Page 105 of Devil in Disguise

I stood rooted, paralyzed. Her face, a cruel mockery of the woman whose memory haunted my dreams—the same delicate curve of the jaw, the same lush spill of dark hair, but those eyes... those icy, contact-lens green eyes—mocked me with their artificiality. The taste of ash filled my mouth, the ghost of her genuine smile, a phantom limb.

Silence choked me. One word and the dam would break, unleashing a torrent of grief and guilt that would drown us both.

She stopped me with a touch that burned like a brand—her delicate hand on my sternum, a physical manifestation of her hold on my soul. Looking down into those fraudulent depths, I saw not just ice, but a flicker of something else... fear? Regret?

Her whisper, a venomous caress, slithered into my ear. “Be safe.”

My lips brushed her forehead. A fleeting contact, a desperate plea for absolution I knew wouldn’t be granted. The kiss tasted of dust and despair. Then, I turned, leaving behind not just her, but a shattered piece of my heart, as I walked into the storm.

Chapter Forty-Two

Danny

The behemoth SUV, a black monolith, swallowed Dante whole, before it peeled away from the compound. The air itself seemed to crackle as King roared, his voice a raw, guttural command that ripped through the stillness.

“Lockdown the clubhouse. Now!” The word lockdown echoed, bouncing off the stucco walls like a hammer blow to my heart. Brothers scattered, shadows thrown into the stark darkness of chaos, each man a knot of coiled tension. King gripped Jingles’ arm in a vise, his knuckles bone-white against the younger man’s skin. I saw it in King’s eyes—the raw, primal terror, the agonizing awareness of his own failure, a gaping wound bleeding into his soul.

It mirrored my own. My lungs seized.

The image of my daughter’s face, her trusting smile, threatened to consume me. I couldn’t breathe, wouldn’t allow myself the luxury of air until Dante was safe.

Jingles, a man etched with a thousand untold stories, a lifetime of violence mirrored in the cold steel glint of his eyes, met King’s gaze. His voice, low and gravelly, cut through the suffocating noise. “Got it, brother. I won’t come back without her,” he rasped, the words a promise stained with the blood of a thousand battles fought and won. The click of his gun’s hammer, sharp and brutal, was a punctuation mark to the vow.

Then he was gone, a phantom vanishing into the encroaching night.

I did this. I brought this hell to the Silver Shadows because I didn’t give Sinclair what he wanted most. The whereabouts of Thena Hartley. The weight of my failure pressed down on me, a physical ache in my chest. It wasn’t just the terrified screams of innocents I failed; it was the betrayal, the gut-wrenching knowledge that I’d sacrificed everything—my principles, my honor, even my life with Dante—for a chance to end the war.

To kill Jane Craven.

Dante’s warning echoed in my mind, a cold, bitter truth I foolishly ignored. He’d seen it, the ruthlessness that simmered beneath Sinclair’s charming façade. He’d begged me not to trust him, to avoid the inevitable reckoning. And I, blinded by my desperate need to protect him, dismissed his concerns for my own selfish needs.

I convinced myself it was the only way.

But was it?

My whole life, my dad instilled family above all. That, with my family, my brothers, the Golden Skulls behind me, I could do anything, accomplish anything. And for a long time, I believed that, trusted in that creed. It was a shield, a comforting weight against the gnawing uncertainty of the unsavory world I lived in. But that shield crumbled the moment fear seized me, cold and clammy, a serpent coiling around my heart.

My fear wasn’t just for Dante; it was the terrifying, visceral fear of failure, of proving my father wrong, of shattering the image of strength I’d so meticulously crafted. That fear, that insidious doubt, whispered promises of a shortcut, a way to avoid the inevitable losses of a prolonged war that started long before I was even born. It poisoned my judgment, twisted my loyalty into a grotesque parody. Dante’s safety became my obsession, eclipsing everything else—my brothers’ trust, my father’s legacy, even Amber’s well-being, though I told myself I was protecting her too. The deal I made with Sinclair felt like I swallowed poison, each drop a betrayal of everything I’d ever stood for. It was a choice born not of strength, but weakness; a desperate gamble fueled by terror and self-preservation. I rationalized, telling myself it was a necessary evil, a calculated risk. But the hollow ache in my gut, the chilling echo of my father’s teachings in my ears, screamed the truth: I’d broken my code.

Now Dante was in Sinclair’s clutches, a tangible symbol of my failure. And worse, Amber was more vulnerable than ever because of my desperate, selfish act. The weight of my decision crushed me. The comforting belief in family, the bedrock of my existence, had become a source of agonizing self-reproach. I saw my father’s disappointed face in every reflection, a ghost of the man I disappointed, the son I failed to be. The victory I craved had become my poisoned chalice.

I traded honor for a fragile, hollow hope, and the price might cost me everything.

“Let’s go, Sypher,” Ghost ordered, as Missy rushed over with Danika in her arms. “Princess, take Dani upstairs and keep her close. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Come on, Missy.” Haizley and Ellie walked over as Ellie added, “We’ve got all the kids upstairs. Dani will be safer up there with them.”

“Who was that man?” Missy asked.

“Not now, Princess,” Ghost firmly said as brothers rushed the women and children out of earshot. “Just take Dani upstairs, please.”

For once, Missy didn’t argue as she nodded and left with my daughter and the others.

“Ghost?” I whispered as I clenched my fist tightly.

“I know, Sypher. I know.” The man sighed as we headed for church.

Walking into church, the brothers said nothing as they each took their seat. Nav was already on his laptop, typing fast, doing what he could to help, but I knew he was missing one key element. Something I didn’t tell him. Something Cesar Vitale gave Reaper before he pledged his allegiance to help Reaper end this war. The truth behind Crispin Sinclair. A truth that gnawed at me, a bitter secret I’d kept buried at Reaper’s request. My silence felt like a betrayal, not just to Nav, but to the very ideals I claimed to uphold.

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