Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Aero
Lacey shivers against me, the tremble of her body dragging me out of that half-sleep haze.
My arm tightens instinctively, but it’s no match for the cold tracing goosebumps across the strip of skin left bare by the sheets.
Carefully, I untangle from her. My body protests, not ready to let her go, but I move anyway.
I slide out of the bed, naked and sore in every muscle, the dull ache of exhaustion giving way to a sharper edge the second my feet hit the floor.
I cross the room in a few strides, heading for her dresser. Going through her shit feels intrusive, but this is something I can fix, even if I’m warring with myself to fulfill the rest of her needs.
I grab the handle and pull. The drawer sticks for half a second before it gives, jerking open with a scrape of wood on wood.
Her clothes are folded in a way that says she tried to be neat, but life got in the way.
Among the disarray of cotton and lace I find one of my Royal Bastards t-shirts, the worn black fabric familiar in my hands.
The sight punches something low in my gut.
I don’t even remember her having this but the thought of her wearing my shirt does something to me.
I drag it free and lift it to my face before I can stop myself, breathing in a mix of detergent and her scent.
All traces of me are gone. Christ. I wish she could wear nothing but my colors so the whole world knows she belongs to me but that’s just a fantasy.
Another life where the danger that comes with being the Ol’ Lady of a President of an MC like ours doesn’t exit.
At least here, in this room, we can pretend.
I turn back toward the bed and shake it out. She’s still curled up, arms tucked against her chest, a stream of afternoon sunlight cutting across her bare back.
Something small drops from the folds of the fabric. It hits the floor with a soft clink. A glint of brass, dull and out of place, catches my eye. My gaze snaps to the small, cylindrical form. I crouch slowly, not blinking, not breathing, my fingers closing around the cool metal.
I turn it over in my palm, and stare at it. The haze from sleep and sex shatters like glass. My heartbeat slams into my throat, my fists clenching around a bullet.
“What the fuck is this?”
She sits up, dragging the sheet across her skin, and blinking the sleep from her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I stand, slow and deliberate, the bullet pinched in my fingers. I watch the moment recognition flashes across her face. The way her eyes go wide, like she’s not surprised by this.
“You wanna explain?”
Her chin lifts. “I was going to tell you.”
“But you didn’t.” My voice drops low. There’s no softness left. No patience.
“You weren’t here, Aero,” she fires back. “You’d ghosted me again. What was I supposed to do, call you when you were out dealing with club business. Possibly get you killed?”
“That’s bullshit, Lacey.” I’m pacing now, fists clenched, the bullet digging into my palm. “Tell me where you got this.”
“A guy from Bloody Scorpions gave it to me yesterday. He didn’t say much. Just that you were making bad decisions, and I shouldn’t be standing too close to you when they start to fly.”
I go still.
“Someone threatened you and you just.. what…hid it away for later?”
“I didn’t hide it, exactly.” She defends her actions like this isn’t exactly what I’ve been telling her I was afraid of. “I would have told you.”
“You don’t get to make that call, Lacey.” I shove the bullet on the dresser, hard enough that it rattles. “You don’t get to decide what I should or shouldn’t know when your life’s in danger.”
She flings the covers off and stands, completely naked, not giving a single damn.
Stepping closer, eyes blazing with her own stubborn fire that rages so damn beautifully with my own.
“You made that choice for me the second you pulled away. If you expect full access to everything inside me, then stop vanishing like you’re doing me a favor. ”
I stare at her. At the fire, the fight, the damn strength of her.
And I hate it. I hate how she delivers the truth like a blow to my gut.
I let my guard down. I let her in. And now she’s marked because of it.
Because of me. Just like I feared. My heart’s punching through my ribs like it wants out.
And the only thing louder than the rage in my chest is the one truth I don’t dare speak out loud. I fucking let it happen.
A beat passes.
Then I explode.
“This is exactly what I fucking meant, Lacey.” My voice vibrates with restrained fury. “You think this is a game? That there aren’t consequences to being mine?”
Moving like a man possessed, I grab my jeans from the floor.
I thought I finally found something good in this fucked-up world, but now I feel like I’m bleeding out.
I shove one leg in, then the other, nearly losing my balance as I jam them up over my hips, forgetting my boxers.
Oh well, no time. I snatch the shirt I wore off the floor and drag it over my head, the fabric sticking to the sweat still clinging to my skin.
