I pulled into the clubhouse with my shoulders screaming and my head still on the road.
The run had been hell. Everything that could go wrong did. The Reapers had been sniffing around Iron Mercy territory for weeks, pushing lines just enough to be annoying. Making us late on a delivery, though—that crossed into intentional. That crossed into war.
I killed the engine and sat there for a second longer than I should have.
I needed to talk to Prez. As treasurer, most of the long runs fell on me. I was the one who made sure the numbers lined up, the money came back clean, and nobody skimmed. I liked numbers. I trusted them. I even had an accounting degree, ironic as hell, considering the life I lived.
All I really wanted, though, was home. Eden would be asleep by now. Or pretending to be, curled up with one of her notebooks nearby. She was working on opening a small coffee café, obsessing over beans and floor plans. I helped her with the financial side. Spreadsheets. Projections. Budgets.
She was everything I wasn't. She was soft, kind, and gentle in a way the world hadn't earned.
She'd survived more than she ever talked about. Click, her brother, was the only one who really knew the full story. They'd been adopted together at fifteen, bounced through hell before that. Click was Iron Mercy's tech guy now. He was also my best friend, whether we admitted it or not.
If I could just get the Reapers off our territory, my life would be perfect. I could already hear the music thumping from inside the clubhouse. I swung my leg off the bike, rolling my shoulders as Click pulled in beside me. Five other brothers dismounted behind us. We hadn't been home in over a week. It was supposed to be three days.
"You headed home?" Click asked, pulling his gloves off.
"No, yeah. I'm gonna head inside for a minute. Talk to Prez." I hesitated. "Might go home after. Might sleep here. I don't want to wake her. Surprise her in the morning."
Click nodded. He knew. He knew about the ring sitting heavy in my cut pocket. He knew tonight was supposed to be the last night I ever belonged just to myself.
"Don't stay long," he said.
I clapped his shoulder. "I won't."
The door swung open and the noise hit me like a wave: music, laughter, the low rumble of voices layered together. The clubhouse smelled like beer, smoke, and sweat. Familiar. Safe.
For the first time in days, I relaxed. Prez was at the bar, deep in conversation. I grabbed a whiskey while I waited. One turned into two. Then three. Brothers kept clapping me on the back, welcoming us home, sliding drinks my way. I didn't stop them.
That was my first mistake. The second came in the form of a girl with dark hair and a practiced smile. She didn't touch me at first, just leaned close enough to talk over the music.
"You look like you need to forget something," she said.
I shook my head. "Just passing time."
I just didn't feel like going home for some reason. I was tired, but life just seemed to be going too fast. A couple guys shout that I am thinking about proposing. She smiled at me and gestured toward a chair near the playroom. I sat. She danced. That was it. No hands wandering. No promises made. I stared past her most of the time, my thoughts drifting back to Eden.
After she was done, I instantly regretted it. I didn't cheat, but it felt like betrayal. By the time I finally stood, the room was spinning just enough that I knew I'd screwed up. I never made it home. I barely made it to my room. I collapsed onto the bed, the music muffled through the walls, my phone buzzing unanswered in my pocket.
Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow I'll go home. Tomorrow would fix everything. I passed out before I could see what had already been sent.