Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Lyric

It's been a hell of a few days, and I'm beat. Reaching into my pocket, I still have Winchester's truck keys. I walk back into the clubhouse and see him sitting at a table, eyes fixed on the meeting room's closed door.

"Hey." I jiggle the keys in his face. "Do you mind if I borrow your truck?"

His eyes flick to me, then back to the door. "I thought you were housebound?"

"I need to get some personal items from home. I'll be an hour tops."

Winchester squints at me. "Only an hour?"

"Yep."

"Okay."

"Thanks. If Highway is looking for me, I'll be at home."

"I'll let him know."

Outside, Justice is talking to another MC member and pauses to smile at me as I walk past. I keep going until I get to Winchester's truck, and as I open the door, Justice taps me on the shoulder.

"I guess I'm no longer taking you to the swamp?"

I climb into the truck. "No. I don't think Highway would approve."

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Highway, huh? Never would have pegged you as liking him."

Not knowing what to say, I start the truck's engine. "Thanks for looking after my arm."

"My pleasure, and if you get sick of Highway, I'll be around." He grins at me, shuts the truck's door, and walks away.

Gripping the truck's wheel, I pull out onto the highway. The road is clear, and the sun is shining brightly. I'm humming along to the radio when I see a woman walking alongside the road.

Missy.

There's no mistaking her defiant walk, the way her boots hit the pavement with purpose, even though she's got nowhere to call home. My gut twists. I shouldn't stop, the club has rules about trust and loyalty, but dammit, something pulls me over.

"Need a lift?" My voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

She hesitates, her eyes narrowing, searching for the catch. But desperation wins, and she climbs into the passenger seat, the door slamming shut with finality. "Thanks," she mutters, words barely more than a breath.

"How far are you headed?"

"Far enough." Her gaze stays glued to the window, watching the world blur by.

"Nice day, huh?" The words feel stupid as they tumble out, but I can't help it. I need to fill the space with something other than tension.

"Sure." She doesn't look at me or bite on the small-talk bait.

The silence stretches between us. I focus on the road, the lines flashing by one after another, marking distance and time. Before long, I break the silence again. "Something on your mind?" I venture again, pushing.

"Nothing worth talking about."

"Not even an apology for attacking me?"

Slowly, Missy turns her head to look at me. "You look fine." She takes a deep breath. "And I wouldn't have stabbed you."

"Still hurts like a bitch."

"Why'd you pick me up?"

"It's not safe for a woman to be walking along the highway alone."

Missy scowls at me. "So they didn't send you?"

"Why would they send me?"

Missy's silence gnaws at me, loud and sharp.

My ringtone slices through the cab. My heart jolts. The screen lights up—Highway. I snatch the phone from the cup holder.

"Talk to me," I answer, my thumb pressed hard against the wheel.

"Lyric—" His voice is that low rumble I know too well, but before he can lay another word on me she interrupts.

"Are you serious?" Missy's outburst shatters the quiet, her voice like shrapnel. "You and Highway? What does he even see in you?"

I blink, stunned, fumbling with the phone. It nearly slips from my grasp.

"Missy, what are you—"

"He's been single for years, and suddenly you swoop in, and poof, you're part of the family?" She spits the words, venom and envy tangling together. "How did you manage to get a club name before me? You don't belong here, Lyric."

"Hey!" I snap back, heat coursing through my veins, tension coiling tight in my chest. "That's enough!"

My grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, my breaths coming fast. "Highway, I'll call you back," I say into the phone and end the call without waiting for an answer.

Missy's chest heaves, her anger a live wire between us.

"Missy…" I start, voice steel-hard, "… we're gonna settle this. But not on the road."

My heart hammers in my chest, a drumbeat loud enough to drown out the engine's roar. Missy's fists are clenched like she's ready for a fight.

"Tell me one thing, Lyric," she says, voice low and dangerous. "Why do you and your sister get everything? What's so special about you two?"

"Missy, I—" Again, she cuts me off.

"Shut it! You think you're part of them now?" A bitter laugh escapes her. "You have no idea what goes on. No idea what I've done."

