Fuck.
“She didn’t say anything to me. But later, when it was all over — when you were already gone — she told me. Laughed about it. Said she clocked the patch the second you turned around. She knew you were Iron Vultures. Knew you weren’t just some random guy.”
I squeeze the arms of the chair. Rookie fucking mistake. That night… I remember the way her eyes looked under the streetlight. The way I couldn’t stop looking at her. I was so drunk on her I didn’t even think.
“Why the fuck did they wait six months to make a move?” I ask, teeth clenching.
She gives me a small, cold smile.
“Because at first, she wasn’t sure why you were there. Could’ve just been coincidence, right? But she told Sombra, and he started watching. And you kept showing up. Again and again. Hanging around the cartel’s territory. Asking questions. Poking your nose into things that didn’t concern you.”
“I’ve heard my mother talking about Sombra over the years and I’ve picked some things up. He’s paranoid. Really paranoid. Never stays in one place more than a week. Always shifting, always hiding. You fucked with his peace.”
She shifts in bed, her movements sluggish, like her body’s too heavy to carry. I stay frozen in my seat, trying to keep my thoughts from splintering under the weight of it all.
I was such a fucking arrogant prick. Inexperienced. The Verdugos were flooding our territory with their shit. I thoughtfinding the boss and taking him out would make them back off. So fucking stupid.
“I don’t know why he didn’t just try to kill you. That’s a question for him.”
She sighs. Long and tired. Her eyes drift toward the window like she’s looking for escape in the darkness outside.
“The day of your arrest…” Her voice is soft. Fragile, but clear. “I was coming down from my room, ready to head to class. I was meeting you later, remember?”
I do. I remember that fucking day like it was yesterday.
She swallows hard. “I walked into the kitchen, and there she was. My mother. Holding a gun to Liz’s head. My eight year old sister’s head. She was smiling, nonchalant, like she did that shit every day.”
My entire body goes still. Her words wrap around my throat like barbed wire.
“‘You have fifteen minutes to get to the station and file a report that your little biker boyfriend is dealing drugs. The hard kind.’— Those were her exact words. I’ve never been able to forget them.”
She looks at me, her eyes already shining with tears.
“She said someone connected to the cartel would be waiting for me at the station. They’d know if I did what I was told. She took my phone. Made sure I couldn’t warn you. And maybe… maybe I could’ve done something. Asked a stranger to borrow theirs. Found a way. But I panicked.”
She pauses, shaking her head slightly, lost in the memory.
“I was twenty minutes away. I broke every speed limit to get there. Because I knew she’d pull that trigger without blinking. She never cared about Liz. Or me. Not really. We were just tools to her. Toys. Things to control. I thought maybe I could retract it later, explain it was all a lie. But I didn’t know the sheriff wascartel-owned. I didn’t know half the damn precinct was dirty. I didn’t know any of it.”
Her voice cracks, but she keeps going. Steady. Like she’s been waiting for this moment — to finally say her story out loud.
“I didn’t even know your club had problems with the cartel back then. None of it. So I filed the report. I lied.”
She lets out a short, humorless laugh that cuts through the quiet of the room.
“Not that it mattered. They didn’t even need it. It was just her way of punishing me. Getting her control back. They’d already planted the drugs on you, Bowie just had to ‘find’ them. The report was the cherry on top. And my mother? She needed it. She needed me ruined. Obedient. She wanted to remind me who my life belonged to.”
I suck in a breath, everything inside of me unraveling.
“Wait,” I say, voice hoarse. “You didn’t put the coke in my saddlebag?”
She turns her head slowly, expression unreadable.
“No. I filed the report, then I testified against you in court. That’s all I did.” She swallows. “And that was more than enough.”
Fucking hell. My pulse starts racing. All these years — everything we thought we knew — it’s been wrong. We’ve been missing something critical.
“Adora,” I whisper, leaning forward, reaching for something — anything — between us. I want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to say I love her. I want to take every blade I threw at her and cut myself with it instead.
