Page 29 of Phoenix

And just like that, he was gone.

I stayed in Beck’s room for about an hour after he left.

At first, I told myself I was doing what he asked. That I was being smart. Safe.

But the silence was deafening, and my thoughts were louder than ever. I stared at the notebook on the desk across the room like it might leap up and scream the truth at me.

I knew where he was going.

I’d decoded the location myself. I knew the exact time. I didn’t even need GPS to find it with how good my memory was.

My fingers curled into fists as I stood, spine straightening. I was the one who’d brought this problem to Beck. I wasn’t going to wait in a locked room like some princess in a tower while the people who hurt Paul—and tried to take me—walked free.

I understood why Beck wanted to protect me. But this wasn’t about reckless defiance.

It was about closure.

So I grabbed Beck’s extra cut and put it on over the shirt I’d borrowed this morning, then slipped into the hallway and closed the door behind me without a sound. The clubhouse was quieter now—muted voices from another room, the low hum of a TV.

I padded down the back staircase and went through a side door to the parking lot where my car was parked. I thought I was home free until I pulled up to the gate, and a prospect was staffing it.

He looked like I’d tossed him a live grenade when he spotted me in the driver’s seat. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to—uh—let you…I mean, Phoenix?—”

I forced a soft smile. “I just forgot something I promised to grab for Beck earlier. Figured I’d run home really quick, so he’s not going to be twice as grumpy tomorrow. Nobody wants that. Right?”

The kid paled. “No. Definitely not.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before anyone even notices I’m gone.”

He hesitated for another second, then opened the gate with a heavy sigh.

I felt guilty for lying and hoped he didn’t get into trouble for letting me out of the compound, but it didn’t stop me from pulling onto the road with a single deep breath.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into a gravel lot behind a strip of abandoned businesses on the edge of town. The windows were dark, the signage faded. Nothing looked active. But cars were clustered around one building in particular. Two men loitered near the side entrance, smoking.

My hands clenched around the steering wheel as I stared out the windshield. This might not have been my smartest move, but I already made it.

When Beck found me, he was going to be furious.

But I’d rather face his anger than live with the regret of sitting this one out. And if this gamble paid off, maybe I’d deliver answers this time.

12

PHOENIX

The warehouse was a forgotten skeleton of rust and shadows. The parking lot held plenty of vehicles, but it somehow still felt empty. They’d done a good job of picking somewhere isolated.

I clocked the muscle at the door as I approached. His eyes snagged on the Iron Rogues patch on my cut, and his posture shifted nervously. Then his spine straightened, chin tilting up with false bravado. But his eyes gave away his uncertainty, as though he wasn’t sure if he should let me in or run for backup.

Smart bastard.

However, he didn’t say anything and just opened the gate to let me inside.

The wide-open space was made of stained concrete, exposed steel beams, and a few overhead fluorescents flickering like they were seconds from dying. The air reeked of sweat and stale cigars, the smoke swirling in the air and adding to the haze caused by the shitty lighting. There was also a thick undercurrent of desperation.

The poker tables were set up in the middle of the floor, ringed by metal chairs that were occupied by every kind of lowlife you could imagine—ex-cons, dirty businessmen, dealers with twitchy eyes and guns tucked under their jackets.

More muscle patrolled the room, armed and threatening, making it clear that anyone who caused trouble would be dealt with in a way that would most likely involve pain and screaming. When I walked in, each one who looked my way had a similar reaction to the guy at the door. They took in my cut with the kind of hesitation that said they weren’t sure if this was a warning shot from the club or I was just a biker who liked cards. Either way, they didn’t want to make the wrong call, so no one stopped me from taking an empty chair.

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