The road before us gives way to the chaos of downtown Jacksonville. My fists are clenched tightly on the wheel, every muscle tensed, waiting for whatever comes next.

"You want to know something, Lyric?" She leans closer, and I can feel the heat of her breath. "I was the one who tipped off the Crimson Wheelers. Told 'em where the Royal Bastards would be that day. Me."

Time stops. The words hang heavy between us, thick with treachery. It's like a bomb has been dropped in the cab. My foot slams onto the brakes, the tires screech against the asphalt, and the world turns into a chaotic blur.

"Missy!" My voice cracks like a whip. "How could you betray the club?"

Her face is a mask of defiance, eyes alight with some wild, desperate fire. But beneath it all, I see it—the flicker of fear. She knows she's crossed a line—one she can't uncross.

"Missy," I say again, ice lacing through my tone. The truck idles, a beast growling beneath us, mirroring the storm inside me. "Start talking."

Missy's eyes dart from me to the open road and back again. She reaches for the door handle, hesitation written all over her face for just a split second before she decides. The door swings open, and she bolts, her boots slapping against the pavement as she runs for the mouth of an alleyway.

"Dammit!" I hiss under my breath, but I don't follow. Instead, I watch her disappear into the belly of Jacksonville, swallowed up between the buildings.

I grab my phone. My thumb hovers over it before I punch in the number. It rings. Once. Twice.

"Highway," his voice rumbles through the speaker.

"Missy bolted," I spit out, my words clipped. "She confessed, she told the Crimson Wheelers where to find the MC leaders at the rally."

"Shit." The curse is a low growl on his end of the line. There's a pause, a breath, then, "We know. Are you safe?"

"Yeah," I say, but there's no relief, only the acid burn of betrayal in my veins.

"Lyric, listen…" Highway's voice cuts through the static of my thoughts. "Head home. Lock up and wait for me."

"Highway—" I begin, but he interrupts.

"Can't talk now. I'll explain everything soon." The line clicks dead before I can protest. His words hang in the air, a command that leaves no room for argument.

I throw the phone onto the car seat with more force than necessary, my pulse thrumming with adrenaline. My grip tightens on the steering wheel, my fingers straining as I steer Winchester's truck through the maze of streets.

My mind races with what Missy said, the betrayal stinging like a fresh wound.

"Damn you, Missy," I mutter under my breath as I make the last turn onto my street.

The house looms ahead. I kill the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. I'm out of the truck and at the front door in seconds, my movements swift and sure. The key turns in the lock with a click that echoes too loudly in the stillness. On the coat rack is my sister's jacket.

"Lucy?" I call out as I step inside.

"In here," comes the reply from the living room.

I find her curled up on the couch, a book forgotten in her lap, as she looks up at me with wide, worried eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie smoothly, forcing a smile. "Just one of those days."

She doesn't look convinced, but she nods, accepting the answer for now. "Be careful, Lyric," she says softly, her gaze piercing.

"Always am," I reply with a wink, though the flutter in my chest belies my casual tone.

"Highway called," she adds, and there's a question in her voice that I'm not ready to answer.

"Everything's fine. He'll fill us in soon."

"Okay," she says, but the concern lingers.

I leave her there with her book and unspoken fears and head to my room. The promise of Highway's explanations does little to ease the tension coiled tight in my muscles, but for now, there's nothing to do but wait.

***

A knock sounds on my front door. When I open it, Highway stands there. I can tell by the set of his jaw that what he's got to say isn't going to be pretty. He walks past me and into the living room where Lucy is waiting.

"Lyric, Lucy, sit down." His voice is gravelly, urgent.

We drop onto the couch, and tension knots in my stomach. Lucy fidgets beside me, her leg bouncing like a piston.

Highway doesn't waste time and gets straight to the punch. "It was Missy who betrayed us," he says, looking at Lucy.

"Missy?" Lucy spits out, disbelief sharpening her tone. "She what? How?"

"She gave the Crimson Wheelers everything."

Lucy's face twists red, her fury almost palpable. We've been double-crossed by one of our own.

"What are we going to do with her?" Lucy growls, her voice strained with wrath.

Highway's lips press into a thin line. He looks at us, his silence heavy as a hammer.

