"Maybe just for a second," I concede, my throat parched.
I lift the mask just enough to bring the bottled water to my lips, tilting my head back to take a long, cool sip. The relief is immediate as the water slides down my throat.
That's when I see him.
Standing near the entrance, deep in conversation with a man I don't recognize, is my uncle Vincent. My whole body tenses. Water spills down my chin as my hand trembles.
His head turns, eyes scanning the crowded room with that calculating gaze I know too well. Our eyes lock for just a fraction of a second before I turn quickly and slam the mask back into place. My heart beats against my ribs so forcefully I'm certain everyone can hear it.
"Aria?" Hawk's concerned voice seems to come from miles away. "What's wrong?"
I can't form words. My fingers dig into his arm as I press myself against his side, trying to make myself smaller, invisible.
"It's him," I finally manage to whisper. "My uncle. By the door."
Hawk's body tenses, his head turning slightly to look. I feel the exact moment he spots Vincent—every muscle in his body coils like a snake readying to strike.
"Did he see you?" His voice drops to a dangerous register.
"I don't know. Maybe." I'm outright shaking now. "I think he looked right at me."
Hawk's arm tightens around me, his body angling to shield me from view. "We're leaving. Now."
He guides me through the crowd, keeping himself between me and the direction of my uncle. Saint notices our sudden movement and intercepts us.
"Problem?" Saint asks, his easy smile not matching the alertness in his eyes.
"Need to roll out," Hawk responds. "Now."
No further explanation needed. Saint nods once and melts into the crowd. Within minutes, the Shadow Reapers are gathering their women and heading for the exit. The synchronized movement is seamless, instinctive.
We exit through the back, avoiding the main entrance where I saw my uncle, and Hawk leads me to his bike.
"Keep the mask on," he instructs, helping me onto the motorcycle.
The rest of the run is a blur. I cling to Hawk's back, terror and adrenaline making my grip tighter than necessary. Every time we stop at a light, I scan the cars around us, half-expecting to see my uncle or Marco. The princess mask becomes suffocating, but I don't dare remove it.
By the time we pull into the clubhouse compound, my nerves are frayed to breaking. The gates close behind the last bike, and only then do I allow myself to breathe.
Hawk helps me off the bike, his golden-amber eyes searching my face as I finally remove the mask. "You okay?"
"I think so." My voice trembles.
He leads me into the clubhouse, where the others are already filing in, everyone in a partying mood. Music plays and bottles clink as brothers and their women gather around the bar.
In any other circumstance, I might find this festive and fun, but I don’t know what happens next. My uncle saw me. I'm sure of it. The way he looked at me—he recognized me. I have no doubt there will be repercussions.
Sure enough, not thirty minutes later, the clubhouse door bursts open. Rash, one of the prospects I met earlier, stands in the doorway, his face grim.
“Pigs at the gate," he announces. “Looking for a chick named Aria Gallo. They got a warrant.”
The music cuts off abruptly. The room goes still for a heartbeat before erupting into coordinated motion. Ghost steps forward, authority radiating from him.
“Sophie, take Hawk’s ol’ lady to the panic room,” he commands. "Rest of you know the drill."
Hawk squeezes my hand before releasing it. "Go with Sophie. We’ll handle this."
Sophie leads me down a hallway and stops at what appears to be a framed photograph of an old Harley-Davidson motorcycle. She grasps one side of the frame and it swings open like a small door. Underneath is a button. She presses it, and a section of the wall slides open to reveal a room behind it.
