Chapter 24
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— Dutch —
Ibarely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those photos—Indira at the coffee shop, at her building, in the parking lot. The Wolves had been watching her. Taking pictures. Cataloging her routines.
And she had no idea.
By seven Sunday morning, I was standing outside her apartment building, a leather box tucked under my arm and my heart lodged somewhere in my throat. I’d planned what I was going to say. Rehearsed it on the ride over. Someone’s targeting you because of me. You need protection. Please trust me.
But as I raised my hand to knock, I knew those words wouldn’t be enough. Indira was too smart, too perceptive. She’d hear the gaps in my explanation and recognize them for what they were.
Secrets. The same secrets I’d promised never to keep from her again.
She answered the door in a soft gray robe, her hair still damp from the shower. Beautiful and relaxed and completely unaware that her world was about to shift.
“Jacob.” Surprise flickered across her face. “I wasn’t expecting you this early. Is everything okay?”
“No.” I stepped inside when she moved aside, closing the door behind me. “Can we sit down? There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her expression shifted, concern replacing surprise. She led me to the couch and sat, tucking her legs beneath her.
“What’s going on?”
I set the leather box on the coffee table—the one containing both cuts—and tried to find the words.
“Someone’s targeting you because of me,” I said carefully. “Last night, after what happened with Crystal in the parking lot, there was... a situation. The club has a situation, and you’ve become part of it.”
Indira’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of situation?”
“I can’t tell you everything.” The words scraped against my throat. “Club business. But what I can tell you is that a rival group knows about you now. They know you matter to me. And they’re using that as leverage.”
“Leverage for what?”
“To pressure the club into giving up something we can’t give up.”
She was quiet for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then: “You’re being deliberately vague.”
“I have to be.”
“Why?”
“Because the specifics involve club business, and I—”
“Club business.” Her voice had gone flat. “I see.”
The disappointment in her tone hit me harder than I expected.
“Indira, I want to tell you everything. You have no idea how much I want to be completely honest with you right now. But there are rules—”
“Rules that come before the promise you made me?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. She wasn’t wrong.
“Complete honesty, Jacob. That was my condition. No more compartmentalizing your life into club business and personal business.” She stood up abruptly, wrapping her arms around herself.
“And here we are, less than two months in, and you’re already drawing lines about what you can and can’t tell me. ”
“This is different—”
“How?” She spun to face me, and I saw the anger now, burning behind her carefully controlled expression. “How is this different from before? You came to me with half-truths and vague warnings, expecting me to just trust you.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“By lying to me? By making decisions for me?” Her voice cracked. “This is exactly who you used to be, Jacob. This is exactly what you promised you wouldn’t do anymore.”
I stood up, reaching for her, but she stepped back.
“Don’t.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Don’t touch me right now. I need you to answer me honestly—are you keeping secrets from me?”
“Yes.” The word felt like glass in my mouth. “But not because I want to. The club—”
“I don’t care about the club!” She was shouting now, something I’d rarely seen from her.
“I care about us. I care about the man you said you’d become.
And right now, you’re standing in my living room telling me that someone is threatening me, that I’m in danger, but you won’t tell me why or who or what’s actually happening.
And you expect me to just... what? Accept it? Trust you blindly?”
“I’m asking for some time to figure this out—”
“Time.” She laughed bitterly. “For what? To come up with a better lie? To spin some story that I can’t poke holes in?”
“Indira—”
“No.” She held up a hand, and I stopped. “What’s in the box?” She walked to the coffee table and picked up the leather box—the one I’d forgotten I’d even brought.
“Open it,” I said quietly.
She did. Her hands stilled as she took in what was inside. She pulled out both cuts, laying them on the table, studying them with that analytical gaze I knew so well.
“You mentioned these,” she said slowly, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “In your emails. The old cut and the new one you had made.” She traced her fingers over the embroidery. “Property of Dutch. And this one... just my name with First Lady.”
“Partnership instead of ownership,” I said. “That’s what I wanted to show you. That’s who I’m trying to become.”
She looked up at me, something sharp and painful in her eyes.
“And yet you brought these to distract me. To show me pretty symbols of change while you keep me in the dark about real danger.” She picked up the new cut and held it toward me.
