Chapter 12
Sloane
My hands are still shaking when I close my bedroom door, not from fear, though I was scared, but from everything else, from the adrenaline that hasn’t burned out yet. The memory of Boone’s blood on my fingers. The feel of his mouth on mine, steady, warm, grounding in a way I didn’t expect.
I lean back against the door and close my eyes.
Boone is right, this situation is unsustainable.
The secrets. The tension. The way the three of them orbit me, separate gravitational pulls that refuse to align.
Rook is intense, controlled, and consuming, leaving me no room to breathe.
Cruz is impossible to ignore even when he’s actively avoiding me.
Without his comic relief, the clubhouse has been tense and morose.
Boone is quiet, steady, reliable; he’s the one I didn’t see coming until he was already under my skin.
I exhale slowly. I can’t let this situation spiral any further, not when my daughter is sleeping down the hall. Not when men are trying to kill me. Not when I just proved, again, that I’m capable of making very bad decisions when I don’t communicate.
If this is going to work—any of it—we have to be clear and honest about everything, even the messy parts.
Part of me is tempted to go wake the guys up, to have this conversation now and get it out of the way, but I know it’s probably better to leave it until the morning.
I glance at my bed, but I know I won’t sleep, not now.
I slip out of the room and into Jessy’s, watching her sleep, listening to the gentle rise and fall of her breath.
I lie down on the twin bed beside her and watch her.
No matter what, she is my priority. I will do anything to keep her safe.
***
I can’t believe I forgot that Jessy’s going back to school today.
I’d thought long and hard about it before making the decision.
While everyone has been helping, my little girl really needs the stability of school and to mix with her friends.
The school has good security, and she’ll have an Iron Vale escort there and back—in addition to having a prospect keep an eye on the school while she’s in class.
The school will no doubt disapprove of the bikers stationing themselves around the premises, but since they’re not on their property, there won’t be a lot they can do about it, at least that’s what Rook’s assured me.
I feel nervous about letting her go, especially after what happened last night, but Jessy is so excited to see her friends again, and I want my daughter to have some routine back in her life.
I watch as she walks away, backpack dwarfing her small frame, her ponytail bobbing as she skips toward the car.
I wanted to go to the school with her, but Rook overruled it, saying it would put her in more danger if I was present.
The club members guarding her have promised me regular updates, and the school also knows not to let Jessy out of their sight, or to let her leave with anyone other than the new, fully vetted guardians on their list. Rook, Boone, and Cruz are listed, as is Gravel and his old lady, Beth.
They have a son enrolled at Jessy’s school, a couple of years above her, and gladly volunteered to do joint school runs.
As I watch the car drive away, Jessy’s small hand waving at the window, a prospect approaches me, stammering that Rook wants to see me in his office.
Boone must have told them what happened last night.
I’m not ready, but I nod anyway, and, with one last longing glance at the car as it rounds a bend, I go back inside, knowing that this next conversation will determine whether or not we have a future here.
The office door is closed when I approach it.
The guys don’t want an audience any more than I do.
I don’t want this spilling into the club where it becomes something bigger, messier, harder to contain.
I push the door open without knocking. All three of them are already inside, waiting in silence, the tension palpable.
Rook stands behind the desk, hands braced against the wood, shoulders tense, head slightly lowered like he’s been staring at something for too long.
Cruz is leaning against the far wall, one boot hooked behind the other, arms loosely crossed, giving the impression of relaxation, but his eyes are sharp, tracking every movement.
Boone is near the window, still and solid, his presence quiet but heavy in the room.
The air feels thick, a storm sealed into four walls. The door clicks shut behind me with deafening finality. This is it, now or never.
No one speaks. We’re at a stalemate, everyone waiting for someone to light the gunpowder. I step further inside, the wooden floor creaking faintly under my weight, the smell of leather and old paper grounding me just enough to stay steady.
“We need to talk,” I say. My voice comes out calmer than I feel.
Rook lifts his head slowly. His dark eyes find mine immediately, controlled and angry.
“Then talk.” There’s no softness, no easing in.
He’s made his mind up about what I’m going to say before I’ve said it, and feels betrayed.
He’s clearly pissed that I took actions into my own hands last night.