“No, but I’m not a damn crutch to use to keep shutting me out.” Her voice cracks from holding everything in too long. “Where are you going?”
I stomp my boots on without tying them. Laces half-dragging, but I don’t give a shit. I snatch my cut off the back of the chair and shove my arms through the worn leather.
“To start a fucking war.” I spin, grab the bullet from the dresser and storm out of the room with rage boiling hot in my veins.
I charge down the hall, my fist slamming against door after door, deliberate and loud.
“Church. Now.”
Doors snap open. No hesitation. No questions. One by one, brothers spill into the hallway, half-dressed, groggy, but snap out of it the second they see my face. They know my tone. The edge in my voice that says shit’s about to blow.
I take the stairs two at a time, fury coiled tight beneath my skin. Zoey, Midge, and Marianna are in the common room tidying up, whispering to each other so they don’t wake up the brothers asleep down here.
When they hear me, they freeze mid-step.
Zoey’s hand goes still on the coffee pot.
Midge clutches a towel, wide-eyed. Marianna stiffens with a plate in her hands, like one wrong move will get her caught in the crossfire.
Smart girls. They don’t say a word. Even Dog tucks his tail between his legs and scurries under a table with his head in his paws.
I stalk past them and head to where the others are still sleeping. I kick the chair Grizzly is passed out on hard enough to jar him and the others awake.
“Up. Now. Church.”
They wake fast, sleep wiped clean by the fire in my voice. This isn’t a meeting. It’s a reckoning.
By the time I hit my gavel on the table, everyone is there.
Grizzly. Surge. Backdraft. Padre. Tango. Pike. Rancor. Crank. Even Hashtag, half-dressed and blinking through the sleep in his eyes.
I don’t sit.
I slam the bullet down on the center of the table so hard it leaves a dent in the wood.
“This,” I growl, “was given to Lacey as a warning. Courtesy of the Bloody fucking Scorpions.”
Everyone goes still.
“I want names. I want locations. And I want fucking blood.”
The table’s dead silent.
The bullet sits there like a loaded accusation. Nobody moves. Nobody breathes.
Good.
They feel the weight of it. They know what it means. The Bloody Scorpions crossed a fucking line. Not just with me. With all of us.
“I want that son of a bitch who approached her,” I snap, my voice rough enough to scrape bone. “I want a name, a patch, and when we find his ass, it’s fucking mine.”
Grizzly leans forward, eyes hard beneath his heavy eyelids. “When did this happen?”
I meet his gaze and don’t blink. “Yesterday.”
Tango runs a hand through his hair, shaking off the sleep. “That was before we hijacked their shipment. They couldn’t have known we were coming.”
I nod. “Which means they’re confident or desperate. Either way, it’s a mistake.”
“I ran a search before I crashed...” Hashtag has his laptop open, his fingers flying across the keys.
“Yup. That’s what I thought. The guns we took last night are an exact match to the ones we found at the warehouse.
The Bloody Scorpions must have been using it as a stash house and left a crate behind when they cleared out. ”
Backdraft’s twitching, the fire barely banked in his eyes. “I can torch their damn clubhouse tonight.”
“Not yet,” I bark. “We’re not flailing in the dark. We hit smart. We make it count.”
I look to Padre, who’s watching me like he’s ready to give a sermon.
“Scripture says vengeance is the Lord’s,” he mutters. “But I think even He’d understand this kind.”
“Don’t start preaching at me now, Padre,” I grit out. “We’re past prayers.”
The club murmurs in agreement. Low voices, tense shoulders, every man here ready to snap bones.
Crank cracks his knuckles and leans in. “If they’re stupid enough to target your woman, they’re stupid enough to slip again. Let me track down one of their prospects. I’ll make him talk.”
I give him a nod. “Do it. Quiet and quick.”
I pace in front of the table like a caged animal. My hands curled into fists at my sides, my knuckles white.
“They weren’t just sending me a message,” I grind out. “They threatened my woman. That makes it personal.”
No one dares comment on that part. Because they all know it. This isn’t business anymore.
This is war.
“They think they can rattle me? Let ’em see what happens when you poke the fuckin’ devil.”
I stop pacing, and look around the room at my men. My brothers. Every one of them ready to kill for me.
“This war’s coming,” I say, my voice like thunder before a storm. “And when it does, we burn the Scorpions to ash.”
I bang the gavel on the table. Every man here rises. Unified. Ready.
I don’t play nice when I’ve got blood in my sights.