Chapter Twenty-Two
THE HALLWAY DOWN into The Pit was familiar. Groundin’. My boots echoed off the concrete as I took the narrow stairwell past the boiler room, into the back corridor that led to the club.
Things felt different tonight though. One breath I’d been upstairs, helpin’ kids brush teeth and hearin’ a little girl giggle when her brother made motorcycle noises. Next breath I was down here, where grown men gambled away rent money and pride.
A steel door with a black spade spray-painted on it opened onto the main floor. Dim lights. Low ceilings. Smoke hangin’ thick. Poker tables sat like altars under yellow bulbs, men leanin’ in close like sinners at confession, prayin’ the next card would save their souls.
At blackjack, a tall man in a long coat cursed the dealer in Spanish, slammin’ chips down hard enough to shake the felt.
At the bar, two regulars from upstate were in a heated argument over a debt neither one could pay, their voices just loud enough to draw a side-eye from Horse. He didn’t move—yet. He didn’t have to.
I moved through it easy. Belonged here. Always did. The Pit felt like mine, and hell if I didn’t love the hum of it.
Mystic stood in front of the cash cage, arms crossed, face unreadable as ever under that scarred jaw. He hadn’t been around much with all the shit goin’ down with Zeynep, and him trustin’ me to keep this place in line, it meant somethin’.
He spotted me, gave a short nod. “Couple from Summerville tried to use fake chips.”
“Horse take care of it?”
“Yeah. One ran. The other’s learnin’ what it costs to be stupid.” His eyes flicked over me. “You good? Not like you to be late.”
“Yeah.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. “She finally opened up tonight. About what she’s runnin’ from. Didn’t wanna leave her alone right after that.”
Mystic’s brow lifted. “That bad?”
I gave him a look that said enough. “Fuckin’ nightmare. You’ll hear it at Church.”
“Uh huh.” He stepped aside as a runner slid a tray of cash through the cage. “Tunnel’s clear. Got a few new faces, but all vouched. Gave the signal already.”
I nodded, though my head wasn’t really here.
Behind the restrooms, behind a wall that looked like busted maintenance access, was the real secret—the tunnel.
Started behind the old tool shed out on club property.
Looked like a path to nowhere until you knew the steps.
Trapdoor under a rusted-out fridge dropped into a narrow concrete tunnel, no cams, no lights.
Just a red line painted on the floor so drunk patrons didn’t get lost in the dark.
Led straight here, no surface traffic, no ties.
Exactly how Devil liked it.
Still, somethin’ in my gut wasn’t sittin’ right. Couldn’t name it. Maybe the clatter of chips sounded too damn loud. Maybe it was the way I kept glancin’ toward the stairs, waitin’ for a scream I prayed I wouldn’t hear.
I turned toward Mystic. “You gonna be around a while?”
His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Why? You think she’s gonna bolt?”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “But she’s relivin’ shit. I saw it in her eyes.”
“You’re in deep already,” he muttered.
I grinned sideways. “Ain’t you one to talk?”
He snorted, waved me off, and shifted back to work. But I didn’t move right away. Just stood there, eyes sweepin’ the floor. Tonight I just wasn’t feelin’ this place.
Felt like where I belonged was upstairs. With a woman fightin’ to breathe through ghosts, and me fool enough to think I could help.
***
I TOOK THE stairs two at a time. Didn’t even think about it, just moved. Somethin’ in the night had my skin pulled tight, like a storm gatherin’ just past the treeline.
The hallway was dark. Too quiet. The kind of stillness that makes you hesitate before breathin’ too deep.
I rounded the corner, expectin’ to see the bedroom door cracked open like I’d left it. It wasn’t. It was wide open. Empty.
My stomach dropped.
Then I saw her.
Sable was sittin’ on the floor by the front door, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself like she was tryin’ to hold all the broken pieces inside. Her eyes were locked on nothin’, lips pressed tight, tears slidin’ down steady and silent.
No sound. No cryin’. Just heartbreak that leaked no matter how hard she tried to dam it up.
“Hey,” I said softly, kneelin’ in front of her. “You okay?”
Stupid question. I knew the answer before I asked.
She flinched when my hand touched her arm, but she didn’t pull back. Her breath hitched once, and then her eyes finally found mine.
“It’s always the night,” she whispered. “I still feel myself walking down that hall to kneel at his feet.”
My jaw locked, but my voice stayed calm. “There’s no one comin’ through that door, Sable. Not while I’m breathin’.”
Her lip trembled, just once, before she exhaled like she’d been holdin’ that breath for days. I shifted closer, slid my hands up to her face, thumbs brushin’ tears she hadn’t even realized fell.
She looked at me like she couldn’t understand why I was still here, why I hadn’t run for the hills yet. Truth was, I couldn’t.
“You’re safe,” I murmured. “Right here. With me.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, not all the way, just enough to let the guard drop half a second. That was all it took.
I leaned in, slow, givin’ her every chance to stop me.
She didn’t.
Her lips met mine soft, hesitant, like she was learnin’ what it meant to be kissed without pain. And I kissed her like breath itself, like she wasn’t a burden, wasn’t a problem to fix, but a woman who’d survived hell and was still worth lovin’.
Her fingers curled in the front of my cut. Just enough to hold me there. God, I could’ve stayed in that moment for hours.
Then I heard it.
A sound outside. Sharp. Like a twig crackin’ under a boot.
Instinct slammed through me. I pulled back, heart poundin’, and pushed to my feet.
“Stay here,” I told her, my voice firm but soft. “Don’t open that door for nobody but me.”
Her eyes were wide, but she nodded.
I slipped my .45 from under my cut, thumbin’ the safety off as I moved. Quiet. Careful. I eased out the door, lettin’ it click behind me.
The night was still. Too still. The woods crouched heavy and dark. No crickets. No owls. Just silence.
But I knew better.
Somebody’d been out here. Watchin’.
And they weren’t here for poker chips.
I went back inside, jaw tight, blood still burnin’. One thing was certain, I wasn’t leavin’ this house tonight. Not for the club, not for the floor downstairs, not for shit. If trouble came knockin’, it’d find me here, on the porch with a gun in my hand.
And somewhere in the back of my mind—quiet, buried, but stubborn as a weed—came a memory I didn’t ask for.
A door.
Not this one. Different wood, different walls, but the same weight of silence pressin’ in from the other side.
I was a boy then. Couldn’t have been older than Malik. My hands were too small to hold the rifle she shoved at me, but she made me stand guard anyway, said it was important.
I remember the way the light flickered against the walls, makin’ shadows stretch long and strange. Remember my knuckles white around the stock, my heart poundin’ so hard I thought it’d shake the door open.
I don’t remember what was on the other side. Don’t remember if anyone came. My mind never let me keep that part.
All I remember is the door. And the fear. And the sick certainty that monsters weren’t out in the dark. They were already inside.
The memory snapped like a rubber band, leavin’ only the echo behind. My jaw flexed, hand tight on the .45 as I scanned the treeline again.
Not tonight.
Not for her.
Not for those kids.
I’d been forced to guard doors as a child, powerless. Tonight, I guarded one by choice. And God help the son of a bitch who tried to get past me.