LOGINJarekThe hardest part was the first ten minutes after Sable disappeared through the gate. I handled the departure fine. She went over the run with Stone, Cole, and the other two Daggers, kissed Marcus, kissed me, and reminded both of us that she was leading a parts run, not storming a fucking compound.I said, “Have fun.”She stared at me. “It’s paperwork and motorcycle parts.”“Exactly.”Then she put on her helmet, swung onto her bike, and led four Black Daggers through the gate. I stayed fine un
SableNothing happened, and that was the whole fucking point.I left the Black Daggers clubhouse a little after nine in the morning with Stone, Cole, and two other Daggers behind me. Five bikes, one ordinary route, one legitimate supplier pickup that had existed long before Mateo Serrano learned enough about our schedules to turn routine into intelligence.Nobody came because I needed protection. Nobody followed because Jarek was scared, and nobody changed the route at the last second to make it harder for some imaginary enemy to find me.We simply left with me in the lead, and the first few miles felt louder than they should have, not because the bikes were louder
JarekThe knife had been sitting on my dresser for weeks before I finally started carrying it.That probably made me an asshole, considering how much Sable had clearly loved giving it to me. She had already gotten the reaction she deserved at Birthday Take Two. I had opened the box, tested the weight of the blackened steel, run my thumb over the dark walnut handle, and kissed her hard enough that Marcus complained about the rest of us continuing with the party.Then life kept happening, and the knife stayed in its leather sheath beside my wallet while the club dealt with Mateo, the Jackals, Mack, damaged businesses, cleanup, and everything else that came with surviving a war nobody had
MarcusBy the time we left Nowhere the next morning, I had decided motorcycles were a terrible invention.That opinion had nothing to do with the machine and everything to do with Jarek King.Sable took one look at the way I lowered myself onto my seat and started laughing before she even had her helmet on.“Not one fucking word.”“I didn’t say anything.”“Your face did.”Jarek swung onto his bike besid
SableThe motel room was not romantic.That was probably why I liked it.No flowers. No candles. No carefully arranged sheets pretending three bikers had suddenly developed taste. Just a king-size bed, a cheap lamp, an air conditioner rattling like it had unresolved personal issues, and three helmets sitting on the little table by the door.Perfect.Marcus dropped onto the edge of the bed and groaned.I looked at him. “We haven’t even started.”
JarekThe freight yard looked smaller without people shooting at us.That was my first thought when we rolled through the open gate the next morning and killed our engines near the row of rusted trailers.Smaller.Quieter.Ordinary enough to piss me off.The last time I stood here, the air had been full of gunfire, exhaust, shouting, and men trying to kill each other between freight containers. Vandal had been alive. Mateo Serrano had still been a stranger none of u







