gravity.
She slipped into the room earlier, her head down, shoulders bunched in a way that made my stomach knot.
That panic attack she had yesterday is still sitting on her chest. I can tell by the way she leans against the table to steady herself, laughs a little too hard at something Makenna says and how she makes herself smaller, like it’ll leave her unnoticeable.
Her face is doing the right things—smiling when Dayna jokes, nodding along to Maylie’s story—but everything else about her is wrong.
She’s sitting with her back to the wall like a seasoned soldier, not a woman who, nearly two weeks ago, was living a normal life. It needles under my skin, the way her eyes dart around like she’s waiting for an ambush. Like she thinks even friendly conversation comes with a threat assessment.
I hate that she’s trying to disappear into the walls like she doesn’t exist. It pisses me off.
Keeley isn’t borrowing space in my clubhouse.
But I can tell she can’t switch it off—that buzz that now lives under her skin.
Fear embeds deeply after a trauma like hers.
It sinks into places it shouldn’t, places it can’t be dug out easily.
Places where even the promise of safety isn’t enough to hide from it.
Fuck her brother. She shouldn’t have been exposed to this world.
My world.
When this is over, she’ll go back to her life, back to safety. I don’t know why that thought sits like a weight on my chest.
I scrub a hand over my tight jaw when she flinches at a noise that doesn’t register for anyone else in the room. The other women continue talking, oblivious to whatever demons are chasing Keeley, but I notice.
I notice everything about her.
A shadow falls over me, and I drag my gaze from her to glance up at Riley as he leans over the counter to refill my glass before it falls empty. I note it, just like I do everything that happens under my roof.
I mutter a ‘thanks’ and watch him drift back to the other end of the bar where Chloe’s standing, wiping down the counter for the third time. She gives him a shy smile as he approaches, and although he’s respectful of her space, he doesn’t move too far from her.
I note that too.
“…to Rav. That way we’re not compromised if Morozov is movin’.”
I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about, so I make a noncommittal sound, even though my eyes are already sliding back to Keeley.
“Nic?” Riot snaps his fingers in front of my face and, instinctively, I grab his hand mid-air before I realise what I’m doing, then I shove him away.
“Don’t,” I warn, but there’s no heat in it. I deserved that.
He leans into my line of sight, his gaze sliding over to Keeley before coming back to me. “You worried she’s gonna disappear if you take your eyes off her?”
Absolutely.
I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut. “You keep talkin’ and you’ll disappear.”
Riot’s mouth twitches. “You’re touchy today.”
He’s not wrong. I am. It’s simmering inside me, this restless feeling I haven’t been able to shake for days. Weeks.
Since the cage.
“I’m fine,” I grind out, not at all convincing.
He grins this time. Of course the fucker does. He lives for this shit. Riot loves the wind-up that usually ends with punches being thrown if you don’t know what he’s doing. He’s an artist at pushing buttons to get a reaction.
“I’d be a miserable bastard too if I’d given up my bed to sleep on a lumpy piece of shit couch.”
I shoot him a glare. “Keep your voice down.”
Keeley doesn’t know she’s been staying in my room this entire time, and I don’t want her to know either. Everyone in this fucking place sees too much and leaks gossip faster than a cracked pipe.
I’ve been camping out in my office, like I’m a prospect.
I can barely fold myself onto that fucking thing.
It’s narrow and small, designed to torture my spine.
My neck’s stiff, my back twinges every time I move, and I’ve had maybe three hours of actual sleep between trying to find a position that doesn’t crack my body in ten places.
But that’s not why I’m tetchy.
My fingers flex around my glass instead and I push us back onto safer ground. Business. “What do you want signed off?”
His shoulders straighten a little, slipping back into his role. “I wanna pull out of the run next week. Let London and Manchester link up directly without us this time.”
That gets my full attention. It’s a big ask, considering it’s not how this usually works. We’re the bridge between our north and south chapters. That chain keeps everyone safe and product moving. It spreads the risk and the load.
But I trust Riot. If he’s bringing this to me, he’s got real concerns.
“Why?”
