Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Hades
The clubhouse felt wrong.
Not dangerous wrong. Not the kind of wrong that made you reach for your piece or check your six. Just off. Like the air pressure had shifted and nobody else had noticed yet.
I sat at the bar nursing a whiskey I didn’t want, watching the room move around me. Voices overlapping. Glasses hitting wood. The low hum of men trying to pretend everything was normal when it fucking wasn’t.
Zeus would call church soon. I could feel it coming, the way you felt a storm building before the first drops fell.
And I was carrying a secret that could destroy everything.
Lettie.
My woman. My queen. My fucking problem.
Because she was the vigilante. The one poisoning men and women across Texas. The one Coeus was hunting. The one Zeus would demand answers about if the investigation got too close.
And I’d chosen her anyway.
Drank her tea. Kissed her hands. Claimed her body. Told her I’d burn the world down before I let anyone take her from me.
I meant every fucking word.
The clubhouse doors swung open. Conversations cut off mid-sentence when Kraken walked in, followed by Eros.
No Poseidon.
That absence hit first, landing heavy and immediate. A wrongness settled over the room before anyone spoke. Eyes tracked past Kraken and Eros automatically, like Poseidon might still appear behind them. Like he might just be a step slower.
He didn’t.
Kraken moved further inside. Eros followed.
Pale. Worn down. He looked worse than he had in the hospital. Stubborn fucking fool would rather bleed out in a ditch than look weak. But I saw the strain immediately. The careful way he moved, the stiffness in his body, the gray cast under his skin.
The rage banked behind his eyes.
Eros was home.
But he wasn’t settled.
For a second, the club’s chaos stopped.
Zeus was already moving, his attention snapping to the door the instant they walked in. Even with everything burning around him, Eros mattered. Asclepius closed the distance, starting his assessment whether Eros wanted it or not.
Eros hated fussing.
He’d want a drink, a shower, and for everyone to stop looking at him like he was one hard breath away from dropping.
“Kraken,” Zeus said, his voice tight. Controlled. “Report.”
Kraken’s jaw worked. He looked at Eros first. Then at Zeus.
“Arizona Stone is dead.”
The room went still.
“Alex?” Zeus asked.
“In the wind.”
Fuck.
“What happened?” Atlas asked.
Eros moved forward, slow and deliberate, like every step cost him something. He grabbed a chair and lowered himself into it with the kind of care that said his body was barely holding together.
The room went silent, everyone listening.
“Arizona’s the bastard who went after F.I.R.E. I tracked him to that storage unit, but—”
“But you were already fucking injured,” Zeus snapped.
Eros glared at his president. Ignoring him, he continued, “He had his gun on me. Alex came out of nowhere and attacked him with something metal. A pipe, maybe. I don’t fucking know. I just saw her swing and connect with his skull.”
“Jesus,” Atlas muttered.
“He went down. Not out, just stunned. They fought for the gun.” Eros’ hands flexed on the armrests. “She was smaller. Weaker. But she was fucking desperate. She clawed at his face, bit his hand, then got her fingers on the grip.”
“And?” Hermes prompted.
“She got it.” Eros looked at the floor. “Emptied the whole fucking clip into him.”
The room absorbed that.
Zeus leaned back, processing.
“Alex just stood there,” Eros said quietly. “Staring at what she’d done. Realizing she’d killed him. That she’d actually fucking done it. Then we heard bikes.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Told her to cut me loose. Take my keys. Take my bike and run.” Eros looked up and met my eyes. “Told her she needed to disappear before they got there. We had no way of knowing who was coming.”
“So you fucking sacrificed yourself so she could get away?” Zeus asked.
“She saved my fucking life,” Eros growled. “I was saving hers.”
“And she listened?” Atlas asked, cutting Zeus off before he could open his fucking mouth again.
“Yeah. She cut the zip ties, grabbed my keys off the table, took my black Harley, and was gone in under a minute.” Eros’ expression was hollow. “Didn’t look back. Didn’t say goodbye. Just ran.”
“How bad were you?” Asclepius asked.
“Bad enough that if it hadn’t been the Brotherhood riding in, I wouldn’t be here.” Eros looked at Kraken.
Kraken nodded. “He was barely conscious when we got there. Had to carry him out.”
“Alex?” Zeus asked again.
Eros shook his head. “She’s Morpheus’ problem now.”
What the fuck did that mean?
