Chapter 4
FOUR
NIGHTMARE
As I settle into the back seat, Tyrique’s face won’t leave my head.
He looked like life kicked his ass and left no crumbs.
Glassy eyes, hands twitching like he was freezing from the inside out, and his body is half the size it was the last time I saw him.
The same guy who used to outrun everyone on the field couldn’t even stand up straight.
That image burrows deep in my mind, and it hits harder than I want to admit.
Another demon added to the night terrors that I don’t fucking need.
We had what’s considered a clean-cut upbringing. Two-story homes situated in the suburbs with trimmed lawns and porch lights. Cookouts on Sundays, and parents who actually gave a damn. Statistically, we weren’t supposed to end up like this.
Now he’s strung out, Londyn’s got a badge, and I’m riding in the back of a squad SUV with cuffs digging into my wrists.
Life’s got jokes, but none of this shit is funny.
The engine hums low beneath us. Londyn’s eyes are steady on the road, hands locked at ten and two. The only sound is the rattle of metal when I shift and the occasional creak of the seat.
“This is some straight bullshit,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
“Keep talking,” she says, eyes never leaving the road, “and I’ll tack on resisting.”
“You’d need an actual arrest for that,” I smirk, knowing I got under her skin.
Her gaze flicks to the rearview, sharp and cold. “You wanna test me, Malcolm?”
I lean back, letting the cuffs bite a little deeper. “Just stating facts.”
I’m not trying to make her angry, but she has to admit that this has been a crazy ass night.
The silence stretches on. Streetlights strobe across her face, casting shadows that don’t belong on someone who used to laugh with her whole body.
For a second, I see her how she was… trailing behind Ty and me while we walked to school, asking a million questions, always grinning, always loud.
She wasn’t supposed to end up like this either.
The SUV jerks to a stop outside the precinct, and she’s out before the engine settles. My door swings open, and her hand clamps around my arm, yanking me out like I’m trash on the curb.
“Watch it,” I grunt, stumbling out of the backseat.
“Walk,” she orders, shoving me forward.
There’s no point in pushing back, she’s holding all the cards right now. Unbeknownst to her, I won’t spend one single night in a cage. I’ll let her have her moment, but it’ll be short lived.
Inside, the station’s buzzing. Phones ringing, boots scuffing tile, some young cop cursing over the spilled coffee running down his uniform. Londyn doesn’t slow. She marches me through the chaos toward a set of stairs that I know lead to the holding cells… then she stops short.
There’s a man at the front counter. Crisp suit, polished shoes, calm like he owns the place.
Walter Briggs. Royal Bastards’ lawyer.
He nods at her, all polite smiles. “Detective Banks. We have to stop meeting like this.”
Her jaw tightens. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Protecting my clients,” he says smoothly. “Your Captain already reviewed the report sent over by your Sergeant. No contraband, no exchange, no usable evidence. Just a man in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“He was there,” she snaps. “That’s enough.”
Briggs adjusts his cufflinks like he’s got all day. “Not in this city, it’s not.”
A door creaks open. Her Captain steps out, disdain on his face as he takes me in.
“Banks. Let him go.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but Londyn has never been one to give up without a fight.
Her head whips toward him. “Cap, we had eyes…”
“Eyes aren’t evidence,” he cuts in. “You know that. We don’t have enough to keep him, so turn him loose. That’s an order.”
I see the moment defeat settles in. Her shoulders tense, breath catching. But instead of arguing, she simply reaches for the key on her belt and unlocks the cuffs.
“Guess I was right,” I tease.
She steps in close… close enough I can feel the heat of her breath. “You get a pass tonight. Next time, I won’t just be the one taking you in, I’ll be the one making sure you don’t walk back out.”
“Still got that fire, huh, Lolo?”
Her eyes narrow. “Get… the fuck… out!”
Briggs touches my shoulder, guiding me toward the door. “This way, Malcolm.”
Turning back, I take one last look at Londyn, and I can tell by her stare that this isn’t over. We’ll cross paths again… soon.
Outside, the air’s thick and cool. Turbo, our resident hacker, leans against his black Charger, cigarette burning low between his fingers. He flicks it away when he sees me.
“Damn, brother,” he says, shaking his head. “What the fuck happened?”
“I’ll explain back at the clubhouse,” I mutter, rubbing my wrists. They’re raw and red. “Briggs got here hella fast, ” I comment, changing the subject.
“He was already downtown when Mav gave him a heads up.” Turbo’s eyes scan me, checking for bruises. “You good?”
“Yeah. Just didn’t expect to see them tonight.” It comes out flat, but inside, I’m tore up.
“Them?”
I don’t answer. He doesn’t push it, just nods his head in understanding and walks to the driver side.
Just when I ‘m about to climb in, I pause.
“Wait. Briggs said clients…”
“Hound, Buck, and Steel were brought in, but Mav already left with them. They’re waiting for us back at the clubhouse.”
“Damn, Briggs is worth every penny we pay him,” I say, sliding into my seat.
“With as much trouble as we get our asses into, he better be,” Turbo laughs, buckling his seatbelt.
