Page 39 of Switch

The room is so damn quiet I can hear my own pulse hammering in my ears. Every eye is on Butch as he pulls out his switchblade, the metallic snap echoing through the meeting room.

My gut tightens.

I know what’s coming before he even does it.

He slides the blade through his Iron Reapers MC patches, cutting them clean off his vest. The fabric falls to the table like dead weight, the club’s emblem discarded like it’s nothing.

"I'm out," Butch says, voice steady, like he’s already made peace with it. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and heads for the door.

Nobody moves.

Nobody breathes.

There’s more to leaving a club than just slicing off your patches. Butch knows that.We allknow that. What he just did? It’s serious. It’s final.

It means he’s excommunicated. Off-limits. He’s no longer a brother—just another man walking into the world with nothing and no one to protect him.

Mason stands there, arms crossed, his jaw flexing as he watches Butch’s retreating back. His voice cuts through the thick tension.

"You want to walk out and leave your brothers, your family behind? Fine, but don’t fucking ask to come back."

Butch stops.

Slowly, he turns, his face red with fury. “Fuck you,” he spits, literal spit flying from his mouth as he storms back toward Mason. “You ruined our club!”

Before anyone can react, Mason grabs a fistful of Butch’s shirt andslamshim against the wall, the impact rattling the shelves behind him.

"Fuck you, you motherfucker," Mason growls, his voice deadly calm before he buries his fist in Butch’s gut.

The older man wheezes, doubling over, but Mason doesn’t let go.

“Don’t ever fucking come back here,” he snarls, his grip still iron-tight on Butch’s collar. “And if you try and pull something, I’ll end you, you stupid motherfucker.”

Another punch lands, this time square to the jaw, sending Butch crumbling to the ground. He groans, spitting blood onto the concrete floor, but Mason’s already done with him.

Mason straightens, rolling his shoulders like the whole thing was just an inconvenience, and looks around the room. "You want to join him?" His voice is razor-sharp, slicing through the silence. "Fucking leave. I don’t need this in our club."

Nobody moves.

Nobody wants to be the next one to test Mason.

I exhale slowly, my fingers flexing at my sides as I glance at Rev and Blade. This is bigger than just Butch walking out—this is a shift in the club. A line drawn in the sand.

SIXTEEN

BELLA

It’s Friday night,and instead of being at Perdition with Jax, I’m curled up in Brooke’s living room with my sisters, a half-empty bottle of Barefoot Pink Moscato between us and a mess of snacks spread out on the coffee table. I needed this—a break, a night to just breathe.

We’re all dressed in leggings, oversized t-shirts, and our hair piled up in messy buns. No makeup, no expectations, just wine, laughter, and the kind of easy company that only sisters can give.

Bri throws her cards down with dramatic flair, nearly knocking over her wine glass. “I swear to God, you two are cheating.”

Brooke smirks, reaching for the last bottle of wine. “Or maybe you just suck at this game.”

Bri huffs, crossing her arms. “Whatever. We all know the real reason we’re here.”

I glance up, already dreading whatever’s about to come out of her mouth.

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