Chapter 11
BEX - BLIND
I woke up disoriented. For a second, I don’t know where I am. The room is dim, the curtains half drawn, and the dull throb behind my eyes tells me I slept longer than I meant to. Then the noise filters through the walls. Music and laughter. Boots on the stairs and voices getting louder downstairs.
The party.
My stomach drops, and I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before grabbing my phone from the nightstand. No messages. Not from Clutch. Not from anyone.
A tight ache settles in my chest.
He said he’d be back, maybe he still will be. Maybe he’s already here and I just slept through it. But he’d come up to see me if he was back… I would have heard him try to come in. I look at the door and the dresser is still in the same spot I left it.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rub my face. The room still smells faintly like hospital antiseptic and dried blood from the scrubs I peeled off earlier.
I force myself up, because if I don’t go downstairs soon, someone will come looking. Angel made that clear.
Mandatory unity.
Right. Like you can force that.
I move through the room slowly, still shaking off sleep and the heavy exhaustion that hasn’t fully left me since the hospital.
I toss my scrubs in my hamper and pull out my clothes for tonight.
My favourite pair of ripped jeans, an old black t-shirt and ankle boots.
Clothes I can breathe in.
I shower and go through the motions of getting ready, leaving my hair in loose messy waves.
Then I reach for the cut hanging in the back of the closet.
My fingers pause on the patch stitched across the back.
PROPERTY OF CLUTCH
Declan told me once that wearing it at club events mattered. People needed to see it, they needed to know where I stood. Who I belonged to.
To him.
To the club.
The meaning feels heavier tonight.
The leather is worn and soft as I trail my fingers across the words, across the Dawnbreaker crest. I slide my arms through it automatically and pull it straight and glance once more at my phone.
Still nothing.
I look at myself in the mirror, running my hands down the vest and a memory hits before I can stop it.
The night he gave me the cut.
The first time he proposed I said no.
Not because I didn’t love him, but because everything about the club felt too big, too consuming.. Too familiar in a way I didn’t want to name.
Like stepping into something I didn’t fully understand yet.
The second time he didn’t ask quietly.
He did it in the middle of the clubhouse.
Brothers everywhere. Music loud. Angel watching from the bar.
Declan stood in front of everyone holding the leather vest in both hands.
I remember laughing nervously and whispering, “You know people usually use rings for this part.”
He shook his head.
“A ring is just paperwork,” he said.
Then he held up the cut so I could see the back.
“When a brother gives a woman his cut, it means more than a ring ever will.”
His voice had been steady, certain.
“This means you’re mine for life.”
The room had gone quiet around us, brothers gathering closer. The ones with ol’ ladies standing beside their women.
“It means loyalty,” he continued. “It means safety. It means the club knows you’re under my protection."
His thumb tapped the stitched words across the back.
“Brothers come first in this life. The club always does.”
That was the rule. Everyone in the room knew it. But then he looked at me, softer.
“And you belong here because you’re mine.”
I remember asking him quietly, “And if I say yes… there’s no taking it off?”
Declan smiled.
“No.”
Then he leaned closer, voice low enough that only I heard it.
“Once you wear my cut, you’re one of us.”
I gave him a shaky nod and he slid the cut on me. The room erupted in cheers and hollers as he pulled me into his arms delivering a bruising kiss.
A knock hits the door, sharp and unexpected. I jump, coming back to the present. My heart slams into my ribs before I can stop it. I know it isn’t Clutch, he would never knock.
Silence follows.
Then another knock.
“Bex,” a voice calls through the door. “It’s Ledger. Time to head downstairs.”
I exhale slowly, take a steadying breath and then drag the dresser away from the door. The wood scrapes loudly, leaving a defined mark in the floor. I unlock the door and pull it open.
Ledger stands waiting for me in the hallway.
Sebastian Ibarra always looks like he stepped out of a different world than the rest of the club.
He’s built lean, with dark hair combed back neatly and tied loosely at the nape of his neck.
Sharp cheekbones and dark brown eyes that never seem to miss anything.
His gaze drops briefly to the floor, to the scrape mark and then to the dresser pushed halfway across the room.
He looks back at me.
“You had the door blocked?”
I cross my arms over my chest.
He waits. But, I don’t answer.
Ledger glances at the dresser again.
“You know that’s a fire hazard, right?” He says it completely straight faced. Not joking or teasing. Just stating a fact.
I glare at him.
“Noted.” he grumbles.
Footsteps pass behind him in the hallway. One of the brothers slows as he walks by, he gives me a once-over and smirks.
“You know,” he says casually, “people might like you better if you smiled more.”
I tilt my head slightly, giving him the same once over he gave me.
“Half of you don’t smile and walk around like miserable assholes all day,” I reply flatly. “But because you have dicks, apparently it’s fine.”
Ledger’s mouth twitches, as the brother mutters something under his breath and keeps walking.
I step out into the hallway, head held high.
The music downstairs is louder now.
I pull the door closed behind me. For a second I hesitate, tension sinking into me as I leave the safety of our room. But I shake it off and follow Ledger toward the stairs.
The bass hits first, a deep thud rolling up through the floorboards before the rest of the noise reaches us.
By the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, the party is already in full swing. The main room of the clubhouse is packed. Brothers leaning against the bar, girls perched on stools, bodies moving to music that’s a little too loud and a little too aggressive for the hour.
