Page 56 of Sins of the Hidden

"Hey, gorgeous," she grinned before her lips flattened at V." And you. What are you doing here?"

I'd never been to the clubhouse without Nyla or Joslyn before. Leather, whiskey, and cigarettes hung in the air despite Victoria's relentless cleaning. The wooden floorboards gleamed beneath my feet, freshly polished. Shafts of afternoon light filtered through meticulously cleaned windows, catching dust motes that Victoria would likely attack with a vengeance the moment they settled.

The black and white club colors dominated the walls—patches, flags, and photographs of brothers my father had probably defended in court countless times. A massive wooden table dominated one corner, its surface worn but spotless, the wood grain highlighted by years of careful maintenance.

My pulse quickened as I scanned the room, noting exits and shadowed corners—a habit I couldn't shake since that day nine months ago. The day I'd stood trembling as Mitchell and Darrell interrogated Nyla, Joslyn, and I about the Flock. Nine months wasn't nearly enough time to feel comfortable in this world my father had hidden from me for twenty years.

"C-Could I use your kitchen for my orders?" I glanced nervously at V, his figure casting a shadow across the floor, muscles coiled under his leather cut.

Victoria's copper eyebrows shot up. "What happened to yours?"

My eyes flickered involuntarily to V, then back to Victoria. A flush crept up my neck as I gestured vaguely with my hands, unable to find the right words.

The realization dawned on her face, lips forming a silent "oh" as she looked between us. V remained expressionless. She slapped her forehead, copper hair falling across her violet eyes. "I know damn well you didn't try to bake." She shook her head, her eyebrow piercing catching the light. "V, I cook all your meals to prevent you from burning down my clubhouse."

"He can make coffee and tea." I defended him before I could stop the words falling out of my mouth.

Heat rushed to my face as Victoria snickered. "Wonder where he learned how to do that, yeah?"

My skin prickled with awareness. I remembered him watching me make coffee, studying my movements with intense focus, learning how I liked it. How he now made it perfectly each morning, his chest sometimes brushing against my back as he reached around me, his breath warm through his mask against my neck as he handed me the cup in a gesture meant only for me.

"I-Isn't the clubhouse Mitchell's now?" I asked, changing the subject.

Victoria snorted. "He wishes." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I cook. I clean. I keep those assholes from crossing the street without looking both ways because the good Lord knows they would stop in front of a car to pick a fight. I keep this place running, sugar."

V's ringtone—The Vengeful Oneby Disturbed—cut sharply through the room. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he listened intently to the muffled voice on the other end, gaze sliding briefly to me before hanging up.

"Stay here." He started abruptly toward the back door.

"Where are you going?" My voice came out smaller than intended.

The bat tapped against the floor in a grim rhythm. "Club business."

Her pierced brow arched. "Put that bat in my face again and I'll shove it up your ass." She pushed it down, scowling. "I won't let anything happen to my girls. Go do your psycho shit."

He looked at me one last time before leaving, bat dragging against the floor. The scrape of wood on wood made me shiver. The sound faded as the door slammed behind him.

The cold rush of air filled the space where he'd stood. I leaned toward it, as if the weight of him might still be there.

"Miss him already?" Victoria nudged me with her elbow, skin warm against mine. "You two seem cozier. Anything new happen?"

"N-No!" I swallowed quickly, tongue darting across dry lips, remembering how his hands had explored my body these past few nights, how my bedsheets still carried his scent.

Victoria's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Sure, sugar. Whatever you say." She grabbed a beer from the fridge, mercifully changing the subject. "Law's going to lose his shit when he hears about your kitchen." With a gesture toward thebar area, she added, "This kitchen isn't equipped for baking—but there's a secret one I'll show you."

She motioned for me to follow. The hallway creaked beneath our feet, doors shut tight along either side as Victoria strode ahead, boots steady. Her confidence only made the shadows feel deeper.

"How are you doing?" Victoria asked as we walked.

Our steps echoed past yellowed photographs lining the walls—snapshots of brothers caught in ordinary moments. Tyrant mid-sprint, a furious Sarge chasing after him. Grim and Knight hunched over a motorcycle, grease staining their hands. Laughter caught mid-frame. Arguments frozen in time.

But something felt...off. Spaces where frames should have hung left faint rectangles of cleaner paint behind. Empty nails jutted out. One frame still clung to the wall by a corner, glass shattered into a web of cracks that split Darrell’s face into a dozen fractured pieces.

And V… wasn't in any of them.

"I-I'm f-fine," I lied, the stutter betraying me. Nothing was fine, but I didn't know how to explain the mess my life had become. "A-Are you okay?"

“Why wouldn't I be okay?" Her voice carried an edge that hadn't been there before, defensive and brittle. Her gaze drifted to a photograph on the wall—Darrell standing beside his bike, his features caught in that half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. The glass over his face was spiderwebbed with cracks, as though someone had slammed a fist against it but couldn't bring themselves to remove the image entirely. She traced the cracks, slow and distracted, a casual gesture that couldn't hide the tremor in her hand.

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