He pauses, then exhales. “Every way I’ve tried to plan it out, it stretches us too thin. Leaves us exposed here. We’re already low on numbers and with this ‘Keeley problem’ hangin’ around in the background—”
“She ain’t a problem,” I snap, too sharp, too fast, too defensive over a woman I barely know.
We both see it and for a split second, silence stretches between us, awkward and thick.
Riot’s brows lift just a fraction, assessing, before he gives me that look. The one that says he’s watching a man step onto thin ice. “Right,” he drawls. “Not a problem.”
“Careful.” I bristle before I can stop it and exhale hard, dropping my voice into something that sounds calm and controlled, even if it’s not.
“Until we know what threat level Morozov is we need to be cautious. That’s all I’m sayin’. We got people here that need protectin’.”
He’s right. We don’t know enough about this fucking guy yet. The moment I told my brothers his name every one of them started digging. So far, he’s clean—too fucking clean. There are articles and images of him with politicians, celebrities, but nothing that ties him into the criminal underbelly.
“I’ll call Rav and talk to him,” I say.
“Great. Thanks.” Riot stands, patting my shoulder. “Good talk.” As he walks away, I hear him mutter, “I really fuckin’ loved the part where I spent ten minutes speakin’ to myself.”
I wince. I deserved that, especially when I automatically seek her out again.
But this time, she’s also looking at me. Our eyes lock onto each other, caught in the pull between us. My chest tightens and my pulse thuds behind my sternum. Something quiet and intimate settles between us, and it should feel wrong, but doesn’t.
Then she breaks eye contact and I’m left staring at the bruises painted across her cheek. I want to erase every mark on her.
I’m about to slide off my stool and go to her when Mace claims the seat Riot just left. My best friend, my vice president, studies me like he’s seeing every secret I’ve buried for the last three fucking decades.
“You good?” he asks, his eyes locked on mine.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, “why’s everyone tryin’ to get inside my head today?”
“I didn’t say anythin’.” He hesitates, then says, “But I’m… worried.”
Great. That’s worse. “About what?”
His gaze follows mine, which has drifted back to Keeley. “Why she matters so much to you?”
I don’t care that he’s questioning my decision to keep her here. That’s his job. But I hate that he’s already ten steps ahead of where I want him to be, closing in on something I’m not ready to unpack yet.
I tap my fingers against the bar. “You think we shouldn’t help her?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“You’re not sayin’ much of anythin’,” I bristle, my shoulders tight again.
“It’s not the help I’m worried about. It’s the ‘why’.”
I know where he’s going before he says another word. “Don’t,” I warn quietly.
“Savin’ Keeley won’t change the past.”
Won’t change what happened with Blade and Crank.
It hits like a blow I don’t have time to brace for. Something twists under my ribs, pain that still feels too fresh, too raw.
It would be easier if Mace was right. If I was trying to balance the scales by protecting the only person I can right now, but this isn’t that clean. There’s something about Keeley that won’t sit quietly in the back of my mind, something I can’t file away or ignore, no matter how hard I try.
I don’t react even though I feel every word like a bullet. I let out a humourless laugh. “Ain’t helpin’ her out of guilt. I’m doin’ it ‘cause it’s right.”
And because every time I see her shrink or try to be brave, it fucking guts me.
“And ‘cause you have a soft spot for broken things.”
Fuck. I hate him for saying it like that. I glare at him. “I didn’t drag home a stray cat, Mace.”
“No,” he agrees, standing, “you brought home a woman who you’re lookin’ at like she’s already yours.”
He drops that bomb without blinking, and then he’s gone. Fuck. I turn without meaning to, looking for her, and the seat she was in is empty.
Something tightens beneath my ribcage, something sharp and uneasy. It’s not panic, not exactly. It’s that same hit I felt yesterday when she couldn’t breathe and I wasn’t sure if I could bring her back to me.
I’m off the stool before I realise what I’m doing, scanning the room. She’s not with the women. Not at the pool table. Not hiding in the corner by the door.
She’s not fucking here.
The noise in the room dulls around me. I move toward the corridor automatically and when I step into it, I see the side door cracked open.