"Lucy, Lyric…" he pauses, choosing his words. "We deal with traitors in one way. But right now, we gotta think ahead."

Highway sits then leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "She's out," he says, voice razor-sharp. "Banished. But we can't just let her slink away."

"Can't we?" I ask, heat flaring in my chest.

"No." He shakes his head, a predator ready to pounce. "We need her one last time. To feed the Crimson Wheelers bad intel."

"Bad intel?" Lucy echoes, her brow furrowed.

"About a shipment," Highway continues. "Drugs that ain't coming. See if she bites and passes it to them."

I chew on the inside of my cheek, considering. Could work. Might backfire. "Does Missy have anyone in Jacksonville? Family or friends?"

Highway blinks, confusion clouding his face for a second. "Jacksonville?" He shrugs, a mountain shifting. "No clue."

"Great," I mutter. No ties means no leverage. But also, no place for her to run.

"Any other bright ideas?" Lucy asks.

Highway shrugs, and I pace the room, the weight of betrayal sitting like a lead vest on my shoulders. Missy, for all her faults, was one of us. And now? She's a ghost, haunting the edges of our lives with her treachery.

"Dammit," I hiss under my breath, anger and something else—a twisted kind of pity—warring inside me. Years she rode with them, her laughter as loud as any.

Who really knew her?

Not a soul.

"Hey." I lock eyes with Lucy. "What if we find her? Get her to swallow the bait."

Lucy's lips press into a thin line, her nod slow but sure. "I'm in. Got a hunch where she might drown her sorrows."

"Good." My jaw sets. "We do this together."

"I don't like the idea of you in danger, and Reaper wouldn't like it either," Highway says.

Lucy nods and looks him in the eyes. "I know, but she's never going to believe you or one of the boys, but with us, she might think we're dumb enough to let something slip."

He sighs. "You're right, but I don't have to like it. If you're going to do this, it needs to be somewhere public. I don't want either of you hurt."

"Trust me when I tell you I'm not going to take any chances with my little sister."

I smile at her and Highway. After years of being separated, Lucy and I are back to being the close sisters we once were, and now, with the MC, I think I've found the true meaning of family.

Highway nods. "Stick together," he growls out.

"Got it," I reply, feeling the weight of his reluctance like a second skin.

"Let's roll," Lucy says, her voice all business as she stands.

***

The drive to the first bar takes us to the beach. It's one of those touristy places with lots of people and overpriced drinks.

"Do you really think she'll be in here?"

Lucy shrugs. "She used to come here, and the tourists would buy her drinks. Missy is always looking for what she can get for free or for a quick fuck." Lucy's lips turn down. "Can you imagine fucking someone for a drink?"

We hit the pavement, our boots clicking in unison. The sun dips low, bleeding orange across a bruising sky. Entering the bar, Lucy does a quick scout around and comes back to me.

"She's not here. Let's try the next place."

Bar after bar, we search—eyes sharp, backs straight. Each place is another dead end, another shot of something strong to keep the edge honed.

"Nothing," Lucy mutters, her frustration a live wire.

"Next," I say, the word tasting of dust and determination.

The world dims, streetlights flickering to life as we push on. Finally, we spot her. She's sitting in the back of the bar, alone, with a beer in front of her.

"Found her," I whisper, victory and venom swirling in my chest.

"Time to work," Lucy replies, her eyes narrowing to slits.

Missy doesn't look up or move. She just sits there, a statue carved from regret and cheap whiskey. Missy's gaze doesn't shift or waver—just meets ours and stays, heavy with something that looks a lot like surrender. No fight left in her, no fire. Just defeat, hanging on her like a shroud.

"Missy," Lucy's voice slices through the smoky air, sharp as a blade. "How could you do it? Betray the MC?"

The words hang there between us, thick with accusation. I can almost see them, black against the haze, waiting for an answer. We both pull out chairs and sit opposite her.

She shrugs—a small, tired lift of her shoulders—and there's this hollow look in her eyes as if she's been emptied from within. "Crimson Wheelers said they'd think about making me an Ol' Lady," she confesses, her voice flat like she's reading from a script written by someone else.

