Page 54

“Good.” She closes the laptop, finally meeting my eyes. Hurt lingers there just beneath the surface fire. “You done with the silent treatment, or am I still just club collateral damage?”

The words hit me square in the chest. I cross the room but stop a few feet short of the bed. “Not collateral. And you know it.” I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. “I’m keeping it short because every second I’m not buried in planning the next set of hits, I’m seeing you bleeding out from our shitty decisions.”

She stands up, stepping right into my space the way only she does. “Then stop pushing me away like I’m the liability here. I chose this life. We handle it together—that’s what you said. Or was all that talk?”

I hold her stare steadily, the air thick between us with everything still unsaid. “You’re mine, Tatum. I’d burn everything before I let them lay a hand on you. But right now, I need my head completely focused on the work. More hits lined up. More coordination ahead. Can’t let anything pull focus.”

Her eyes search mine for a long heavy moment. “I’m not asking you to go soft. I’m asking you not to treat me like I’m on the outside looking in.”

I nod slowly, the guilt still knotted tight and unrelenting in my chest. “I’ll loop you in on the next phase details soon. But you stay inside the compound until we clear more ground.”

She doesn’t push any harder, though the tension doesn’t fully break as she sits back down with her laptop. I linger a minute longer, watching her work, then slip back out to check the overnight monitors and confirm all watch rotations.

Another long day of planning and strikes waits at first light. The next minute, I’m moving through the quiet compound, leaving her again. Duty calls. I’ll keep coordinating, keep striking, until my hands are raw and the state runs red with Redline losses.

She stays safe. She stays mine. Even if I have to play the cold bastard to guarantee it.

TATUM

The door clicks shut behind Corbin with that final, infuriating sound. I stand, moving to the bed. I lie down, staring at the ceiling. The sheets are still warm in places from where his body had been pressed against mine, but the room feels colder already. His scent lingers everywhere. Two nights ago, he was feral, covered in blood, eyes burning as he claimed me like I was the only thing keeping him sane.

Yesterday morning was weird. He's gone cold toward me. Barking short commands at everyone, and also, he implemented lockdown. The silent treatment is starting to eat away at me.

Fucking Switch. He lives up to the nickname with the switch in his moods.

Pushes me right up against him until I can't breathe without wanting more, then pulls away like I'm suddenly too fragile to handle the real him. I'm annoyed as hell, the kind of pissed-off that simmers under my skin and makes my fingers itch to hack something just to feel in control.

Realizing I can't sleep, I shove the covers off and grab my laptop from the nightstand, flipping it open with more force than necessary. If Switch thinks I'm going to sit here, twiddling my thumbs like some passive club princess while the brothers coordinate hits based on Thomas's intel, he's delusional. I'm the one who cracked Redline's systems months ago. I'm the reason they lost so much. Vigilance is my goddamn job, and I'm not sitting on the sidelines.

The compound's secure network loads quickly. I have multiple windows open within seconds—hacked traffic cameras along the east routes, real-time scrapes of sheriff department communications, and persistent backdoors I maintain in Redline's remaining infrastructure. We dealt substantial damage, but every once in a while, someone pops in, checking out the areas.

My phone vibrates on the mattress beside me. Unknown number. I already know who it is before I open it.

Unknown:

You can't hide forever, baby. I know exactly where that shitty compound is. Come home before I come get you. You belong to me and the Wraiths can’t even save themselves.

I delete it immediately, jaw clenched tight. He's been ramping up the messages since word of Thomas's death spread. Creepy, possessive bullshit mixed with outright threats. I route the number through a custom tracer I built last week, watching it bounce off multiple proxies. He's getting sloppier, but still dangerous. I log everything into a growing file.

A firm knock sounds at the door. “Tatum? It's Lennox. You up?”

“Come in,” I call out, not bothering to look away from the screens.

He enters, closing the door quietly behind him. Lennox looks like shit—dark circles under his eyes, shoulders bunched with tension. He's been slightly overbearing ever since the bike bombing, hovering around like a protective older brother who thinks I'll break if left alone for five minutes. It's annoying, but there's something comforting in the concern, too.

“Why is there nobody on your door? You shouldn't be alone right now,” he says, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “Did you send them away?”

I snort, switching tabs to pull up live feeds on the distribution hub. “Something like that. I’m in my room, and you all know it. I’m between here and the office. Can’t fault me for wanting to make sure all hands are on deck right now. Even if you think I don’t know what’s going on.”

Lennox hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck—a tell I've noticed when he's uncomfortable. “Thomas talked plenty before Switch finished the job. I’m sure you know that much. However, he admitted something none of us have known how to talk to you about—Redline found out you were the rat because of us. The church meeting where we pushed hard for details. Forced the truth out. Thomas got wind and went back. We were the missing piece in how they found out…We all feel like absolute shit about it, Tatum. Me, Fuse, Judge, Diesel, Switch. You saved our asses by taking them down, and we turned around and painted a massive target on your back. I'm so sorry. I was supposed to be the person who helped you disappear and be nowhere. And instead, nowhere isn’t safe for you.”

The words land heavy, stirring up a mix of old betrayal feelings and new frustration, but I shrug it off, fingers never stopping on the keyboard. “Old news, Lennox. I knew the risks the second I decided to pledge. Doesn't change what we have to do now. I'm feeding live updates for officers—east route looks clear so far, no unusual truck activity. Especially after the cops yesterday. It’s pretty barren.”

The betrayal stings more knowing this is why Switch is pushing me away. Fucking pussy.

Len watches me closely, with that overbearing concern clear in his eyes. “How are you holding up with everything? Anything going on with Switch? You two have seemed pretty close lately, especially after the explosion.” I pause for a second, fingers hovering. Close. That's putting it mildly. Memories flood in—Corbin's bloody hands on my skin, the way he pinned me down and growled that I was his, the intense, almost violent connection that leaves me breathless.

“We've gotten close,” I answer lightly, brushing it off with a smirk. “But he's back to full brooding asshole mode. I thought we were becoming friends and he was accepting me into the club. Now, it’s ignoring texts, one-word answers, the usual distance shit you give someone on the outside. I'm used to it by now, I guess.”