But the moment I step off the last stair, something shifts. Heads turn, not all at once, but just enough. Enough that I feel it.
Eyes on me.
I straighten my shoulders and keep walking. Angel stands at the bar with a few of the senior brothers. His beer is halfway to his mouth when he notices me. His gaze lingers for a second before he tips the bottle slightly in my direction.
He doesn’t offer a smile or approval, just acknowledgement.
I nod once, as Ledger heads straight for him.
Across the room Razor is leaning back against a high table with a handful of the men he runs closest with. Kori is draped across one of the stools beside him, her arm looped around his shoulder like she belongs there. Like she is his woman.
He looks real torn up about Mara being missing.
Two other club girls hover nearby. Razor’s eyes meet mine for half a second and then he smiles. I look away, pushing down the need to flip him off in the middle of the club party.
The ol’ ladies’ table sits toward the far wall, away from the worst of the noise. A bucket of beer sits in the middle beside a sweating pitcher of margaritas. I head straight for it.
The women are already gathered when I approach. Marisol is there, Axel’s ol’ lady. Dark curls spilling over her shoulders, one leg tucked under her as she laughs at something Meg says.
Meg looks exactly like she always does, in a soft sweater, flour-dusted jeans even when she’s nowhere near her bakery. She’s Cyphers ol’ lady and the first to come close to befriending me.
She glances up when I stop beside the empty chair, then Dani’s eyes lift.
Daniela Velez has always carried herself differently from the rest of us.
She has this steady, quiet energy that feels like she is always calm.
Even though I know she is anything but right now.
She studies me for a long second before nodding once toward the empty seat.
This is the VP’s ol’ lady giving me permission.
I sit and a moment of awkwardness settles on the table.
“Drink?” Meg asks.
“Sure.” I say, release my held breath.
She pours and slides the glass across the table. I take a small sip. It’s too sweet, too strong. But the burn helps settle the nerves buzzing under my skin.
I look at Dani, her warm brown eyes fixed on me.
“How are you holding up?” I ask.
Her fingers tighten slightly around the bottle of beer in front of her.
“I’ve been better.”
The honesty in her eyes makes my chest ache.
“I’ve heard what people are saying,” I say quietly. “About Four. About the informant.”
Her eyes widened like she didn’t expect me to face this head on.
“I would never…”
“I know.” She cuts me off before I can finish. “I know you wouldn’t. And I know he wouldn’t either.”
Some of the tension inside me loosens slightly.
“But it’s been…” She exhales slowly. “Hard.”
She looks down at the table.
“They won’t let me see him. Won’t even tell me what’s actually happening.”
Meg reaches over and squeezes her arm.
“And everyone’s got an opinion,” Dani continues quietly. “Everyone’s whispering like they know the truth.”
I glance around the room.
Yeah. That sounds about right.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Dani nods once.
“I know you are, but you shouldn’t have to be.”
The conversation shifts after that. Meg starts telling Marisol about a customer who tried to pay for cupcakes with Bitcoin.
A prospect comes by the table and refills the margarita pitcher.
A girlfriend from one of the guys slides into the seat beside me and starts complaining about how loud the bikes are at six in the morning.
I shift in my chair so I can see the rest of the room.
Still no Clutch, my eyes keep drifting toward the door anyway.
Then the conversation at the table changes.
“What do you think happened to Mara?”
The question comes from one of the girlfriends.
Marisol shrugs. “No idea. But I saw her just before she went missing.”
“Yeah?”
“She has a split lip.”
The table goes quiet.
Meg frowns. “You think Razor did something?”
Someone snorts softly.
“Angel wouldn’t allow that.”
Another woman leans back in her chair, swirling her drink.
“He used to not allow a lot of things.”
The tone makes everyone look at her, because this is their president she is talking about.
But she shrugs unaffected, “People change.”
Dani’s gaze sharpens slightly, as she asks., “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The woman sighs. “Just that Angel’s been different since Kiara died.”
Silence settles across the table. She died just before I met Clutch and I have only heard bits and pieces about what happened.
“He’s still a good president,” she adds quickly. “But grief changes people.”
Marisol nods slowly, seemingly thinking over everything, “He doubled down on loyalty after that.”
“Yeah,” Meg murmurs. “Brothers first. Everything else second.”
Another sip of margarita burns down my throat. I stare at the condensation sliding down the glass, my fingers trailing the drips pooling around the glass creating a ring on the table.
The girls keep talking as I look up and scan the room. Angel is still at the bar with Ledger at his side. Razor is across the room watching me even though he is pretending not to.
And I feel it… The empty space where Clutch should be.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe Angel isn’t seeing everything right now.
Maybe the grief, the pressure… the chaos swallowing the club whole. Maybe that is why he’s been so blind.
Mara trusted me.
She told me not to tell anyone.
I place both hands in my lap, wiping the moisture off on my jeans.
Should I talk to Angel?
Should I tell him what I know?
Across the room Razor laughs at something one of the girls says, the sound cuts through the music like a knife. I watch how people move around him, trust him.
No.
Not yet.
Mara asked me to keep quiet. And these men, they may be loyal to each other, to their brotherhood. But who is loyal to the women at this table? To Mara…
And right now there are too many things happening at once, too many coincidences that can’t be explained. Something is wrong and I cannot risk Mara before Angel opens his eyes and sees what everyone seems to be missing.