“You’re still the same man who thinks he knows best. Who thinks he can protect me by keeping me ignorant. ”
I had no defense against her words.
“You want me to wear this cut,” she continued, her voice rising. “You want me to be your partner. But you lied to me. Again. The minute things got hard, you lied.”
She picked up the Property of Dutch cut, holding it beside the other. Her hands were shaking.
“That’s not fair—”
“You lied!” The word cracked through the room. “All those promises, all those emails about change, and the first time it actually mattered—” She threw both cuts onto the couch. “God, I’m so stupid.”
I stared at her, my chest hollow with the truth of what she was saying.
Because she was right.
When I’d seen those photos, my first thought hadn’t been I need to tell Indira everything. It had been I need to keep her safe without her knowing the danger. The same pattern I’d fallen into before.
“You’re right,” I said quietly.
She blinked, surprised.
“Completely,” I continued, my voice rough.
“Part of me does want to put you under club protection and make all the decisions, because it would be easier. I could tell myself I’m keeping you safe while really I’m just..
. controlling the situation. Controlling you.
” I ran a hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She didn’t say anything, just watched me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“I came here planning to give you just enough to keep you safe,” I admitted.
“Vague warnings, careful words. Enough to get you to accept protection without having to explain why. And I told myself that was okay because I was protecting you.” I shook my head.
“But that’s bullshit. That’s me deciding you can’t handle the truth.
That’s me putting my comfort ahead of your right to make informed choices. ”
“Yes.” Her voice was soft. “It is.”
“I want to tell you everything. But the club—”
“I know.” She held up a hand again. “I know there are rules. I’m not naive about what you are or what world you live in. But Jacob, if you can’t find a way to be honest with me about things that directly affect my life, my safety... then what are we even building here?”
I had no answer.
She set both cuts back in the box and closed the lid. When she spoke again, her voice was steady but heavy with exhaustion. “I need space to think.”
“Indira—”
“I need to think about whether this is who you really are.” She met my eyes, and I saw something I hadn’t expected—not just anger, but grief. “I need to know if your change is real, or if it only works when life is easy. When there’s no pressure, no stakes, no reason to fall back on old patterns.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything except asking for time.” She walked toward the door and opened it. “Don’t contact me until you figure out what you want, Jacob. A partner you can trust with the truth—even when it’s hard—or someone you can control while pretending it’s love.”
I stood in her living room, frozen, the leather box forgotten on the coffee table.
“Indira, I love you.”
“I know you do.” Her voice cracked. “That’s what makes this so hard. Because I love you too, and I want to believe you’ve changed. But I can’t be with someone who decides what I can and can’t know about my own life. I won’t go back to being the woman who’s always the last to know.”
“I’ll figure this out. I’ll find a way—”
“Then go, figure it out.” She gestured toward the door. “I’m done explaining it to you.”
I walked past her, stopping at the threshold. I wanted to touch her, to pull her into my arms and promise her everything would be okay. But I knew she wouldn’t be okay with that. My woman would probably kick me in the balls, and I’d deserve it. Didn’t fancy that though, so I kept my distance.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“I know.” She closed the door.
I sat on my bike outside her building for a long time.
My hands were shaking. I gripped the handlebars until the trembling stopped, but it just moved somewhere deeper: my chest, my gut, somewhere I couldn’t hold still.
She was right. She was fucking right.
And I couldn’t move.
I pulled out my phone and stared at it, wanting to text her. I’m sorry. I’ll fix this. Please give me another chance.
But she’d asked for space. She’d set a boundary. And if I violated that—if I pushed when she’d explicitly told me not to—I would be proving her point all over again.
So I put the phone away and started my bike.
The clubhouse was quiet when I arrived. Sunday morning, most of the brothers sleeping off Saturday night’s drama. I walked through the empty main room and into my office, closing the door behind me.
The desk was empty. The walls were bare. Nothing remained from my old life—nothing that should remind me of who I used to be.
But the problem wasn’t the desk. It wasn’t the room or the mattress or any of the physical relics I’d destroyed.
The problem was me.
I slumped into my chair and buried my face in my hands.