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“First off, we don’t panic,” he starts, giving me a grin.

I look at him bewildered. “I am way fucking past that.”

“Yeah, well, get back from it,” he snaps. “Panicking gets you caught.”

I hate that he’s right.

“I have an idea, but you’d be selling your soul to me instead of that devil. So, you might not like it,” he says cautiously.

Going back to the club I was raised in isn’t the end of the world, but I am trying to not draw attention to myself.

“Fine, but nobody can know who I really am. None of your current members know me, and your officers have never seen me. Let me earn my place, so they can learn to trust me, too. None of the guys are there from when Dad ran it.”

He eyes me skeptically. “Tate, I can’t protect you like that. And what does it matter if they were there? You grew up in that clubhouse.”

“I don’t need to be protected from your club members. I have bigger devils chasing me. I can handle your boys. But you know the Revs were coming for the Iron Wraiths, and if he finds a way to get out, he’s coming for all of us. It won’t just be me.”

“My brothers and I have been waiting to get our hands on Redline Revenant. If it’s a fight he wants, it’s a fucking fight he’ll get. I fucking hate this idea. But even if I don’t like it, Tatum, we'll try it. But if anyone fucks with you, we tell them who you are? Deal?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He sighs. “Fine. We’re bringing new prospects in this week. Let me talk to the club and see if I can get a vote passed for a girl to pledge.”

My shoulders slouch in relief as he comes to stand in front of me.

“Stay here. I’ll bring you a new phone later with some groceries, too.” His voice gets quieter and more lethal. “But Tate, if you fuck over my brothers or me, I’ll kill you myself.”

I nod and he walks out, leaving me alone to overthink the shit storm coming my way.

CORBIN

The garage smells like oil, metal, and old smoke that clings to the walls—just how I like it. It shows that this life can be messy, but worth it. Clean places make people careless. When everything looks right, nobody notices what's wrong. Out here, everything means something: burnt rubber, overheated engines, fresh welds. You pay attention, or you get burned.

Simple.

I tighten the last bolt on the Harley in front of me, the ratchet clicking steadily in my hand. Grease coats my fingers, settling into the ink running up both arms.

The shop door creaks open behind me. I don’t look up, knowing exactly who it is from the sound of his boots.

“You’re gonna strip that bolt if you keep going like it disrespected you.”

A smirk tugs at my mouth. I finish the turn before setting the ratchet down. “Bolt’s fine,” I mutter. “You’re just impatient.”

“Comes with the job. You know that better than most,” Lennox says.

That gets me to glance back over my shoulder. Lennox is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, looking like he belongs anywhere but here. Clean. Put together, even though the look on his face screams bad news.

That catches my attention.

I push to my feet, grabbing a rag and wiping my hands. “What do you need?”

He doesn’t answer right away. That’s the first red flag.

I go still, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re asking for something, and the answer is no.”

“Always am and always is.”

“Yeah,” I say, tossing the rag onto the workbench. “But you don’t usually hesitate first.”