The Charger growls to life, and the city starts sliding past in streaks of neon and shadow. My head’s a mess, memories flashing in double time. I just don’t get how shit spiraled so out of control with my friend.
Graduation night. Tyrique and I sat on the patio, cap and gowns still on, talking about his plan to play college ball. Londyn was dancing barefoot in the grass, laughing like the world couldn’t touch her. Me, listening, but dreaming about my own future. We had it all.
Now Ty’s strung out, Lolo’s a cop, and I’m everything she’s supposed to hate.
Turbo glances over. “You sure you’re good?”
“Yeah, just tired.”
He nods, eyes back on the road.
Turning toward the window, I watch the red and blue lights fade in the rearview and wonder how the fuck I’m going to explain to Mav why the mule who betrayed us is still alive.
The clubhouse is loud when we enter. Music blaring from the house speakers, the guys are scattered around… some at the bar, others shooting pool. The minute Maverick spots me, his voice cuts through the noise.
“Church. Now.”
Everyone drops what they’re doing, and move. Chairs scrape across wood, boots hit the floor, and my heart’s hammering because I already know this isn’t going to end well.
Filing into the room, Maverick takes his seat at the head of the table, Steel to his right, and everyone else grabs whatever chair’s open. I stay standing.
“You take care of the informant?” Maverick asks not wasting any time.
“There was a complication.”
His tone sharpens. “What do you mean, complication?”
“Turns out, the informant is one of my best friends from childhood. Name’s Tyrique.”
The room goes dead quiet. All eyes on me. Steel shifts in his chair, tension rolling off him. “Your best friend’s a rat?”
“Yeah. Didn’t know until I saw his face,” I mutter, still trying to wrap my head around it.
A few of the guys exchange looks. Maverick’s expression darkens, jaw tightening.
“You had one fucking job. One. And you froze because the guy used to ride bikes with you when you were ten?”
“It’s not that simple, Prez.”
“Then make it simple,” he snaps.
I take a breath, meeting his stare.
“The cop that busted me? She’s his little sister, Londyn.”
A few curses break out around the table. Steel whistles low.
Maverick’s eyes are cold, calculating. “You realize what kind of shitstorm this puts us in, right, Nightmare?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say quietly. “I haven’t spoken to either of them in over ten years. And I sure as hell didn’t know she was a cop.
He pushes back from the table, pulls his phone from his kutte, and starts dialing. The room stays silent while the line rings.
“Jameson, we’ve got a problem,” he says when the call connects, putting it on speaker.
Maverick paces the room as he talks, explaining everything… my hesitation, who Tyrique is, and Londyn. The anger rolling off of him is felt throughout the room. Everyone is on edge and it’s all my fault.
As expected, Jameson’s words come through cold and sharp.
“You froze and let the rat walk?” he asks.
“It went sideways,” I say. “By the time I recognized Tyrique, Londyn busted in with her team and it was too late.”
Jameson’s voice hardens. “If he’s talking to cops, he’s a liability.
I want him dead. I don’t care how you do it, but keep it quiet.
Make sure his sister can’t trace it back to us.
And Nightmare, since you fucked this up, you’re the one cleaning it up.
You fail again, I’ll put you down myself. You hear me?
“Yeah. I hear you.”
“Good. Then handle it!”
Maverick’s eyes don’t leave me after the call. He doesn’t say anything more; he doesn’t need to. Steel leans in, tone flat.
“You sure you want this?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him, and it sounds steadier than I feel.
Maverick steps in close, voice hard, and dangerous. “No more excuses. No more complications. You finish this, or we finish it for you!”
“Understood.” I keep my voice level, but my throat is tight. My gut’s twisted in knots because… what the actual fuck!
The meeting breaks. The room empties fast… orders flying, boots moving. Steel grabs my shoulder before I can leave. His grip is tight. Not brotherly.
“You know if Mav handles this, it won’t be quick. He’ll make him suffer. So whatever you’re feeling, kill it now, or you’ll be next.”
“I said I’ll handle it. I don’t need you or anyone else spelling out what happens if I don’t.”
Steel slaps me on the back, and leaves without saying another word. Jameson’s voice is on a steady loop in my mind. He talks like we’re expendable, replaceable. At the same time, it’s what we signed up for. No room for hesitation. No room for our pasts to get in the way.
That’s the part that sits wrong in my chest. Tyrique’s a snitch, and we have rules for people like that.
But the rules don’t tell me the why. They don’t tell me how a person I grew up with ends up feeding cops, or how Londyn winds up in a uniform.
They don’t tell me how both of them wound up stepping into our run and blowing everything to hell.
If I’m going to put a bullet in someone I used to call family, I need more than orders. I need to know when his life turned to shit and got so damn messy.
Stepping outside into the thick Atlanta night, the air is heavy like the burden pressing on my chest. Pulling out my phone, I scroll past the burner numbers I keep for work, and stop on the one contact I never thought I’d use again. Tyrique.
I’m not sure where to start, but I need to find him. If this thing’s getting buried, I’m going to dig it up first.