20. CJ
CJ
I glance across the shop. Sunlight filters in through the open garage bay, dust floating in the beams. It’s quiet except for the occasional clink of tools and the classic rock humming through the busted speaker overhead.
Marcy’s out today—spa, brunch, whatever it was Bianca planned. I pretended to roll my eyes when she told me, but the truth is, I’m glad she’s getting a break. God knows she’s earned it.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this… good.
Not peaceful, exactly—I don’t think I’ve ever had peace—but grounded. Like for the first time in years, I’m not running from something. Ironic, considering Jake Hollingbow is on our neck.
I never thought I’d be sharing a woman with two of my brothers-in-arms. Shit, if you told me six months ago that I’d be in bed with the same girl Hawk and Ryder were fucking—and not wanting to kill them for it—I’d have laughed in your face.
But with Marcy, it’s different.
It’s not about possession. She pulls us in without even trying. And the weirdest thing?
It works.
We don’t step on each other. Don’t compete. It’s like we know when to give, when to take, when to let her fall into someone else’s arms for the night.
She doesn’t divide us. She connects us.
I tighten a bolt on the chain tensioner and glance up. Hawk’s been quiet all morning, his jaw tight, movements sharper than usual.
“You good?” I ask, wiping my hands on a rag.
He doesn’t look at me. Just keeps fiddling with the fuel line like it’s responsible for his mood. “Dunno, man. Been thinkin’.”
“Dangerous,” I mutter, tossing him a grin. It doesn’t land.
Hawk finally straightens, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. His eyes flick toward me, serious. Heavy. “Should we tell Marcy about Project Blackthorne?”
The words land like a punch to the ribs.
I sit back on my heels, wiping my palms slowly.
There it is.
The thing we’ve been dancing around ever since she stepped into our world. The thing none of us has dared say out loud since the night she looked us all in the eye and said she wanted this. Us.
“Why now?” I ask, voice low.
Hawk shrugs, but it’s forced. “She deserves to know. I see the way she looks at us, man. It’s real. She’s all in. But she doesn’t know who we were before she showed up. She doesn’t know what her dad did to us.”
I stare down at the concrete floor.
Images flash across my mind. Sand. Blood. Screaming. Paperwork that buried bodies and truths at the same time. Her father’s signature on classified orders that left good men behind. Left us behind.
Project Blackthorne isn’t a story.
It’s a scar.
“She’s already carryin’ so much,” I say. “He already wrecked half her life. Telling her what he did to us? That might break her, Hawk.”
“Or it might help her see the whole damn picture,” Hawk counters.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight. I hate that he might be right.
Because if Marcy ever finds out from someone else—or worse, from her father—what was buried under those operations we were ordered to carry out?
She might think each of us is as much of a monster as her father is.
Yes, we lost good men, some even our brothers, but we went in there knowing the risks.
I glance up at Hawk again. “You think she’s strong enough to hear it?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”
I look down at my stained hands and flex my fingers.
Project Blackthorne.
The name alone makes my gut twist.
We don’t talk about it. Not in detail. Not even with each other. Some things are carved so deep into you, you just live around them.
“Even if we told her,” I mutter, wiping my hands on a dirty rag, “what difference would it make? Jake’s still protected. Still untouchable. You think her knowing what he signed off on is gonna change that?”
Hawk’s eyes flash. “No. But it might give her something she needs—something real. You’ve seen it. She’s not stupid. She knows there’s more to the story. She’s been asking questions, putting shit together. You think she’s gonna stop?”
I sigh, run a hand over the back of my neck. He’s not wrong. She’s persistent—too smart for her own good. Always watching, always catching the things we don’t say. I can’t bear for her to find out the truth and hate me.
Because I have another scarier truth to dig around. And it’s that I have fallen in love with my enemy’s daughter.
“She’s gonna dig till she finds something,” Hawk adds, voice low. “Better it come from us than from someone else.”
The garage is quiet for a second, except for the low hum of the old fan and the faint clang of tools shifting on the pegboard. Then Hawk says what we’ve all been thinking.
“If we all want something more with her… we have to tell her the truth.”
I freeze.
He said it. Out loud.
Something more.
My throat tightens, but I make myself meet his eyes. “So you feel the same way?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “How could I not? She’s fucking amazing. Smart. Brave. She’s been dragged through the mud and still walks like a queen. She’s not some girl we picked up for a few weeks of fun. She matters, CJ.”
I don’t answer right away. Because he’s right. And not just in a surface-level, I-like-having-her-in-my-bed kind of way.
