Page 62 of Crusher's Illusion

Niko’s the worst of it. He’s moving like he has glass in his boots. Too quick to volunteer for nothing tasks, too slow to make eye contact. He keeps wiping his palms on his worn jeans every time someone talks near him. At one point, I catch him near the back hallway, half-turned toward the exit like he’s considering making a run for it.

“Niko,” I call.

He jumps like I fired a round at his head. “Yeah, VP?”

“Something wrong?”

He shakes his head, “No, sir. Just a long day.” His eyes move past me, over my shoulder toward Nevaeh. The knot that’s been growing in my gut all day clinches tight.

“Go rack out,” I tell him, watching every muscle in his face fight to play it cool. “Church at zero-nine-hundred.”

We don’t normally have prospects or hang arounds in Church, but this is a special meeting to weed out who is loyal and who isn’t.

Niko nods, slips out of the hallway, and disappears toward the prospect wing.

When I turn, Nevaeh’s at the bar talking with City. City glances at me, then flicks his attention toward the hallway Niko disappeared down. A silent question passes between us.You see it too?I nod once. Nevaeh must see everything on my face because she quiets mid-sentence and slides off the barstool to meet me halfway.

With everything going on with the Club, I should stay close by, so going to my place isn’t an option tonight. “You ready to head to my room?” I ask.

Nevaeh doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

She says goodnight to City. City doesn’t smirk or tease like he usually would. He just clasps my shoulder when I pass. Hard. Solid. Translation:Watch your six.

Inside my room, Nevaeh drops her jacket on the chair and takes her boots off like she’s done it a thousand times. The sight shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, but it does, like she’s already carved herself into this place, and I didn’t even notice when it happened.

She pauses in the bathroom doorway. “You alright?”

I should tell her. Should warn her that the club’s leaning toward fracture, that Niko’s got panic in his eyes, and a target painted on his back. Instead, I step forward and frame her face with my hands. “Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.”

She doesn’t believe me. But she lets it be.

We fall into bed with our clothes half on, wrapped in each other like we can lock the world out with the press of skin. She falls asleep first. I stay awake a little longer, listening to herbreathe and staring at the ceiling like it might tell me whether we’re about to lose everything.

At some point, exhaustion wins, and I drag her close enough that her legs tangle with mine, her hand resting over my heart.

For a few hours, the knot eases. Until morning. The sun barely touches the blinds when my eyes snap open. Instinct, sharp and cold. Nevaeh’s side of the bed is empty.

Sheets cooling.

I’m already up, pulling on jeans, when my phone buzzes with Honor’s message:

NIKO GONE.

BIKE’S NOT HERE.

My blood turns to ice.

I bolt through the clubhouse, heart in my throat, calling, “Nevaeh!”

No answer.

The front door is cracked open, and sunlight slices across the asphalt. And just like that, every nightmare I’ve ever had pulls up a chair at the table.

The front door swings under my hand and slams against the wall hard enough to rattle the glass. Sunlight knives across the worn boards of the porch and straight through me.

No Nevaeh.

No Niko.