Page 48 of Dagger

As the sound of their engines fades, Mason turns to us. “Good work,” he says, his tone still sharp. “But this isn’t over. They’ll push again. Be ready.”

Tank grins, cracking his knuckles. “Let ‘em. I’m always ready to remind these assholes who’s in charge.”

I glance back at the warehouse, my fists clenching and unclenching. “Next time, they might not walk away so easy.”

Mason nods, his expression hard. “Next time, we’ll be ready.”

We mount up, the weight of the encounter settling over us as we ride back to the clubhouse. The Russians got their message, but I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the last time we’ll be hearing from them. Not by a long shot.

When we roll back into the clubhouse, the sound of laughter and music spills out before we even step inside. The girls are already here—Carlie, Jenny, Sophie—all busy setting up for the members-only party tonight. Tables are being wiped down, decorations thrown up haphazardly, and snacks laid out. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s got our stamp all over it.

And, of course, Chloe’s here. Why wouldn’t she be? She’s part of this club, part of us.

She’s standing by the bar when I notice her reaching for a case of beer stacked against the wall. Before I even think about it, I’m walking over, grabbing it out of her hands before she can lift it.

“I got it,” I tell her firmly, holding the case like it weighs nothing.

Chloe turns to me, her eyebrow arching, her lips tugging into a half-smile that’s as much amusement as it is annoyance. “I can handle it,” she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

“Go sit down and put your feet up,” I say, nodding toward one of the couches. “You need to rest.”

She crosses her arms, leaning her weight onto one leg, her smile turning into a full-on laugh. “I’m not broken, Dagger,” she says. “I’mpregnant.There’s a difference.”

I shrug, shifting the case of beer in my arms. “Either way,” I say, smirking, “you’re not hauling cases of beer around. Go sit.”

Chloe sighs dramatically, but her eyes are still laughing. “Fine,” she says, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll take a break.”

She turns and heads toward one of the couches near the corner, plopping down and kicking her feet up onto the table. Sophie walks by, glancing at Chloe and then at me.

“What’d you do?” Sophie asks, grinning.

“Got her to listen for once,” I say, setting the case down on the bar with a thud.

“That’s a miracle,” Sophie teases, winking at Chloe.

Chloe throws a pillow at Sophie, laughing. “Don’t get used to it.”

I glance at Chloe, still sitting there with that stubborn glint in her eye, and I can’t help but smile to myself. She can argue all she wants, but I’m not letting her overdo it. Not on my watch.

After hauling the last case of beer into the storage room, I grab a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels from the bar, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand. As I scan the room, my eyes lock on Chloe.

She’s still sitting on the couch, but she’s not alone. Hawk’s there beside her, leaning in slightly, talking to her. They’re laughing about something, their conversation easy and light.

But it’s not the way they’re talking that gets to me—it’s the way Hawk’s looking at her. Like she’s the only thing in the room. His eyes linger on her, his smile soft, and it makes my chest tighten.

Jealousy flares hot and fast, but I push it down, gripping the water bottle a little tighter than I should. I walk over, myboots heavy against the floor, and Hawk notices me first. His expression doesn’t change, but I can tell he’s clocking my every move.

I stop in front of them, setting the water and pretzels down on the table in front of Chloe. “Figured you could use a snack,” I say, keeping my voice even.

Chloe looks up at me, surprised at first, then smiles. “Thanks,” she says warmly.

Before I can say anything else, Hawk grunts and stands up, his eyes briefly meeting mine. “I’ll see you later,” he says to Chloe, his tone gruff but not unkind.

She nods, still smiling as she watches him walk away. Then her attention shifts back to me, and for a moment, the air feels thick, awkward. I shift on my feet, not sure what to say.

“Thanks,” she says again, breaking the tension. Her smile is softer now, but it still manages to cut through the haze in my head.

“Not a problem,” I say, shrugging like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing—not with the way Hawk was looking at her, and not with the way my chest tightens every time she smiles like that.

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