“Bullshit.” My voice is sharp, cutting. “You were trying to handle it on your own, like you always do. Like you don’t have people who would go to war for you.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “Like you don’t have me.”
Calypso blinks, looking away, but I’m not letting her off the hook.
I reach out, tilting her chin up, forcing her to look at me. “You don’t get to make this decision for me, Calypso.”
Her jaw tightens. “I never asked you to be involved.”
My fingers flex against her skin. Wrong fucking answer. I lean in, so close I can feel her breath on my lips. “You think that matters? You think I’m gonna walk away?”
She exhales sharply, and for the first time tonight, she looks scared. Not of me. Not of my reaction, but of what it means if I stay. Her voice is barely a whisper. “You should.”
I shake my head. “Not fucking happening.”
A sharp knock on the door shatters the moment. I pull back, exhaling hard before turning toward it. “Yeah?”
The door cracks open, and Blayze sticks his head in, his expression unreadable. “Prez wants you in Church.”
I nod. “Give me a minute.”
Blayze’s eyes flick between us, and then he disappears, closing the door behind him.
I turn back to Calypso. She’s standing there, arms still wrapped around herself, looking small in a way I’ve never seen before.
I want to pull her into me. I want to tell her we’ll figure this out, but I can’t do that until she lets me in. I let out a slow breath, running a hand down my face. “I have to go.”
She nods, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
I step toward her, brushing my fingers against her hip, my touch softer this time. “Don’t disappear again.”
Calypso’s breath hitches, but she nods. It’s not a promise, but it’s a start.
I turn and walk out, my head a fucking mess because I already know that this isn’t over.
Not even close.
The second I walk into Church, I can feel it. A shift in the air. It’s in the way every patched member watches me as I take a seat at the long, scarred wooden table with the Royal Bastards MC logo etched deep into the wood.
The air is thick with unspoken words. Capone studies me like I’m a fucking puzzle he hasn’t decided if he wants to solve or break. They all know what happened. They all know I was jumped, and they’re waiting to see how I’ll handle it. Will I takethe detective route and report it, or will I take matters into my own hands? Before I met Calypso, I would have done it the lawful way. Now, revenge will be mine.
I settle into a chair, my ribs screaming from the fight, my knuckles are still raw and split. I keep my shoulders loose, my expression unreadable. I don’t show pain. I don’t show weakness. Not here. Not in front of my brothers, because if I want my patch, I have to prove I can bleed for this club and keep my fucking head straight.
Capone leans back in his chair, dragging a hand over his jaw before exhaling sharply. “So, you got your ass handed to you.” A few chuckles ring across the table, but there’s an edge to them.
I keep my voice even. “Didn’t see them walking away clean, either.”
Blayze smirks while he lights up a cigarette. “That’s the thing about getting jumped, Law Dog. It don’t mean shit if you don’t put the fucker in the ground.”
I meet Blayze’s gaze. “Next time, I will.”
Capone tilts his head, watching me. “That right?”
I nod once with no hesitation. “That’s right.”
His smirk deepens. “Good.” Capone lights up a cigarette and exhales the smoke into the air.
The tension crackles, and the energy in the room shifts just enough. The Royal Bastards respect a man who stands his ground, but this isn’t over.
Capone leans forward, the smoke from his cigarette lingering around his dark hair. His elbows are on the table, fingers tapping against the wood. “Now, why don’t you tell us why the fuck some random piece of shit ex is making this our problem?”
