East winks. “Didn’t forget my cut, though.”
I roll my eyes, exchanging a look with Nash, then Knox.
The laughter dulls the edge, but not the weight. It lingers in my chest, thick as gunpowder. She’s still out there. Cleaning up her father’s messes while we joke about running naked through backyards.
The humor cools me down, but only just. The pressure in my chest is still there. A mix of rage and something else I don’t want to name. Something sharp and quiet that started the second Candace climbed off my bike.
Enough screwing around. Time to get back to business.
“Next time,” I say, voice low, “you tell me the second something’s off.”
East’s smile falters, just a flicker. He knows. “Understood.”
I lean back slightly, eyeing him. “I get why you waited. Chuck’s a founding member. We’ve all given him more grace than most would ever get.”
East nods, jaw tight. “That’s exactly it. Thought he’d get back on track. Thought I owed him that.”
I let out a breath, some of the tension bleeding off. “Yeah, well, I understand. But the second someone starts slipping, we have to be tighter. Too much is at stake.”
“Agreed.”
“Good.” I nod once. “Now go tell Chuck his bar tab’s frozen. Nicely.”
“I’m always nice,” East says.
“Tell that to the husband.”
East starts to rise from his chair, but before he does, the door slams open, crashing against the wall with the force of a warning shot.
My hand goes instinctively to my waistband before I remember I’m not carrying tonight. My pulse spikes. Fight or flight primed. But what walks through that door? That’ll determine what burns.
Chapter 7
Candace
Iglareattheentrance of the club, every muscle in my body screaming for me to turn around and leave. Just an hour ago, Malachi dropped me off at my house, the silence between us loud and crackling. I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t look back. There’s no way in hell I’m riding here with him. Not when I have things to hide. The money I didn’t need for tonight? Tucked away beneath a floorboard the moment I got home, fingers shaking from the rush of desperation and dread.
I stripped off my jacket the second I stepped inside, but the chill from the ride still clings to my skin, hanging on as if memory took form. The wind screamed past us the whole way, but under it, I caught something softer. I hummed without thinking, barely audible. A habit I’ve never fully shaken. A melody with no name, just rhythm pulsing behind my ribs. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until we stopped and he lookedat me with something bordering on recognition. As if he heard a part of me I never meant to give away.
Still, I keep walking, pulled forward by the familiar, bitter duty of cleaning up my father’s mess. Again. He called me right after my shift at the country club, voice thick with guilt and desperation. He said he was in trouble—again—and if he didn’t pay off his dues and bar tab, he’d lose the only thing he had left. I didn’t ask what that was. I didn’t have to. It’s always the same sad story, spun with the same crooked strings. My boots scuff against gravel, each step thudding with a drumbeat of resentment echoing in my chest, louder now with every lie he’s told and every time I’ve answered the call anyway.
What pisses me off more than anything is that no one in that club seems to notice. Not the missed dues. Or the slurred words. Not the daughter stepping in over and over to clean up after him while they all look the other way. I used to think they were blind. That maybe they just didn’t recognize the way he was slipping.
But Malachi? He was supposed to see. He was supposed to be different. When he didn’t, when he missed it the same way everyone else did, I stopped hoping any of them ever would.
I match my steps to that beat—one, two, one, two—just to stay upright. The rhythm keeps me from splintering. If I let myself feel too much, I’ll either scream or sob. Maybe both. But not yet. Not here.
The door swings open before I reach it, and two girls stumble out, arms slung around each other with the reckless ease of girls who think the night owes them something. A blast of music punches the air, the deep bass and bursts of laughter mixing with the beer-sour breath and cigarette smoke that clings to everything with the stubbornness of regret.
One of them eyes me, slow and assessing. She’s tall and lean, her blonde bob curled into polished waves. A cropped band tee clings to her torso, baring a sliver of skin above a mini skirt thatscreams confidence. Or, at least, a good front. There’s a flicker of something hard behind her gaze, sharp and territorial. Her mouth doesn’t move, but I can feel the challenge radiating off her in waves.
The girl beside her is a different flavor of danger. She’s shorter, with sharp cheekbones and chin-length jet-black hair that glints under the porch light, hard and glassy as obsidian. A black leather jacket hangs casually over one arm, revealing a cosmic tattoo sleeve that coils around her right arm in hypnotic swirls. Galaxies, stars, and nebulas burst in vivid ink. Her dark plum lips curl into a half-smirk that radiates heat and curiosity, but there’s something else too. Something intangible. The air around her hums differently. It brushes against my skin and makes the hairs on my arms rise.
It feels the way standing too close to an amp sounds when it turns to static. As if the world might tilt off its axis if she blinked at the wrong time.
She’s the one who speaks, her voice smooth as smoke, but threaded with something that doesn’t belong to this world. “Need something, darling?”
I lift my chin, keeping my expression neutral. “Just here to see my dad.”
