“Upland,” she says finally. “If I come with you—when this is over—I need to know I can leave. No questions, no guilt trips, no attempts to change my mind.”
“You have my word.”
“I'll go with you to Upland.”
Relief floods through me so fast I nearly stagger. “Done. Pack whatever you need. We leave as soon as we...handle things downstairs.”
Charlotte nods, turning toward the small bag she brought with her. “I don't have much anyway.”
I hesitate at the door, watching her methodically fold her few belongings. Despite everything—the blood, the violence, the revelation of Terrance's true nature—she moves with quietefficiency. Survivor's instinct. She's done this before, packed her life away in minutes, ready to run.
Before I can stop myself, I cross the room in three strides. She turns at the sound of my approach. I cradle her face between my palms, careful to keep my bloodied knuckles from touching her skin.
“I'm going to make this right,” I promise, pressing my lips to hers. The kiss is a vow sealed in blood. “I swear to you, Charlotte. I'll make this right.”
She nods. I force myself to step away, to head downstairs and face the mess I've created.
I'm halfway down the stairs when my phone vibrates. Marcus's name flashes on the screen—the prospect, our inside man. My stomach drops before I even answer.
“What.”
“Ace just called a lockdown. Every member was just called in. He sent me to get provisions. Emergency meeting at the clubhouse in thirty.”
“Fuck.” The word explodes from my lungs as I grip the banister. “When did this happen?”
“Just now. I was at the store when Ace texted everyone. Whatever is going down, it's serious. Never seen him this spooked before.”
My mind races through the possibilities, each worse than the last. “Stay away from the clubhouse. Find somewhere to lay low. I'll contact you when it's safe.”
“But—”
“We're blown,” I announce, shoving my phone into my pocket. “Ace just locked down.”
“Shit.” V drops the roll of duct tape he's holding. “They know about the guys from the hotel?”
“Or Terrance is looking for his attack dog.” I glance toward the basement where Vincent's body waits. “Either way, ourtimeline just got fucked. V, pack up the tech and get Charlotte ready to move. Ratchet, you and I are taking Vincent for a ride.”
“What about cleanup?”
“No time. We dump Vincent, come back for Charlotte and V, then torch this place on our way out. It's the only way to cover our tracks.”
Ratchet's face splits into a grim smile. “About fucking time. Been itching to light something up since we got here.”
“You and your pyro tendencies,” V mutters, already gathering equipment from the workbench. “One of these days, that shit's gonna get us all locked up.”
“Not if there's nothing left to find,” Ratchet counters. “Fire purifies everything.”
I've seen that look before. The last time Ratchet got that expression, three buildings in Oakland went up in flames. Granted, they were filled with drugs and men who tried to blackmail our club into distributing them, but the look is all the same. The man has a gift for destruction that borders on artistic.
“Just make sure it's contained,” I warn him. “We don't need civilian casualties on top of everything else.”
Ratchet scoffs, offended. I nod, trusting his expertise. If there's one thing Ratchet understands, it's controlled chaos. “Let’s gift wrap this son of a bitch, dump him in Lake Mead, and get the fuck out of here.”
The sooner we leave Vegas, the safer Charlotte will be. That’s all that matters right now.
CHARLOTTE
I watchfrom the window as Thor and Ratchet haul Vincent's plastic-wrapped body to the van. The corpse disappears into the vehicle's dark interior with a heavy thud that I feel in my chest more than hear.
