3

"Fifty thousand."

The number hangs in the air between us like a guillotine blade.

Drakon freezes. His hand tightens on my shoulder, his fingers digging into the denim of my jacket.

"Fifty?" His voice is low, dangerous.

"Plus interest," I whisper. "Mick... he said it grows every week."

Drakon releases me abruptly. He spins away, pacing the length of my tiny living room in three heavy strides. He looks like a tiger in a shoebox. Too big. Too lethal for this space.

"That son of a bitch." He kicks the leg of my coffee table. It skids across the floor. "He left you to drown."

"He didn't mean to," I say quickly. The defense is automatic, a reflex honed over six months of grieving. "It was an accident. He was going to fix it. He told me he had a plan."

Drakon stops. He turns slowly, looking at me with eyes void of any warmth.

He laughs.

It’s a cold, sharp sound. It scrapes against my nerves.

"A plan?" He steps closer, invading my space again. "Nikos always had a plan. And you know who paid for them? The club. And you."

"He was your brother," I snap. My chin goes up. "He was your President."

"He was a user." Drakon’s voice drops to a growl. "He sat at my table, drank my whiskey, and let his wife serve drinks to perverts to pay for his mistakes."

"I’m handling it."

"You’re almost getting raped by loan sharks. That’s not handling it, Thalia. That’s bleeding out."

He’s right. I know he’s right. But admitting it feels like betraying the man I buried.

"He loved me." My voice cracks.

Drakon’s face softens. Just a fraction. It’s terrifying.

He reaches out. His hand cups my jaw, his thumb rough against my cheekbone. The contact burns. It sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

"He owned you," Drakon corrects gently. "There’s a difference."

His thumb strokes my skin. Back and forth. Hypnotic.

I shouldn't let him touch me. He’s the VP. He’s Nikos’s best friend. This is wrong. It’s a violation of every code I know.

But I don't pull away.

I lean into his palm. My eyes flutter shut. For a second, just a heartbeat, I let myself feel the weight of him. The safety.

The smell of him—leather and engine grease—fills my lungs. It’s intoxicating.

Then, the guilt hits. It twists in my gut like a knife.

I jerk back, stumbling against the wall.

"Don't," I gasp. "You can't do that."

Drakon’s hand drops to his side. His eyes darken, pupils blown wide. He doesn't apologize. He looks at my mouth like he wants to devour it.

"You need to quit the bar," he says. His voice is back to being a command. "Tonight. You don't go back."

"I need the money."

"You don't need Sal's money. The club will handle the debt."

"I'm not a charity case," I argue, crossing my arms over my chest. "And I'm not club property anymore. I’m a widow. I handle my own bills."

He steps in, looming over me. The air in the room thickens, heavy with unsaid things and suffocating heat.

"You think this is about money?" He laughs again, but there’s no humor in it. "The Wolves have enemies, Thalia. Sharks in the water. They smell blood. And right now, you’re bleeding."

"I can take care of myself."

"You have a pepper spray and a smart mouth. Against men like Mick? Against the Reapers?" He shakes his head. "You’re a target. A loose end."

"So what? You’re going to be my bodyguard?"

"If I have to be." His gaze locks onto mine. Intense. Unwavering. "I promised to look out for you."

"Nikos made you promise?"

"Nikos didn't have to."

The words hang there, heavy and loaded. My heart hammers against my ribs.

He checks his watch—a heavy, tactical piece that looks like it could knock someone out.

"I have to go. There’s... club business. Messy business." He looks at the broken door, then at the shattered coffee table. "Pack a bag. Someone will be by in the morning to fix the door. Until then, wedge a chair under the handle."

He turns to the door, his leather cut creaking with the movement.

He stops in the doorway. He doesn't look back.

"Check the floorboard," he says.

I blink. "What?"

"Under your bed. The loose one." His voice is low. "The one Nikos told you never to touch because the landlord would evict you."

My blood runs cold. "How do you know about that?"

"Check it, Thalia."

He walks out.

I listen to his heavy boots on the stairs. Then, the roar of his Harley starting up outside. The sound fades into the night, leaving me in a silence that feels louder than the violence.

I stand there for a full minute, staring at the empty doorway.

My legs carry me to the bedroom. My heart is in my throat.

I kneel by the bed. I shove the mattress aside.

There it is. The board Nikos warned me about three years ago. Don't touch it, baby. The building is old. You'll bring the whole floor down.

I dig my fingernails into the gap.

I pull.