“And Poseidon?” Zeus asked.
“We ran into Satan’s Angels on the way home,” Kraken replied. “Not a full ambush. Just enough to force a split. Poseidon pulled them off, lured them away from the truck because Eros couldn’t be caught in another fight and I couldn’t abandon him.”
Kraken’s hands flexed. I saw the guilt there. The self-loathing. Leaving Poseidon behind went against everything in him.
“I kept driving,” Kraken said quietly.
“Where is he?” Zeus demanded.
“Holed up. Not captured. Not dead. He checked in two hours ago. Said he’ll be home soon.”
That reassured the room.
Partly.
Not fully.
“I’m sending riders out,” Zeus said.
“No,” Kraken said immediately.
Zeus’ head snapped toward him. “The fuck you say?”
“Poseidon said not to. He’s handling it. Sending riders could make things worse.”
Zeus stepped in closer, but Kraken didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched him with the kind of stillness that came from a man who’d already made his decision and wouldn’t be moved from it.
The room held its breath.
I felt it then. The shift. The moment when Zeus’ authority collided with Kraken’s refusal to bend. Not disrespect. Kraken would never disrespect the president. But this was something else. This was a man protecting his brother by standing immovable against an order that could get him killed.
Zeus’ jaw worked. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
Kraken met his gaze without blinking.
“He’s handling it,” Kraken repeated. Same words. Different weight. Not a suggestion. A fact.
The silence stretched. Thick. Suffocating. I could feel the violence in it. The potential for everything to crack open right here in the clubhouse.
I stepped in before Zeus could turn his fear into an order that made things worse.
“Kraken’s right,” I said.
Zeus looked at me. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah. We keep phones open. Put riders on standby. Wait for Poseidon’s next check-in unless the situation changes.”
Zeus stared at me for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Fine. But the second we don’t hear from him, we move.”
“Agreed.”
Eros clocked me watching him. Our eyes met across the room. I walked over and stopped in front of him.
“You staying?” I asked.
Eros looked at me. His eyes were hard. Unreadable.
“For now,” he said.
That landed.
“Alex?” I asked.
“Not to be hunted,” Eros said. His voice was flat. Final. “Not by the Gods. Not by anyone. She saved my life. Whatever anyone thinks about what she did, she earned the right to run.”
I understood that more deeply than he knew.
Another woman made a lethal choice. Saved someone. Walked away with blood on her hands.
Eros respected that.
I was fucking living it.
The clubhouse noise pressed in from all sides. Conversations bleeding together. The crack and thud of bottles and glasses. The scrape of chairs. All of it felt distant. Muffled. Like I was underwater and the world was happening somewhere above me.
Poseidon was still out there somewhere on a stretch of highway with Satan’s Angels circling. Zeus was unraveling in slow motion, grief and rage pulling him apart piece by piece. The club was stretched so goddamn thin, we were one crisis away from snapping completely.
But none of that was what sat heavy in my chest.
Lettie.
I needed to get to her.
Needed her to see my face. Feel my hands. Know that nothing had changed except that I loved her more now than I did before I knew the truth.
Because she’d trusted me with the darkest part of herself.
Something dark in me recognized something dark in her. And I wasn’t letting her sit alone with her fear. Not for one more fucking minute.
I knocked back the rest of my whiskey and headed for the door.
The ride took less than ten minutes.
I killed the engine in her driveway. The farmhouse sat quiet in the fading light. Peaceful. Like nothing dark had ever happened here.
But I knew what lived behind that locked iron gate. What grew in the shadows. What Lettie was capable of when she decided someone needed to die.
And I loved her more for it.
Cerberus barked once when I reached the back door. A warning. Then silence.
The door opened before I could knock.
Lettie stood there in a flowing skirt and a gray sweater, hair pulled back in a loose braid. Beautiful. Guarded. Afraid.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t invite me in. Just watched me with those careful eyes, waiting for me to prove I’d changed my mind.
I stepped forward, cupped her face, and kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Everything I couldn’t say in words.
When I pulled back, her eyes were wet.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“Of course I came back.”
“I thought you’d have time to think. To realize—”
“That you’re a killer?” I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone. “Baby, I already knew that. Nothing’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed.”
I kissed her forehead. Her temple. The corner of her mouth. “Nothing that matters.”
She let out a shaky breath, then stepped back and let me inside.
