But Judge doesn't say a word. Doesn't comment, doesn't judge, doesn't react at all except for the slight tightening around his eyes.
"Stay with her," Phoenix says.
"No." Judge's voice is firm. "You need me down there. Brick can stay."
Phoenix hesitates for only a second, then nods. "Brick. Now."
Judge turns and calls down the hallway. Within seconds, the massive man I recognize from yesterday appears.
"Guard this door," Phoenix orders. "No one gets in except me or Judge. If anyone tries, you stop them. Understood?"
"Understood." Brick's voice is flat, professional. He doesn't even glance at me.
Phoenix looks at me one more time. "Lock the door behind us. Don't open it for anyone but me. I'll be back soon."
Then he and Judge are gone, their footsteps heavy on the stairs.
I'm left alone with Brick standing guard outside my door, the sound of raised voices drifting up from downstairs, and the terrible certainty that everything is about to change.
Chapter 11 – Phoenix
I'm beyond pissed.
I should be upstairs with Ivy, holding her, making sure she knows she's safe. We just had our first night together, something perfect and real that felt like the first good thing I've allowed myself in years, and it's being interrupted by the fucking Vipers.
By Cole Briggs specifically.
The man who spent two years breaking down the woman I just spent the night worshipping. The man who hit her, controlled her, made her feel like being aroused was something to be ashamed of instead of celebrated.
I'm not in the mood for games. Not in the mood for posturing or negotiations or any of the political bullshit that usually comes with MC disputes.
If Cole so much as says Ivy's name wrong, if he dares to talk shit about her, I'm going to rip him apart with my bare hands and damn the consequences.
Judge and I reach the bottom of the stairs, and I can already see the situation laid out in the common room.
Four Vipers. Just like Judge said.
Cole stands in the center, looking exactly like I remember. Average height, built well enough but nothing impressive, with that smile that makes your skin crawl. The kind of man who seems charming until you look in his eyes and see the emptiness there.
Next to him is Razor. Late forties now, gray threading through his beard, wearing his Vipers cut with decades of loyalty sewn into every patch. He was there when I was in the Vipers, one of the older members who'd been with the club since before myfather died. We'd ridden together, drank together, called each other brother once.
Before Demon poisoned everything.
Razor's eyes meet mine, and I see something there. He knows what this is. Knows what's coming.
And then there are two younger guys. Early twenties at most, probably prospects based on the way they're standing slightly behind Cole. Their hands keep twitching toward their waistbands, trigger-itch written all over them. Kids playing at being dangerous, not understanding that real violence isn't about who draws first.
My brothers are already positioned. Four of them. Canvas in the far corner near the bar, Diesel by the door to the garage, Wraith near the stairs, and Saint by the front entrance. Each one armed, each one watching the Vipers with the kind of cold calculation that comes from years of brotherhood.
The Vipers haven't noticed the guns yet. Or if they have, they're pretending not to care.
Mistake.
I step into the room, and all eyes turn to me.
"Phoenix." Cole's voice is smooth, friendly even. Like we're old buddies catching up instead of enemies standing on opposite sides of a war. "Been a while."
"Not long enough," I say flatly. "What do you want, Cole?"
