Page 107 of Bad Luck, Hard Love
She raises the knife. drawing the blade against his throat in one easy stroke. The blade bites deep, and Terrance's eyes go wide with shock. Blood pours from the wound, dark and thick. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, but no sound emerges—just a wet, rattling wheeze.
Charlotte steps back, the knife falling from her fingers to clatter against the concrete. Terrance's body convulses once, twice, then goes still. His head lolls forward, and the only sound is the steady drip of blood hitting the floor.
I move to her side, wrapping my arms around her. She doesn't resist, doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into me, her body finally allowing itself to shake with the magnitude of what she's just done.
“It's over,” I murmur against her hair. “He can't hurt you anymore.”
She nods against my chest, her breathing gradually slowing. Around us, the men begin to move—Karma and Priest stepping forward to check the body, Hero already making calls about cleanup. This is business now, the messy aftermath of justice served.
“How do you feel?” I ask Charlotte, pulling back to look at her face.
She considers the question. “Empty,” she says finally. “But not in a bad way. Like a house that's been cleared of all the rot. Ready to rebuild.”
I press my lips to her forehead, tasting salt and iron. “Then we rebuild.”
THOR
The last timeI walked through these doors over a week ago, I was a dead man. Now, I'm drinking to the memory of the bastards who tried to kill me.
Poetic fucking justice.
Bass thumps through the Vegas chapter's clubhouse, vibrating under my boots as I lean against the bar, nursing my third whiskey of the night. The place is packed—brothers from my chapter mingling with the Black Hoods, everyone riding the high that comes after surviving a war. Cigarette smoke hangsthick in the air, curling around the neon beer signs and casting everything in a hazy glow.
“To family,” Raze bellows, raising his glass high. The room erupts in a chorus of agreement, fists clenched as everyone drinks.
“Drink?” Charlotte appears at my side, sliding a whiskey into my hand. Her fingers brush mine, warm and alive. The bruises on her face have faded to yellowish shadows, but I still catch her wincing when she thinks I'm not looking.
“Thanks.” I knock it back in one swallow, welcoming the familiar burn. “You good?”
“Better than I expected. Turns out watching your abusive ex bleed out is better than therapy.”
I can't help the laugh that rumbles from my chest. “Don't let Presley hear you say that. She'll have you on her couch before you can blink.”
“Pretty sure V's wife has enough clients without adding the girlfriend of a road captain to her list.” Charlotte's smile is small but genuine.
I scan the room for V, spotting him in the corner booth, arm still in a sling as he leans in close to his wife. Despite everything, he looks happy—alive and whole with his family. It's more than we could have hoped for after finding him half-dead in that warehouse.
“Speaking of therapy,” I nod toward Ratchet, who's currently showing off his neck scar to an impressed crowd of Black Hoods prospects. “Think he'll ever shut up about his battle wound?”
“Not a chance. I overheard him telling some girl it was from a knife fight with three rival club members.” Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Did that really happen?”
“No, but let him have his moment,” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist. She tenses for a fraction of a second before relaxing against me.
I notice Raze disengaging from a group of patched members, his expression shifting from celebratory to something more serious. His eyes find mine across the room, and he gives me a subtle nod toward the hallway leading to the chapel. This isn't a social invitation—it's business.
“You okay for a minute?” I ask Charlotte.
She follows my line of sight to Raze's retreating back. “Club business?”
“Probably. Won't be long.”
“I'll be fine.”
I scan the room, spotting Ratchet by the pool table. “Hey, Ratchet!” I call out, waving him over. “Keep the lady company. And try not to bore her with that bullshit knife fight story.”
Ratchet flips me off but makes his way toward us, drink in hand. “My pleasure. Besides, I haven't told her about the time I took out a helicopter with nothing but a handgun and my winning smile.”
Charlotte laughs, the sound warming something cold inside me. “Go,” she says, pushing gently at my chest. “I'll be fine with Rambo here.”
