Missy closes the gap between us and clutches my shirt desperately. “You said you’d help me.” Tears and sobs escape her, her eyes searching mine for a shred of compassion.
“You’re done.”
Creed’s words cause Missy to freeze. Her eyes glaze over, and she stops crying. I gently pry her hands off me and step back, but Missy doesn’t seem to notice. Her hands remain bunched together as if I’m still standing there.
“Did you hear me?” Creed asks, his tone firm.
“N-no.” Missy’s hands drop to her sides, her voice barely a whisper. “We’re family.”
“Last time I checked, a family doesn’t go after each other with knives.” Creed casts a glance at me. “Escort her out.”
I nod and move toward Missy, who seems lost in her own world. “Come on, Missy,” I say softly, trying to guide her toward the door.
Her eyes flicker with a mixture of confusion and despair. “But… where will I go?”
“You’ll figure it out,” I reply, my voice gentle but firm. “But you can’t stay here.”
She takes a hesitant step, then another, her shoulders slumped in defeat. As we reach the door, she pauses and looks back at Creed, a silent plea in her eyes.
Creed’s expression remains stern. “This is for the best, Missy.You were warned, and I’ve had enough of your temper.”
Missy pushes me away and screams at Creed, “You think you’re in a world of pain now?” Hysterical laughter spills out of her. “Just you wait and see!”
Missy runs away from us, and I look at Creed. “Do I follow?”
“No, let her go. She’s been on the edge of psycho town for a while. Lyric isn’t the first woman Missy’s tried to carve up, but she will be the last.”
Creed walks back into the front of the clubhouse, and I follow him. There are at least a dozen brothers waiting near the bar.
Creed holds a hand in the air. “Missy is banned from the compound. Make sure everyone knows. I don’t care if you seek her out, but she’s not to ride on our bikes and not allowed to our rallies or parties. Missy is dead to us.”
“Why?” asks Feral.
Creed gives him a scathing look. “Because I said so. No one goes after one of our women without consequences. Hell, she’s lucky I didn’t shoot her.”
Feral looks down at his feet, nods, and walks out of the clubhouse.
I lock eyes with Reaper, who takes a deep breath and follows Feral.
“Go check on Lyric,” Creed orders.
“She sliced Lyric?” asks Ghost, his blue eyes going frosty.
I stop and look at him. “No, man. I stopped that, but she scratched her up pretty good.”
“Gotta say Missy was one persistent woman. They can poison a club.”
I dip my chin and keep moving. Before I enter the room where Lyric is, I see Ghost and Dutch deep in a hushed conversation with Creed.
“Hey, you,” says Lyric as soon as I enter.
Justice is dabbing her scratches with what smells likeantiseptic.
“How’s the arm?”
Lyric winces as Justice touches her again. I hold out my hand, and he hands over the gauze.
“It’s fine.”
