Page 52 of Dagger

We swing by Tank’s place so I can pick up my car, then drive to the U-Haul drop-off. The night is quiet, the air cool as westand in the lot while Dagger hands over the keys. Afterward, we head back to Tank’s so he can grab his motorcycle.

As Dagger swings a leg over his bike, he glances at me, his ever-present smirk softening. “See? I’m not so bad to have around.”

I cross my arms, leaning against my car, a grin tugging at my lips. “I guess you’ll do.”

He laughs, the sound low and rich, but instead of revving the engine, he stands and walks toward me. My breath catches as he closes the space between us, his eyes locked on mine. Before I can react, he leans down, his lips brushing softly against mine.

I gasp, surprised, but then I melt into the kiss, my hands instinctively reaching for his jacket. His lips are warm, his touch unhurried yet deliberate, and for a moment, the world around us fades away.

Before it can go any further, he pulls back, his forehead briefly touching mine as his breath fans against my cheek. His voice is low, almost a whisper. “Drive home safe.”

I nod, too stunned to speak, and he steps away, the smirk creeping back onto his face. He swings back onto his bike, revving the engine before disappearing into the night, the roar of the motorcycle lingering in the air.

As I drive home, my heart still pounding, I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. The house may still be a chaotic mess of boxes, but it finally feels like everything is starting to fall into place.

EIGHTEEN

DAGGER

It’s mid-afternoon,and Perdition is quiet, just a few regulars scattered around. The low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses fill the air as I sit at the bar nursing a beer. The cool bottle sweats in my hand as I take a slow sip, letting the bitterness settle on my tongue.

The door swings open, boots thudding against the floor. I don’t need to look to know it’s Sledge. He’s got that heavy presence, like a storm rolling in. Sure enough, he stomps up to me, face set like he’s got something to prove.

“Prez wants us on a run,” he says, skipping the pleasantries.

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Afternoon to you too, sunshine.”

He’s not in the mood. “We’re heading north. Guns to pick up, Russians to deal with. Prez wants it done tonight.”

I take another swig of my beer, setting the bottle down slow. “Sounds like a blast. You’re real chipper about it.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” he snaps. “Last thing I wanna do is spend hours in a truck with you.”

I smirk. Sledge’s got a chip on his shoulder. I’m not his favorite person since I got back. Not to mention, Hawk’s his boy, and he’s rooting for him to end up with Chloe. Not that I care.

“Relax, Sledge,” I say, sliding off the barstool. “We’ll get it done. Try not to pout the whole way.”

He storms out and I laugh. I probably shouldn’t be busting the guys chops, but fucknit, I don’t care anymore. When I get out there Sledge is in the driver's seat. Cool, I’d rather ride.

The delivery truck rattles down the highway, the engine’s drone blending with the occasional squeak of the old suspension. I’m watching the scenery zip by with my boots propped up on the dash. Sledge has both hands on the wheel, his jaw tight like he’s holding back from saying something.

“So, what’s your angle?” he finally asks, breaking the silence.

I glance at him. “Angle?”

“Yeah, your deal. You’ve been back with the club for a while, but some of us are still wondering where you stand.” He cuts me a look. “And by some of us, I mean me.”

I lean back, crossing my arms. “You’re about as subtle as a brick, you know that?”

“I’m not here to sugarcoat shit, Dagger. I’m still pissed that you left the club hanging. The guys just welcomed you back, but I’m not that forgiving. Hawk’s my best friend, and you’re stirring things up with Chloe. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“What happens with Chloe is her call,” I say, my tone flat. “But if you’re questioning my loyalty to the Reapers, don’t. I’ve bled for this club. You want proof? Stick around. You’ll see.”

Sledge doesn’t answer right away. He’s chewing on my words, I can tell. Finally, he nods, barely noticeable. “Guess time’ll tell.”

The rest of the drive is quiet, the tension still there but dulled down. By the time we pull into the lot to pick up the guns,night’s fully settled in. The exchange goes smooth. We load up the crates, heavy with cold steel, and head back out.

It’s close to midnight when we roll up to the meeting spot. The Russians are already there, their black SUVs lined up under the weak glow of a flickering streetlight. Sergei, one of Dimitry’s top dogs, leans against the lead SUV, cigarette glowing in the dark. His face is all smug confidence, like he’s already got the upper hand.

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