Page 112 of Dash

I’m reaching for my helmet when Nic strides over. He looks fucking wrecked, fury bleeding off him in waves.

He doesn’t speak right away, just clenches his jaw like he’s trying not to unleash hell. Then he says, “I’m done with this game. I’m not gonna stand by and wait for someone to die.”

“Good,” I snap, “because when I got shot at the second fucking time, my pregnant old lady was right fucking there. I’m not doing that again. I want to clean house, Nic, but not at the expense of my family. If this shit doesn’t stop, I’m out.”

I expect him to lay into me, call me disloyal, but he just nods slowly. “No one’s dying, but I’m done waiting for Crank to do his fuckin’ job. I’ve been looking into the camera footage from both attacks. I got plate numbers from the vehicles, but they were stolen.” His eyes lose focus for a moment, distant, like he’s trawling the vaults of his mind. “None of it adds up,” he says finally. “Where are the fuckin’ demands? Where’re the messages calling to hand over territory or they’ll burn it all down? The note said this was the start—the start of what? They’re chipping the edges, but they ain’t moved in yet.”

“Meaning what?”

“I don’t know.” He rubs his nape, the tension clear in the lines of his body. “Get home to your old lady and fuckin’ watch your back. Until we know what the hell is going on, we have to assume everyone in the club or connected to it is at risk.”

He pats my shoulder, squeezing as if he can infuse my body with strength I don’t feel.

With his words ringing in my ears, I’m fucking paranoid as I ride home. He’s right. This doesn’t feel like war. It feels like kids throwing eggs at the house. It feels purposeful but not aggressive.

It’s a statement, not a takeover.

Someone’s making sure we know they’re out there. A wolf in the dark, snapping its teeth in the shadows.

It’s a relief when I pull into my building, but I don’t breathe until I’m inside the apartment.

It’s fucking hard, but I let go of all the club shit at the door as I shrug out of my kutte, hanging it on the hooks in the hallways

I can hear the muted sounds of the TV, feel her presence in the walls, and it feels like I’m living two different lives right now—the one with Dayna, and the one with the club.

When I step into the living room, she’s passed out on the couch, surrounded by blankets, the hood of my hoodie pulled up. One of those fucking awful horror movies she loves is playing on the TV.

I just watch her, unable to move, unable to tear my gaze away.

Dayna and our kid, that’s what I’m fighting for. That’s why I’m still here.

But I meant what I said to Nic. I’ll bleed for the patch, but I won’t die for a club that can’t and won’t protect its own.

And I won’t let it touch her.

Never.

If I have to choose between the patch and the family I’m building, there’s no fucking contest.

THIRTY-TWO

DAYNA

Dash keepshis hand wrapped in mine as we walk along the street. I can feel the tension vibrating off him in waves. It’s how his eyes trace every single person who walks past us, as if he’s mentally interrogating their intentions.

He’s nervous. And now, I wish I hadn’t asked to leave the apartment.

I squeeze his hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles like I’m his human stress ball.

His vigilance has me on edge too, and it’s a relief when the store comes into view.

It’s a boutique Ivy mentioned, and I made the mistake of telling Dash I wanted to come. I should have kept my mouth shut.

I don’t want him to feel stressed or obligated, either.

He pulls the door open and steps through, keeping me behind him. It’s as if he’s expecting there to be an armed battalion on the other side, hidden between the baby grows and pushchairs.

His eyes are everywhere, the tension tight through his jaws and shoulders, and the weight of his silence is crushing.

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