I can feel the lie she's telling herself, bitter on my tongue. She knows it's crap, and yet she clings to it so desperately.

"Thought I wanted… someone, something, just for me… my own slice of life." Her voice trembles.

Lucy scoffs, disbelief and anger laced tight in her tone. "And for that, you sold us out?"

Missy doesn't answer or need to. It's all there, written in the slump of her body and the way her hands fidget with the frayed edge of a coaster—a story of longing gone wrong, twisted into betrayal.

I watch her. A part of me understands that raw need to be seen and belong. But understanding doesn't mean forgiving. Not in this world. Not for this.

"You here to give me a beating?"

Lucy shakes her head. "No, not that you don't deserve one." Lucy's top lip curls up in disgust. "You were one of us, and as much as I want to blame you, I was worried and wanted to check on you."

Missy's head snaps up, and she stares Lucy in the eyes. "For real?"

"Yeah." Lucy glances at me then back to Missy. "Also Creed wanted me to give you a message. You're dead to us. Banished. There's no coming back."

Shaking my head at Missy, I tug on Lucy's hand. "We've gotta go. You've checked on her, but we can't be late."

"Go? Now?" Lucy's voice cuts through the tension, sharp and confused. "Why the hell—"

I shoot her a look, eyes wide, trying to channel every ounce of urgency into my gaze. "The thing, Lucy. We've got that thing."

Her brows knit together, a frown etching across her face. "What thing?"

I huff out an impatient breath, feigning annoyance. "The truck stop… the delivery?" My voice rises, a question hanging in the air between us, waiting for her to grab it.

Recognition flashes over her features, a dawning comprehension. She straightens up and nods slightly. "Right. The truck stop."

Our acting skills won't win us any Oscars, but here's hoping Missy doesn't catch on.

"Could you tell Creed I'm sorry?"

Lucy nods. "I will, but it won't do you any good. See you in the next life."

Missy's face creases, her bottom lip trembling. "I just wanted to be an Ol' Lady."

"And now you never will be. Unless you somehow win over the Crimson Wheelers, but I doubt they'd want you." I gesture to Lucy for us to leave.

She stares at Missy for a moment longer. We push back our chairs, the legs scraping against the grimy floor, and stride toward the exit. My heart is hammering, adrenaline pumping through my veins like fire.

Outside, I cast one last glance back.

There she is, Missy, her cell phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline as she punches in numbers with a shaky finger. A thread of hope unfurls within me, a silent prayer that she's doing exactly what we need her to do.

"Think she bought it?" Lucy's voice is low, a whisper meant only for my ears.

"God, I hope so," I mutter, watching Missy bring the phone to her ear. Her lips move, words spilling out into the void, hopefully sealing the fate we've crafted for the Crimson Wheelers.

"Let's bounce before we draw attention." Lucy grabs my arm, tugging me away from the scene, our boots pounding against the asphalt as we escape.

We slide into Winchester's truck, the interior smelling of leather and motor oil, and I slam the door shut hard enough to echo in the quiet street. I snatch up my phone, punch in Highway's number, each tone a drumbeat in the tense silence between Lucy and me.

"Talk to me," Highway growls on the other end, his voice gravelly mixed with impatience.

"We dropped the bait," I say, clipped and quick. "Missy's making calls, but we can't be sure if she's swallowing it whole or just nibbling."

"We need this to work," Highway says. "What bar is she at?"

"The last one on Mary Street before you hit Riverside Avenue."

"Thanks for doing that. The club owes you."

"We did what we could." I glance at Lucy, her face set in grim determination. "And the club owes me nothing."

"Keep your eyes sharp," is all he says before the line goes dead.

I toss the phone on the dash, my gut knotted tight as barbed wire. We sit there for a moment, then Lucy nods toward the bar. I swing my gaze back to the grimy windowpanes just in time to see shadows moving inside.

"Shit," I breathe out.

Ghost and Dutch, like twin specters, slip through the bar's entrance, their presence screaming danger more than any siren ever could. The air in the cab turns cold, and I know Missy's world is about to come crashing down hard.

"Endgame," Lucy murmurs, and I can't help but agree.

No more secrets for Missy, none at all.