Page 22 of Sins of the Hidden

"Knight told me." Her fingers drummed against the glass. "Said you girls might need backup tonight."

Libby's scowl deepened, her silver wedding band catching the light as she twisted it—a habit that spoke of ghosts she couldn't quite lay to rest. "You shouldn't even be here. You're not involved with or related to a brother."

"Knight's far enough up my ass to see out of my mouth." Faith didn't flinch. "So much so that even their fuckin' enemies have shown up threatening me at my salon. I'd say I have every right to be included, whether I like it or not, sweet cheeks."

The tension crackled between them like a live wire seeking ground. I pressed myself deeper into the couch cushions. My fingers twisted the fabric anxiously in my grasp.

Even here, with women carrying the same damage, I couldn't stop thinking about him. V slipped into my mind like he always did—quiet, wrong, constant. Even when he wasn't here, he was.

"How're you doing?" Libby angled closer to Nyla, tension easing from her shoulders, the usual razor edges dulled by something that might have been recognition. The leather couch creaked beneath her as she shifted closer, and Nyla's fingers tightened around her necklace—the silver band hanging from a delicate chain, the only thing Darrell had given her before he'd put her up for adoption.

"I don't understand why he left me again." Each word seemed to tear from Nyla's throat like something living, something bleeding. She twisted the metallic strand tighter, knuckles white—links straining like her father's promises. "He promised. He promised he wouldn't..."

She glanced at me, "Was I not enough?"

The words lingered heavily in the air. Victoria moved across our circle, her usual facade cracking with each step. Her bare feet made no sound against the plush carpet as she knelt before Nyla, close enough to catch her if she fell but not quite touching. The distance between them felt like watching someone approacha wounded animal—careful, so careful, because sometimes comfort hurt more than the original wound.

"Sweet girl, look at me."

But Nyla's gaze remained fixed on the family photos lining Victoria's walls—moments trapped in a time when she'd still been someone's daughter, when trust hadn't been a weapon used to gut her from the inside out. Her stare caught the lamplight but offered nothing back. She twisted the chain in her grip, red marks already blooming where metal met the delicate skin of her neck.

"Your father..." Something in that pause made Nyla's head snap up. Her chest hitched with a breath that sounded like breaking glass. "He's been running from something long before any of us knew him. Sometimes people run for so long, they forget how to stay."

Nyla's breath hitched, eyes glassy. "Did he ever love me?" Victoria's lips parted, but no words came—truth choking the silence. Her face drained of color so quickly I could almost hear her pulse stutter, could see the moment her body betrayed what her mind couldn't contain. "I just found him."

The delicate necklace snapped.

Metal scattered across the hardwood, tears halted mid-descent, each tiny link rolling away. Nyla stared at the broken chain in her palm, and something in her expression made my chest cave in. It was the look of someone watching the last light drain from a wound that wouldn't close. "You shredded his cut? Why?"

Victoria didn't look away as she explained softly, "So you wouldn't have to watch your husband do it."

"Mitchell wouldn't–"

"He had to if he wanted to be seen as a leader." She reached out, softly rubbing her hand over Nyla's hair. "You girls don't understand what the club life hides from you."

"I can't—" The words choked off as she pressed her free hand to her mouth. Her throat worked visibly against rising bile, against screams that would rupture windows if she let them loose. "I can't breathe?—"

She bolted for the bathroom, bare feet silent against the plush carpet until they hit the tile with a sound like bones snapping. The door slammed hard enough to rattle photos in their frames. The first retch echoed through thin walls, followed by a sob that sounded like it was being torn from somewhere vital.

Joslyn half-rose, mother-hen instincts taking over, but Victoria's hand on her arm stopped her. "Give her a minute." The words carried weight earned from countless nights holding back hair, wiping mascara tracks, piecing someone back together after they'd shattered. Through the bathroom door, water ran. More retching. The hollow thud of knees hitting tile. Each heave punctuated by sobs from somewhere deeper than organs—where daughters store faith in fathers who vanish.

One silver link rolled to a stop against Victoria's bare foot, and I watched something shift, violet eyes full of guilt.

"I need to—" She blinked fast, like she could push the words back down. Rain lashed against the windows, each drop an accusation against the glass. "There's something you all need to know."

Another sob tore through the walls, the sound of Nyla's heart shattering into pieces too small to ever find again. Victoria flinched like each cry was a physical blow, her fingers curling into fists against her thighs until her knuckles went white.

"Shouldn't we—" Joslyn gestured toward the bathroom, where the weight of what she carried made the air harder to breathe.

"Go." Victoria's command came out rough, like the word had scraped her throat raw on its way up. "She shouldn't be alone."

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Joslyn, leaving us suspended in that terrible pause that felt like the moment before a killing shot. Victoria stared down the silver links like they owed her the truth, each piece reflecting lamplight. When she finally spoke, the words fell heavy with confessions long overdue.

"Darrell and I were hooking up."

The confession dropped like a stone into still water. Thunder cracked outside, as if the sky itself was responding to her words. Her words hit me slowly, meaning dripping in like poison, connecting dots that had been there all along: the way she'd avoid saying his name, how her hands would tremble when someone mentioned the leather that once marked him, the careful distance she'd maintained that now looked less like indifference and more like someone trying not to bleed in public.

Faith's blue eyes opened wide with shock. "Since when?"

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