Chapter 11 - Lucy
Lucy
Ihated myself for leaning on him, for letting my guard down, for giving him the one thing I swore I wouldn’t—my weakness. Caleb was gone, and somehow, I’d crumbled against the very man who’d gutted me years ago with words hurtful enough to scar.
My face still felt hot from tears, and my chest ached like I’d been split open. But the moment the clubhouse door came back into view, I shoved it all down deep where no one could touch it.
I followed Jay back to the bar, ignoring the scathing looks from Gage’s and Bishop’s whores, and watched as he poured us two more drinks. I downed mine in one, like he had, but couldn’t stop my face from scrunching up at the bitter, disgusting taste.
Jay smiled, his eyes narrowing for a moment, making my heart flutter, before he slammed a hand down on the bar. “Follow me.” He walked out from behind it, not checking to see if I was following or not.
I shouldn’t be doing this, I told myself. These guys were deadly; I was moving further into the lion’s den, and nobody even knew I was here. Not that I had anybody left who gave a damn anyway.
Jay went through the door at the back of the bar, and despite my reservations, my feet followed. The door slammed shut behind me, causing me to flinch.
I continued to follow Jay through the back hallway of the clubhouse, past a set of stairs, ageing maps, crooked photos of old runs, and the smell of oil and sweat. The deeper I went, the harder my pulse pounded.
It wasn’t fear exactly. It was proximity... to him.
He led me into the meeting room, complete with a round table cluttered with beer bottles, ashtrays, and stacks of handguns someone hadn’t bothered to clean. Faded patches were framed on the walls. A flag with the reaper skull was draped over a safe in the corner.
“Sit,” Jay said.
I did, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood behind his chair at the head of the table.
“You want in?” he asked.
“I said I did.”
He paced, hands on his hips. “This isn’t some Hollywood movie, princess. You don’t get to come in here with your brother’s name and pretend you know what this life costs, what you have to give up to be a part of it.”
“I’m not pretending.”
He didn’t speak right away, but continued to stare at me with those ice-blue eyes. Then, slowly, he turned and opened the safe in the corner and pulled something out.
He turned and held it out for me. A creased photo, faded over time.
Caleb, when he was younger. Smiling, just as I remembered him, always smiling. He was standing next to Jay, arm over his shoulder, both wearing their kuttes.
“He loved this club,” Jay said, looking at the picture. “Until he didn’t.”
I swallowed hard, remembering how happy Caleb had been back then. “Why was the kutte on his body?”
“You think the club buried him in that kutte?” Jay’s voice dropped. “That was me. I snuck it onto the coffin. No one else knows. I couldn’t let him go without it.”
I froze. My whole theory had been shattered. I swallowed hard. “So, it wasn’t a warning?”
Jay’s eyes hardened. “No, but I think his death was.”
A knock at the door prevented me from responding.
Riot pushed open the door and leaned in. “Pres, need you out front. Now.”
“What is it?” Jay snapped.
“We got a problem. A prospect jumped the line, told others about the shipment hit and the missing money. One of the Fangs came looking for something and didn’t like what he found.”
Jay swore under his breath. “Stay here,” he told me, placing the photo back in the safe and closing it tight before he left the room.
But I didn’t stay put. I couldn’t. If I truly wanted in, then I needed to prove that I could be a part of whatever was going on.
I followed Jay and Riot through the hallway and back to the front room, just in time to see two Dead Knights dragging a beaten and bloodied man through the door.
He was younger, like Caleb was when he’d joined the club.
He was limping and mumbling something through what I thought could be a broken jaw.
I watched Jay, waiting for his reaction, but his face and posture gave nothing away. I thought maybe he would have the guy ushered into a side room and treated, but I was wrong.
Jay stalked straight up to him and punched him in the gut. The young man folded, coughing blood splatters over the wooden floor.
“Who let this idiot talk to the Fangs?” Jay yelled.
No one answered, and most of the men wouldn’t meet Jay’s eyes.
The kid continued to cough blood, and Jay didn’t even flinch. His fist came down again, hard, knuckles cracking against ribs that were probably already purple.
I felt bile rise in my throat. This wasn’t Caleb’s best friend. This wasn’t the boy who bought me sodas and smirked when I choked on smoke. This was a monster. I watched, frozen, as his fist came down again and again.
“Jesus Christ, Jay,” I yelled. Every head turned, but I didn’t care. “He’s a kid, not your enemy.”
Jay’s jaw flexed, blood spattered across his knuckles as he finally straightened. “He knew the rules and he crossed the line. That makes him a liability.”
“Liability?” I stepped closer, heat flooding my veins. “He’s a human being, not some broken bike part you can replace.”
He turned, slow and deliberate, and for a second, the whole clubhouse went quiet. His eyes burned into me. “You think I can keep this club alive by playing nice? You think Caleb survived as long as he did because I gave a shit about mercy?”
My breath caught at Caleb’s name, sharp and jagged. “Don’t you dare use him to justify this.”
His nostrils flared. “I don’t have to justify anything to you, princess. Not my choices, not my patch, not the blood on my hands.”
I was shaking, but it wasn’t fear. It was rage and grief, fire clawing its way out of me. “You’re right. You don’t have to justify it, but don’t pretend you’re doing this for Caleb. He would’ve hated what you just did.”
Something broke across his face then, something raw, ugly, and human. He closed the distance between us in two strides, crowding me back against the wall before I could breathe. His hand went to my throat, not choking but controlling.
“You don’t know a damn thing about what Caleb would’ve hated,” he yelled. “You don’t know what he begged me to do to keep him alive. What he begged me not to tell you.”
My mouth opened, ready to spit another accusation, open another wound, but the words never made it out. Because Jay’s hand slammed against the wall beside my head, his other still on my throat, and his mouth crashed down on mine.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collision. Fury, pain, and years of silence exploded all at once. His lips were hard, punishing, desperate, like he hated me for being there, for forcing this out of him.
And what was worse? I kissed him back.
For one wild second, all I felt was heat—his stubble scraping my skin, his hand pinning me in place, the taste of blood and whiskey and something I couldn’t place but had wanted since I was eighteen.
Then reality slammed back in. He’d kissed me instead of answering, instead of giving me the truth about Caleb.
I shoved him away, my breath ragged, heart hammering against my ribs. His eyes were still burning, lips swollen, chest heaving.
“Don’t ever—” My voice cracked, but I forced it steady. “Don’t ever use Caleb’s name as an excuse again.”
I turned and stormed out, leaving him standing there with the taste of me still on his lips and the blood of his brother splashed across his fists.
The second the door slammed behind me, I pressed my back to the wall, relishing the cool night air and sucked in a breath like I’d been drowning.
What the hell had just happened?
I touched my lips, furious at the way they tingled. Furious at myself for letting him close.
I wasn’t here for him. I wasn’t eighteen anymore, with stars in my eyes and a crush I couldn’t kill. I was here for Caleb and for the truth.
But the worst part?
For one reckless heartbeat, I’d forgotten Caleb was dead at all, and that was unforgivable.