Cerberus watched from his spot by the kitchen table. His tail thumped once. Approval.
I closed the door and followed her into the kitchen.
“Why are you here?” she asked quietly.
“Because you needed to see me.” I crossed to her. Close enough to feel her heat. Smell lavender and something darker underneath. “Needed to know I meant it.”
Her breath hitched.
“I see you, Lettie,” I said. “All of you. The woman who saves and the woman who destroys. And I’m not going anywhere.”
The tears came then. Silent. Devastating.
I kissed them away. Tasted salt and fear and relief.
“Bedroom,” I said.
She nodded.
I lifted her, carrying her through the house, past her mother’s closed door, up the stairs. Cerberus followed, then settled outside the bedroom like a sentinel.
Inside, I set her down, closing the door and locking it.
She watched me with wide eyes. Vulnerable in a way I’d never seen.
I crossed to her slowly, reaching for the hem of her sweater. Pulling it up and over her head as she lifted her arms to help. Underneath, she wore a simple white bra. Soft. Delicate.
I traced the edge with my fingertips, feeling her shiver.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmured.
“Brock—”
“Shh.” I kissed her. Soft. Gentle. “Let me take care of you.”
I undressed her slowly. Reverently. When she was naked, I guided her to the bed and laid her down.
Golden hair spread across the pillow. Pale skin. Curves and softness and strength.
Mine.
I stripped off my own clothes. Watched as her eyes tracked over my body, cataloging the scars, the ink. The evidence of violence.
She didn’t flinch.
I climbed onto the bed and settled between her legs, kissing her deeply.
This wasn’t like before. Wasn’t rough or possessive or desperate.
This was trust.
I kissed down her neck to her collarbone. Took my time in the valley between her breasts, letting my hands map every inch of her skin.
She arched into my touch. Her breath coming faster.
“Brock,” she whispered.
“I’ve got you, baby.”
I moved lower. Kissed her stomach. Her hip. The inside of her thigh.
She trembled beneath me.
I looked up at her, holding her gaze. “You’re safe with me. You know that, right?”
She nodded.
“Say it.”
“I’m safe with you.”
“Damn right you are.”
I lowered my mouth to taste her, feeling her hands fist in my hair.
I took my time and made her come twice before I moved back up her body and positioned myself at her entrance.
“Look at me,” I said.
She did.
I pushed inside. Slow. Steady. Watching her face.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
“No,” I said. “Eyes on me.”
She opened them.
I started to move. Long, deep strokes. Nothing rushed. Nothing frantic.
Just us.
Her hands came up to my face, cupping my jaw and pulling me down for a kiss.
I poured everything into it. Every promise. Every vow. Every dark, possessive, protective instinct I had.
She was mine.
And I was hers.
When she came, it was with my name on her lips. Soft. Broken and beautiful.
I followed her over, burying my face in her neck, and held her like she might disappear.
Afterward, we lay tangled together. Her head on my chest. My hand in her hair.
“What happens now?” she asked quietly.
“Now?” I kissed the top of her head. “Now we figure out how to keep you safe.”
“From whom?”
“From everyone.”
She was quiet for a moment. “The club’s looking for the vigilante.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you going to do?”
I tightened my arm around her. “Whatever I have to.”
“Even if it means going against Zeus?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Even then.”
She lifted her head and looked at me with those careful, calculating eyes. “You’d really do that? Risk everything?”
“For you?” I cupped her face. “In a fucking heartbeat.”
She searched my expression. Looking for the lie. The angle. The moment I’d take it back.
She wouldn’t find it.
Eros had defended Alex. Said she’d earned the right to run after saving his life. The club accepted it because Eros made it clear she was off-limits.
I’d do the same for Lettie.
And if Zeus or anyone else had a problem with it, they could take it up with me.
“I love you,” she whispered.
The words hit me like a freight train, knocking the air straight from my lungs.
I’d never said those words to anyone. Never felt them. Never believed in them.
Until now.
“I love you too, baby.” I kissed her. Slow. Deep. “And I’m not letting anyone take you from me.”
She smiled. Small. Fragile. Real.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
We lay there in the quiet. Two dark souls who’d found each other in the chaos.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that protecting her would mean standing between her and Zeus when the truth came out. It would mean choosing her over my president. Over my club. Over everything I’d built my life around.
I’d do it without hesitation.
Because she was mine.
And some things were worth burning the world for.