Maybe she did.
That makes me angrier.
At me.
At Carmen.
At every anonymous account with a cheap opinion and a Wi-Fi connection.
At the fact that I don’t get to fix it by breaking something.
Finn watches me carefully. “You want us to stay?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until I say otherwise. Me. Not her.”
Both prospects blink.
“Damn,” Dusty says.
I stare at him.
He lifts his coffee like a shield. “Respect.”
“Respectfully, shut the fuck up.”
He nods fast.
I walk to my bike.
For half a second, I almost turn back.
Then Lady’s voice cuts through me.
You’re leaving.
Yes.
So I leave.
Vice Ink is already shaking when I roll in.
Not from war this time.
From celebration.
The old church glows under midnight neon, stained glass flashing red and blue from the bikes lined outside. Music pounds through the open doors. Cigarette smoke rolls into the humid air. Someone has dragged a grill into the side lot, and the smell of charred meat, whiskey, exhaust, and weed wraps around the building like a bad blessing.
Diablo got engaged.
To Darling.
In his office.
Mid-stroke, if Lady’s emoji report is accurate, which means this club has finally lost whatever tiny piece of dignity it had left.
