8

The silence in the Chapel shatters.

"Alive?"

The word bounces off the redwood walls.

"That's bullshit!" Riker slams his fist on the table. "I saw the body. We all saw the body."

"You saw a closed casket," Drakon says, his voice cutting through the rising noise like a blade. "We buried a box of bricks."

The room erupts. Twelve men shouting at once. The air turns toxic with confusion and rage.

I sit frozen in the President’s chair, my hands gripping the leather armrests so hard my knuckles ache. I feel small. Surrounded by giants who smell of violence and betrayal.

"Quiet!" Leon roars.

The Sergeant-at-Arms slams his hand down. The sound is like a gunshot. The room falls silent, but the tension remains, vibrating in the air.

Leon turns to me. His eyes are hard, searching. "Thalia. You spoke to him?"

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Yes."

"When?"

"Tonight. An hour ago."

"What did he say?"

"He asked for the money," I whisper. "He asked if I found the fifty grand."

A murmur ripples through the room.

"He didn't ask if I was okay," I continue, my voice gaining a sharp edge of anger. "He didn't ask about the club. He asked for his payout. And he told me... he told me the Reapers were coming."

"To kill you?" Riker asks.

"To collect me." I look up, meeting Leon’s gaze. "He sold me. I saw the text. 'Deliver the girl.'"

"Christ," someone mutters.

"He’s a rat," Drakon says. He’s standing behind me, a dark shadow. His hand is still on the back of my chair. Touching it. Claiming the space. "He faked his death to get out with the cash, and he sold us out to cover his tracks."

"So where is he?"

The question comes from the far end of the table.

Andreas.

He leans forward into the light. He’s younger than Leon, but with cold, reptilian eyes and a smile that doesn't reach them. He’s been watching me since I walked in.

"He’s in the wind," Drakon answers. "But the Reapers know where we are."

Andreas leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. His cut is pristine, too clean compared to the others.

"So let me get this straight," Andreas says. His voice is smooth, oily. "Our President is a traitor. We’re at war with the Savage Reapers. And the only thing they want... is her."

He points a finger at me.

I flinch.

"They want the money," Drakon growls.

"No, VP. They want the girl." Andreas smiles. It’s a cruel twist of lips. "You heard her. 'Deliver the girl.' That’s the price of admission to call off the dogs, isn't it?"

"We don't hand over family," Leon says, but his voice lacks its usual thunder. He looks tired.

"Is she family?" Andreas asks. "She’s the wife of a rat. A rat who sold our routes. A rat who probably got Mikey killed last month."

The mood in the room shifts. I feel it. The sympathy evaporates, replaced by suspicion. They look at me, and they don't see a widow. They see a liability.

"She didn't know," Drakon says. His hand tightens on the chair.

"Didn't she?" Andreas stands up. He walks slowly around the table. "You expect us to believe she lived with him for two years and saw nothing? Heard nothing? Fifty grand doesn't just appear under the floorboards, sweetheart."

"I didn't know!" I snap. "He lied to me too!"

"Or maybe you were in on it," Andreas says, stopping right in front of me. He leans down, his face inches from mine. "Maybe you’re the one who texted him tonight. Maybe you’re the one opening the back door for the Reapers right now."

"Back off, Andreas," Drakon warns.

"I’m just asking the questions we’re all thinking, brother." Andreas looks around the room. "Why are we risking the club for her? She’s a civilian. She’s baggage."

"She’s under my protection," Drakon says.

"Your protection?" Andreas laughs. "You’ve been staring at her ass since the wedding, Drakon. We all know it. You’re not thinking with your head. You’re thinking with your dick."

The air leaves the room.

Andreas turns to the table. "I say we give them what they want. We hand her over to Kyros. We buy ourselves peace. We tell them the rat is their problem now."

"You want to trade a woman for a truce?" Riker asks, sounding disgusted.

"I want to save the club!" Andreas shouts. "The Reapers have us outgunned. We give them the girl, we wipe the slate clean."

He looks at me. "Pack your bags, princess. You’re going for a ride."

He reaches for my arm.

The movement is a blur.

Drakon launches himself over the corner of the table.

He hits Andreas like a freight train.

They crash into the wall, the impact shaking the framed photos of dead members. Andreas grunts as the air leaves his lungs.

Drakon has him pinned by the throat, lifting him off his feet.

"You touch her," Drakon snarls, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, "and I will rip your throat out with my teeth."

"Drakon!" Leon shouts. "Stand down!"

"She is not a bargaining chip!" Drakon roars, slamming Andreas against the wood again. "She is a victim! Nikos used her. He sold her. And I will not let you finish the job."

Andreas claws at Drakon’s hand, his face turning purple. "You're... compromising... the club."

"I am the club!" Drakon throws him.

Andreas stumbles back, coughing, rubbing his bruised neck. He glares at Drakon with pure hatred.

"You're Acting President," Andreas spits. "For now. But if you bring a war to our doorstep for a piece of ass, the vote won't go your way."

The room is deadly silent. The brothers are looking between Drakon and Andreas. The divide is clear. Some are loyal to the patch. Some are scared of the Reapers.

And I’m the cause.

I stand up. My legs are shaking, but I force them to hold me.

"Stop it," I say. My voice is thin, but it cuts through the testosterone. "Stop fighting. If... if giving me up saves you..."

"No," Drakon says. He doesn't look at me. He stares at the men around the table. "We don't trade lives. Not ever."

"We can't keep her here, Drakon," Leon says quietly. "Andreas is right about one thing. As long as she’s just 'Nikos’s widow,' she’s a target. And she’s a liability. The bylaws say we can't harbor civilians in the compound during wartime."

"Then we change her status," Drakon says.

"How?" Riker asks. "She’s not a prospect. She’s not a member."

"She’s property," Andreas sneers, wiping blood from his lip. "Nikos's property. And Nikos is dead to us. That makes her unclaimed. Fair game for the Reapers."

Drakon turns to the table. He places his hands flat on the wood. He leans forward, his shoulders broad, his presence filling every inch of the room.

He looks at every man in the eye. Daring them to challenge him.

"There’s only one way," he says, his voice low, vibrating with a dark finality. "One way to protect her under the laws. One way to make her untouchable to the Reapers. And to you."

He turns his head slowly. His dark eyes lock onto mine.

They are hungry. They are possessive. They are terrifying.

"I'm invoking the Law of the Keep," he says.