Chapter 13 The Lie Between Us
THIRTEEN
THE LIE BETWEEN US
STEEL
The hallway outside Aria’s ruined office feels too bright. Too Clean. Too quiet for the blood drying on my knuckles.
I shut the door behind me because if I look at her for another second, curled on the floor, fingers trembling where she touched my face, I’ll do something stupid. Something selfish. Something that’ll get her killed.
Her fear gutted me. Not because she was afraid of me, because she never is, but because she was afraid of the storm circling my life. I saw it in her eyes, that shaking understanding that she’s in this now. That my war has swallowed hers.
Shame hits first. Sharp, metallic, crawling under my ribs.
Rage follows, vicious and hungry, begging for something to break.
And under all of it is the part of me I hate most, the urge to pull her into my arms and promise she’ll never hurt again.
But promises like that buried my father.
Promises like that turn men into tyrants.
Promises like that make monsters out of kings.
I can’t keep her close, but I can’t let her go.
And that’s the part that scares me most.
The cold from the alley still clings to my clothes. The Syndicate’s blood still stains my cut. And my heartbeat still hasn’t slowed.
I walk until the fluorescent lights hum. Until her scent finally fades from my shirt. Until I can pretend that the violence still clawing under my skin is something I can bury instead of unleashing again.
I make it ten steps down the hallway before my hands start shaking. Not from the fight. From her. From the way she looked at me like I wasn’t a monster, even with blood dripping onto her floor.
I brace a hand against the wall, forehead dropping to the cold plaster. My breath fogs in front of me, sharp, uneven.
I should stay away from her. I know that. I’ve always known that. But when she whispered my name, the whole damn world narrowed to one point.
Her.
If they ever use her against me… I shove the thought away before it can finish.
Quick controlled footsteps echo from down the hall. Rock.
Of course.
He stops a few feet away, gaze dropping to my hands, then to the blood smeared along my jaw.
“You didn’t go soft,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “Good.”
I don’t look at him. If I do, the rage buzzing in my bones might detonate.
“What did you hear?” I ask.
“Enough.” Rock crosses his arms. “Syndicate scouts?”
“Three.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Alive?”
“Didn’t check,” I mutter.
Rock’s mouth twitches. Approval or concern, hard to tell. “Then we’ve got a problem.”
No shit.
He steps closer. “You tell her the truth?”
My jaw clenches hard. The truth would rip her life apart. The truth would stain her hands the way mine are stained right now. The truth would make her look at me the way everyone else does.
So I lie the only way I know how. “No.”
Rock exhales slowly, watching me like a man studying a grenade with a loose pin. “Good,” he says quietly. “Some things she doesn’t need to carry.”
He means it as protection. But somehow, it feels like betrayal.
Against her. Against myself. Against whatever fragile, fucked-up thing we’re building between us that feels too real to ignore and too dangerous to keep.
The lie settles in my chest like shrapnel. Before I can answer, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Her name lights the screen.
Aria: Are you okay?
My throat tightens. The lie twists deeper.
Rock glances at the phone. “You gonna answer?”
“Not yet.” Because if she hears my raw, hoarse voice, still laced with violence, right now, she’ll know everything I’m trying to hide.
And if she knows… she’ll stay. Or she’ll run. Either way, I lose.
I pocket the phone and head for the exit.
Rock follows, boots echoing beside mine.
“You can’t keep this from the club forever,” he says.
“I’m not keeping anything.”
“Bullshit. And you know it.”
I stop at the door, my hand hovering over the handle.
Outside, snow falls in soft sheets, coating the world in a blanket of white. A quiet lie pretending it’s clean.
Rock waits. “Brother,” he says quietly, “just tell me you’re not going to let this girl burn down everything your father built.”
My eyes close just for a second, and I lean against the building. When I open them, the lie answers for me. “I won’t.” Because the truth, the one I’ll never say out loud, is, if it comes down to the club or Aria…
I’m not sure I’d choose the club.
I push off the wall and head for the SUV parked at the curb. Rock follows without needing a word. He slides into the passenger seat, slams the door, and the heater rattles to life the second I twist the key.
We ride in silence. Two men carrying too much blood and not enough answers. Snow spits across the windshield, the tires skidding once on black ice before catching. By the time we pull into the clubhouse lot, the violence is still drying on my hands, and the rage hasn’t settled at all.
Voices crash into each other. Pots bang in the kitchen. Someone’s music rattles the wall. It all grates on me.
I step inside, and the sound dims a fraction. Not a lot, but just enough for me to feel it. Brotherhood silence. The kind that follows violence.
