Chapter 7
SEVEN
LONDYN
The city blurs past my windshield, neon colors bouncing off the rain-slick streets. I should be focused… eyes on the road, mind on Ty, but my thoughts keep circling back to Malcolm.
This Jameson asshole put a target on my brother’s back. That’s not club hearsay. That’s a kill order. And Malcolm didn’t have to tell me. He could’ve let it happen. Could’ve stayed loyal to the patch and kept his mouth shut.
But he didn’t.
That means something. Even if I don’t know what the hell to do with it.
I grip the wheel tighter, trying to stay calm, and think rationally.
Ty’s not running out of time. We’re way passed that.
Like Malcolm said, he’s a dead man walking.
I’ve got a list of rehab facilities outside Atlanta, but none of them come with guarantees.
It sounds to me like if Jameson wants him dead, distance won’t mean shit.
I need to get him out of the city, fast.
… and I need to stop thinking about Malcolm.
It’s hard not to. He’s bigger than I remember.
Broad shoulders, thick arms with ropey veins, that long beard framing a mouth that looks like it’s made for sin.
Full, rough, and dangerous. When he stood close, his body heat crawled under my skin, and settled low in my core like a slow burn I wasn’t prepared for.
Then he said it… Lolo.
My childhood nickname. No one’s called me that in years. But when it came out of his mouth, all deep and gravelly, it didn’t sound so innocent. It sounded like a memory twisted into something I can’t describe.
I had a crush on him back then. The kind that made me blush when he looked my way. That was a long time ago.
Now I’m a cop and he’s a patched member of the Royal Bastards. We’re on opposite sides of the war.
And still… when he poured that bourbon, when his eyes met mine across the table, I felt it. Want, need. The kind that makes you forget your badge and remember your body. The kind that forces me to wonder what Tony and I are doing.
I curse under my breath. Get it together, Londyn.
This isn’t about him. It’s about Ty. My brother’s drowning, and I’m the only one throwing him a rope.
Malcolm’s warning proves he still cares. Maybe not about me. Maybe just about the past. But it’s enough to buy us time.
I just hope it’s enough to save Ty’s life.
The house is quiet when I get in, and I’m exhausted.
Locking the door behind me, I kick off my boots, and go straight to Ty’s room.
He’s curled on his side, hoodie pulled tight, face half-buried in the pillow.
He looks younger like this… softer. Like the older brother who used let me sneak into his room during thunderstorms, not the man tangled up in cartel shit with a target on his back.
I sit on the edge of the bed and shake his shoulder. “Ty. Wake up.”
He stirs, squinting against the lamp on the bedside table, voice raw. “Londyn?”
“Yeah. It’s me.” I hesitate, then say it straight. “We need to talk.”
He props himself up, eyes glassy but focused. “Is it bad?”
I nod. “I was with Malcolm tonight.”
His whole body goes still. “Malcolm? Why would you…?”
“He told me something you need to hear. Something serious.” I pause, then drop it. “His chapter president, Jameson put a hit out on you. It’s not a rumor. It’s real. If you stay in Atlanta, you’re dead.”
For a beat he doesn’t react. Then the shame and fear of the life he chose flickers across his face. “So what do we do?”
“We leave tomorrow,” I say. “I’ve got a list of rehab facilities outside the city. Places that don’t ask questions. We get you as far from Atlanta as we can.”
He nods, rubbing his face like this is a bad dream he’s trying to wake from. “Can we stop by the house first?”
I frown. “What for?”
“I need to see Mom and Dad,” he says. “Say goodbye. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I don’t want to disappear on them again. Not like last time.”
I want to say no. I want to throw him in the car and drive until the city is nothing but a dark line on the horizon. But I see it in his face… the guilt, the need to do something right for a change. He’s not asking for a detour. He’s asking for closure, and I won’t deny him that.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “But it’s gotta be quick. We’re in and out.”
He lies back, eyes already sliding closed.
Standing in the doorway, I look at him for a long moment…
at how thin his arms are, the hollows under his eyes, the way addiction has carved him down.
It’s brutal on the body. The drugs take the color out of a man until he’s a shell of the person he used to be.
Ty’s asleep before I even click the door shut, and as I walk down the stairs, the weight of it all presses down on me. Jameson’s threat, Ty’s addiction, and getting him somewhere safe.
Back in my room, I lay on my bed, Malcolm’s face the first thing coming to mind.
He’s been in my head since I left him standing in his kitchen.
Intense eyes, staring into my soul. The passionate way he spoke about his convictions.
I don’t want to think about him, I want to focus on my brother.
But the thoughts come anyway, soft and dangerous… what would it feel like to kiss him?
It’s stupid and hot and impossible. I imagine the brush of his mouth against mine, easy, consuming. How my pulse would jack up like I’d just run a mile. I imagine him close enough that I could taste whiskey, smoke, and no regrets. The idea causes a slight ache in my pussy.
If we’d reconnected under different circumstances… no club colors, no threats, no law between us, maybe I’d find out. Maybe I’d let myself.
But I’m a cop. He’s a Royal Bastard. There’s no walking that line.
No matter how much my body argues, there’s no room for this.
Not while my badge is on my chest and that kutte is on his back.
Not while my brother needs me. I’ll have to remember to thank Malcolm for the warning, but that’s where it’ll end.
I shove the thoughts away and focus on Ty.
Pulling the folder from the top drawer, I scan the list of rehab facilities I found earlier.
I search for the places farthest from Atlanta, the ones where people disappear and rebuild.
My thumb scrolls past names until I find the ones that sound anonymous enough to work.
I start dialing. The first number rings dead.
The next connection makes me hold my breath until a tired voice picks up.
I explain quick, give the details they need, ask the hard questions: intake time, anonymity, transport.
I mark yes or no and move on. One call after another, the city shrinking with every number I cross off.
By the time I hang up the last call, there’s a plan… thin, but real. Tomorrow we move. Tonight I let sleeping dogs lie and go to sleep knowing what I have to do. For now, my brother comes first.