Page 57 of The Bastard's Lily
Ash’s voice comes through, low and even. “Need a word with you and Calla.”
Before I can move, Grimm leans against the wall with an easy grin. “Go on. I’ll hang with the kid—we’re buddies.”
Beau pops up on his elbows, eyes bright. “We’rebestfriends!”
Grimm chuckles and gives him a fist bump. “That’s right. Best friends.”
The simple exchange loosens something tight in my chest. Rook squeezes my hand once, then pulls the door open. Together westep into the hall, leaving Beau and his “best friend” behind as the muffled thrum of the clubhouse wraps around us.
Ash is already waiting in the hall, a quiet wall of leather and authority. He jerks his chin upward. “My office.”
Rook keeps my hand in his as we follow him through the clubhouse. The stairwell smells of old wood and motor oil, every step creaking under our boots. Voices and the clatter of tools fade with each flight until the noise of the main floor is a distant hum.
By the time we reach the third floor, the air feels different—cooler, sharper. Ash pushes open a heavy door and gestures us inside. His office stretches across the top of the building, with windows running the length of the far wall. From here, the whole clubhouse sprawls beneath us: bikes lined like soldiers in the lot, brothers moving in and out of the common room, the distant shimmer of the tree line beyond the compound fence.
Ash steps behind a scarred desk, the view of everything below framed behind him like a living map of the club’s world. “Shut the door,” he says, voice low but carrying.
Rook does, the soft click sounding louder than it should in the quiet, and we move closer, the weight of whatever comes next settling over the room like a storm about to break.
Ash leans against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “I need to hear everything you know about Calder.”
My stomach tightens. I take the chair he nods toward, the worn leather cool under my palms. Rook stays standing behind me, a steady presence at my back.
“I know him from the prison,” I begin, forcing my voice steady. “Big guy, shaved head, cobra ink on his neck. He runs with the Scorpions inside—moves contraband, trades favors, brags about connections. Visits a different member every week. Everyone in the yard knows he’s theirs.”
Ash doesn’t blink. “How often you see him?”
“Enough to know he’s dangerous. He’s slick, acts friendly with staff, but he’s always watching. He gets messages in and out—never caught, but we all know.”
I glance back at Rook, then to Ash again. “I never heard a word about him having ties to the Bastards. Not once. To me, he’s Scorpions through and through.”
Ash’s jaw flexes, the only sign he’s heard something he doesn’t like. “But Rook says he’s been hanging around our runs.”
“Yes,” I say quietly. “If he’s wearing your colors out here and theirs inside… he’s been playing you.”
Ash’s gaze drifts to the window overlooking the compound, mind already working angles. “Anything else we should know?”
I shake my head. “Just that he’s careful. And he enjoys being the smartest man in the room.”
The office goes silent, the low thrum of the clubhouse below a faint reminder of how much this one name can change. Ash finally nods once, slow and deliberate.
When I finish, Ash straightens, the steel in his voice sharper. “Good. Now…” His gaze swings to Rook. “What’s yourfuckingproblem with the new prospect?”
The room goes still.
Rook’s stance widens, arms crossing over his chest. “He’s had Calla’s name in his mouth three times. Little comments. Questions he’s got no reason to ask. Today he thought he’d be smart about it in front of the brothers.”
I blink, heartbeat quickening. “Wait—” I turn toward Rook. “The same prospect who kept staring at me when I patched up Boar last week?”
Rook’s head snaps toward me, the leather of his kutte creaking. “Hewhat?”
“I… I thought I imagined it,” I admit, heat rising in my cheeks. “He didn’t say anything, just kept watching while I worked.”
I tighten my grip on Rook’s fist, the skin beneath my fingers rough and split. “Hey,” I whisper, low but firm. “Look at me. I’m fine.”
His breathing slows a fraction, but the heat in his eyes doesn’t fade.
Ash studies us, arms still folded. “So nothing was actually solved in the pit?”
