Page 35 of Silent as Sin
For a second, the world went quiet.
The heat pressed down like a hand, the sound of traffic faded, even the chatter of people walking past dimmed to nothing but a dull hum in the distance. All I could hear was the rush of my own pulse.
Wren.
They knew. Someone had seen her. Someone knew she was at our clubhouse. And now they were coming for her.
My jaw locked, heat surging fast through my veins. I crushed the note into my fist, the paper crinkling, veins pulsing against my skin.
I forced my breathing slow, scanning the street.
Ordinary people passed by. Mothers pushing strollers. A man hauling groceries. Kids darting between parked cars, laughter high and careless.
Nothing out of place.
And yet everything was.
Because someone had been close enough to touch my bike. Close enough to leave me a message meant to cut straight to the bone. And I hadn’t seen a damn thing.
The rage coiled hot in my gut.
Warden came out a minute later, a stack of papers tucked under his arm. He paused mid-step when he saw my face, his eyes narrowing to hard slits.
“What is it?”
I didn’t answer. Just handed him the crumpled note.
His gaze flicked over it once. Then again, slower. His jaw went hard as granite, his hand tightening until the paper nearly tore in two. He looked up at me, his voice low, clipped. “This stays between us for now. No reason to stir the whole clubhouse until we know who the hell wrote it.”
I shoved the note into my cut, the weight of it burning against my chest like a brand.
Whoever left it had made one thing clear.
They wanted Wren gone.
Dead.
And they didn’t care if I burned with her.
I looked back at the bike, the street, the desert horizon beyond. My teeth ground together, the promise already carved deep into my bones.
Well, fuckers—here I am standing.
Come try me.
***
THE RIDE BACKto the clubhouse didn’t do a damn thing to cool me off. The note still burned in my cut like it was seared to my skin. Every mile I ate up, the fury pressed sharper.
Someone had to have been following me today in order to leave a message on my bike. And the only men who might’ve known about her were Fire Dragons.
I hadn’t said it out loud, not to Warden, not yet, but the suspicion chewed at me the whole ride home. Someone over there had loose lips or a grudge, and now Wren had a target on her back.
I pulled through the clubhouse gates, the roar of engines and easy laughter outside feeling like a lie. Nothing about this was safe anymore. Not with that note burning a hole in my pocket.
By the time I pushed through the clubhouse doors, my chest was tight enough to snap. The air inside hit me hard, beer, cigarette smoke, leather, fried food lingering from the kitchen. The place was alive with noise, music low from the speakers, pool balls cracking, laughter carrying from the couches.
And there she was.