In hindsight I know it was a foolish thing to do, and if Boone hadn’t followed me, it could have ended up so much worse. But I can’t take back what happened.
I slip into work mode, Sloane the lawyer. I move to the center of the room and set my laptop down on the desk between us, the quiet thud louder than it should be. “I found something,” I say.
Cruz straightens slightly, pushing off the wall just enough to shift his weight forward. “What kind of something?”
“The kind that explains why Escar hasn’t stopped despite being behind bars.”
That gets their attention, they all ease closer to get a better look. I open the file and turn the screen so they can see. I gave Boone a run down last night so he’s familiar with what I’m about to say, but he still looks at the screen intently.
“The financial structure I uncovered that we used to prosecute Escar is still active,” I say.
Rook’s brows pull together slightly. “That’s not possible.”
“It is,” I reply. “It’s under different names, different companies, but it’s the exact same framework.
” I tap the screen, pulling up the layers.
“Shell companies stacked in sequence. Money looping through internal transfers before landing clean.” I point out what I’m talking about, showing them in simple terms that a layman can understand.
Cruz moves closer, leaning over the desk, one hand braced beside the laptop. ”Jesus,” he mutters. “They’re identical.”
“Yes.”
Rook’s gaze shifts from the screen to me. “So, Escar has someone running it externally while he’s locked up. Where does it lead?”
I meet his eyes. “Harlan Briggs.”
The room tightens. They’re all familiar with the name. Briggs is a major player in town, practically untouchable, and until now, seemingly squeaky clean. “Briggs’ main base of operations is four blocks from here.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. “You’re sure?” Cruz asks. We’d be making a powerful enemy in Briggs, whether I’m right or wrong.
“Yes.”
Rook straightens slowly, tension rolling through his shoulders. “That means he’s been working under our noses the entire time.”
“Yes.” The thought is harrowing. Briggs knew how to get to me all along. Our haven was right on the doorstep of the man who tried to kill me. “I think Escar wasn’t just seeking revenge. I think that they were worried that I would eventually make the connection and come after Briggs, too.”
Boone grimaces. “You moving in here probably made them even more suspicious that you were digging into Briggs.”
Rook studies the screen, brow furrowed. “And you just found this out now?” I can practically see the cogs of his brain working, wondering if that was the case, why Boone would be the one to gather them together this morning.
“I found it yesterday,” I say. I wait a beat, then decide I might as well admit it now, like tearing off a Band-Aid. “I went there last night.”
The explosion is immediate. Rook’s hand slams flat against the desk, the crack of it echoing through the room. “You did what?”
Cruz pushes off the desk entirely now, pacing like he needs movement to process. “You went alone?” he demands.
“Yes.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Cruz spits, throwing his arms wide with exasperation.
My chin juts out defensively. “I needed confirmation.”
“Jesus, Sloane—” Cruz rubs his hand along his face.
“You don’t confirm things like that by walking into enemy territory without backup,” Rook snaps.
“I had backup.” I don’t admit that I didn’t know I did.
That shifts things. Their laser focus snaps to Boone. He doesn’t move or try to defend himself. “I followed her,” he says simply.
Rook turns on him. “You knew she was leaving and didn’t say anything?”
“She was already gone. If I’d wasted time waking you up and explaining, I could have lost sight of her.”
There’s a flicker of understanding in Rook’s eyes, but he’s too stubborn to admit it. “That’s not the point.”
“It is,” Boone replies, voice steady but harder than usual. “I wasn’t letting her walk in there alone.”
Cruz drags a hand through his hair. “How bad was it?”
“Three men were waiting inside for her,” Boone says. “I knew it was a trap when she sailed past the security guard without a problem.”
Rook’s gaze cuts back to me. “What did you say to him?”
I feel foolish admitting it now. “That I’d had a meeting there earlier and lost an earring in one of the meeting rooms. The guard said he couldn’t leave his post, but I could go up and look for it.”
Cruz barks a humorless laugh. “Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all.”
“I know that now,” I snap back, embarrassed at my stupidity.
Rook sighs, bringing us back on track. “Then what happened?”
“When I got upstairs, three men were waiting. I handled one,” I say.