She crawled into all the quiet places I don’t let people see. The parts of me still stitched up from back then. And she didn’t run.
Ryder steps into the garage, his shirt soaked through, earbuds dangling around his neck. He’s breathing hard from his run, eyes flicking between the two of us.
“You told him?” he asks Hawk.
“Started to,” Hawk replies.
Ryder nods like he was expecting it. “Well, she deserves to know.”
We’re not just lusting after her. We feel something for her. Something deeper than anything we’ve ever had. We want her. Not for a night—for good.
But that truth comes with a cost.
“Then we need to tell her,” I say finally, the words heavy on my tongue. “I still think it’s risky,” I add. “Once she knows, she won’t be able to unknow. And if anyone finds out we talked… she could be in danger.”
Hawk nods, but his eyes stay locked on me. “Then we protect her. With everything we’ve got.”
Ryder grunts in agreement.
I look between them—my brothers, in every way that matters—and I know we’ve just crossed a line together.
We want her. All of us.
And we’re ready to burn down every secret to keep her.
For the first time in a long time, I feel… light. It’s a weird word to use for a guy like me. I’ve carried so much weight for so long—memories, mistakes, scars that don’t show on skin.
But standing here in the garage, sweat cooling on my back, my brothers beside me, talking openly about Marcy, about the truth we’ve been holding in like a loaded gun—I feel hopeful.
Like maybe we’re finally going to do something right.
We’ve all had women pass through our lives, but none of them stuck. None of them fit. Marcy fits. She sees us not as leaders to look up to, nor as ruffians who need to be controlled. She sees us as actual humans.
Hawk cracks his knuckles, nodding slowly, his jaw working like he’s chewing on the weight of what’s to come.
We’ve made our decision.
We’re going to tell her. Everything.
And we’re going to protect her from whatever fallout comes next.
That’s when the door to the garage slams open.
I turn, heart skipping once before adrenaline hits.
A younger Devil—Mason, barely patched—bursts in, eyes wide, chest heaving like he just sprinted from hell. “Prez—CJ—they’re here.”
I blink. “Who?”
“The feds. Cops. I don’t even know. All of them. They’re raiding the bar.”
My heart stops. Then starts again with a hard, painful punch to the ribs.
“What?” Hawk snaps, already moving toward the door.
“They’ve got trucks, dogs, search teams, the whole fucking circus.” Mason’s voice cracks. “They’ve got the back door chained, and they’re inside.”
Ryder’s towel drops. “Is Marcy?—”
“She’s out with Bianca,” I say quickly, throat dry. “She’s not there. She’s not there.”
“Fuck.” Ryder’s already grabbing his cut from the hook by the door, eyes hard, jaw locked tight.
I grab my keys with shaking hands. My legs are moving, but my mind is racing, flashing back to every time we were followed. Every damn whisper. Every warning we ignored because we thought we still had time.
I thought we had time.
We pull up fast—Hawk riding ahead, Ryder close behind, my engine snarling like it senses what’s coming. But even that doesn’t prepare me for the sight waiting for us.
The Den is crawling with uniforms.
Squad cars are parked at every angle. Black SUVs line the curb like they’ve been waiting for this moment. Bright yellow tape flaps in the wind, already strung across the front steps. I spot at least three ATF agents, four local cops, and a group that’s clearly feds.
Fuck.
They’re not here to ask questions.
One officer is shouting at Brick, one of our kitchen guys, who’s got his hands up, rage and confusion written all over his face. Another Devil, Logan, is on the ground, knees scraped, being zip-tied like he’s some cartel kingpin.
“Get the fuck off him!” Hawk roars as we slam to a stop. He doesn’t even wait to kill the engine before jumping off his bike.
I’m behind him in seconds, pushing past a cop who yells at me to stay back.
“This is private property!” I shout. “Where’s your warrant?”
A woman in a blazer turns, flashing a badge like it’s supposed to explain the chaos. “We’ve got authorization from a federal task force. You can take it up with the DA.”
Bullshit. They didn’t just stumble on this place. They’ve been planning this.
Ryder grabs my arm, dragging me toward the entrance as another set of officers storms through the bar’s front door.
The place is being gutted.
Tables overturned. Cabinets yanked open. They’re pulling down ceiling panels, unscrewing light fixtures. Someone kicks open the locked office door, and I watch them scatter our records across the floor.
They’re not looking for evidence. They’re looking for ammunition.
Someone screams from the back hallway.