Wheels squeezed my knee.I looked down at his hand.
Big.Warm.Steady.
A week ago, I had been alone in my apartment with papers spread around me, my stomach in knots and the certainty that I was digging my own grave.
Now I was sitting in the middle of the Saint’s Outlaws clubhouse, and I wasn’t alone anymore.
I had Tempi holding one hand.Wheels anchoring me with the other.A room full of angry bikers listening to every word I said like it mattered.
Like I mattered.
Twister’s voice pulled me back.“The clue.”
I looked up.
“Say it again.”
I took another breath.“‘You keep looking underground.’Then he paused.”My throat tightened.“Then he said, ‘The answers aren’t under the city.’”
Gramps frowned.“That makes no damn sense.”
“Maybe it does,” Podge said slowly.
Everyone looked at him.
He lifted both hands.“I said maybe.I don’t know yet.”
Hodge pointed at him.“Then don’t start a sentence like you know something.”
“I’m thinking out loud.”
“Think quieter.”
Britta looked at Hodge.“You’re extra charming today.”
He cut his eyes toward her.“I watched a man get his head blown off.”
The room went silent.Britta’s face softened.“I know.”
Hodge looked away first, because there it was.The ugly truth none of us could joke away.
Gene had died in front of us.And if The Ledger could do that to him, a man who had once been part of them, what would they do to us?
To Wheels?
To Tempi?
To Britta?
To—
My body went cold.Not chilly.Not scared.Ice-cold.I sat up so fast Wheels’ hand fell from my knee.
“Goldie?”Tempi asked.
The room tilted slightly.Gene’s words slammed through my head again, but not the ones about the tunnel.The papers.He had known I copied them.
Two sets, just like you.