Rampage is the first to notice the state I’m in. He’s leaning against the pool table, cue in one hand, beer in the other. His grin fades when he sees my jaw, my hands, the cut of bruises already forming.
“Jesus Christ, Prez…” he mutters. “You walk through a war zone or start one?”
“Don’t,” I growl.
He lifts both hands in surrender. “Hey, you know me. I don’t judge. Usually.”
City appears next to him, arms crossed, eyes sharp enough to slice. He studies me the same way he studies financial ledgers. Looking for cracks, for inconsistencies, for problems.
And today? I’m the fucking problem.
“You good?” City asks. No. Not even close. But I nod once, curt. Unconvincing. His eyes narrow. “You’re bleeding on the carpet.”
I look down. He’s right, drips of thawing blood dot the floor like breadcrumbs leading back to the alley.
“I’ll clean it.”
City shakes his head. “That’s not the point.”
Rampage whistles low. “Whoever you hit… damn, Prez. Looks like you went full Tama.”
I stiffen, and Rampage immediately regrets the joke. Tama-level violence isn’t funny. It’s a warning sign. A red flag.
City steps closer, voice low enough only I hear. “You need to get yourself under control before the Club starts asking real questions.”
I laugh a short, cold, humorless laugh once. “They’re already asking.”
“And they’ll keep asking,” City says. “Because you’re not acting like yourself.”
He’s wrong. I’ve never acted more like myself. I’m my father’s son. His legacy. His violence. And Aria is the only thing that makes me want to be anything else.
I shoulder past them and head for the hallway, needing space, needing silence, needing anything but eyes on me.
But Rock intercepts again, stepping out of the kitchen doorway. “Prez.” One word. Heavy enough to anchor a goddamn ship. “Church,” Rock says. “Now.”
Of course. Of fucking course.
I follow him to the meeting room, City and Rampage trailing behind, Draft already slipping in through the side door with his tablet, Nova and Caine arriving from the back hall.
The table is full in under a minute.
Tama’s chair at the head is mine now. It’s always felt too big. Tonight, it feels like a throne I never earned, but I sit. The leather creaks under the weight of everything I’m not saying.
Rock closes the door, turns back, and the room goes silent. “Someone trashed the lawyer’s office,” Rock says flatly.
My jaw ticks. Aria isn’t “the lawyer” to me. But no one here needs to hear her name on my goddamn lips.
Draft pulls up photos. The room inhales sharply.
“Looks personal,” Nova mutters.
“It was,” I say.
All heads snap my direction. City’s eyes narrow. Rampage’s brows lift. Caine leans forward. Draft almost drops his tablet.
Rock’s voice is low. “Explain.”
My molars grind. The lie forms quickly. Efficient. Instinct. “They were looking for information on Saint Motors,” I say. “Trying to fuck with our finances. She just happened to be the one holding the paperwork.”
It’s not a bad lie. It’s believable enough. Has just enough truth to hide the rest, but the guilt hits my stomach like a brick. I’m lying to the Club. To my brothers. For her, again.
City taps his knuckles on the table. “You sure she wasn’t targeted?”
I stare him down without blinking. “She wasn’t.”
Rock watches me too long. “Alright,” he finally says. “Then we deal with the Syndicate.”
A plan forms around me. Voices rise. Arguments ignite. Strategies collide. But none of it lands. Because all I can think about, all I feel, is Aria’s hand on my jaw, her whisper against my skin, and the panic in her voice when she said, Someone was here.
Her fear is louder than the whole goddamn room.
My phone vibrates. I look down to see Aria’s name flash on the screen. I shove it deeper into my pocket. City’s eyes flick to it, and he frowns, but says nothing. Not yet.
Rock slams a fist on the table. “Steel. Focus.”
I drag my eyes away from my pocket and force myself into the moment. But the truth is a knife in my ribs. I can’t focus on the Club while she’s out there alone. And I can’t focus on her while the Club is watching my every move.
The lie between us tightens, but it won’t hold forever.
Church drags on too long. Every voice is a blade scraping along exposed bone.
Every strategy feels too slow. Every brother feels too close. By the time I escape the meeting room, my pulse is pounding behind my eyes.
I walk straight to the back hallway. Straight to my bedroom. Straight to the only place in the clubhouse where I can lock a door and be alone for five goddamn minutes.
The lights flicker overhead as I strip off my cut, shirt, and boots. Blood stains the hem of my thermal. My knuckles look like raw meat. There’s a smear of someone else’s fear on my jaw.