Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Turmoil

I slam my fist against the steering wheel as I peel away from Seraphina's.

Fuck. How did everything go so wrong, so fast?

My mind races as I speed down the curving desert road, replaying every moment with her, trying to figure out where I slipped up.

I was so careful.

We were so careful.

And yet somehow, she knows.

She figured out Jolt and I are part of the Reapers Rejects MC.

I yell, pounding the wheel again. "Goddammit!"

Pain lances through my knuckles but I barely feel it over the searing ache in my chest.

I can't believe I fucked this up so badly.

I'm disappointed in myself for not being more cautious, more discreet.

But even worse—I'm devastated that I'm losing Seraphina.

That phenomenal, gorgeous, brilliant woman is slipping through my fingers and it's all my own damn fault.

I grip the wheel tighter, jaw clenched as I take a sharp turn.

The worst part is knowing I'll never experience her quick wit and sultry smile again.

Never feel her velvet skin under my rough hands or taste her sweet lips.

She's cut me off, leaving my life as quickly as she entered it.

And it's going to be fucking agony.

I press harder on the gas, engine roaring, as if I can outrun the pain and regret churning inside me.

I royally screwed up the best thing that's happened to me in a long time.

And now I have to live with the soul-crushing consequences.

Alone.

Fuck!

The tires squeal as I whip into the parking spot outside the mine and Jolt's condo.

I sit there for a long moment, engine idling, trying to gather the fractured pieces of my composure.

Finally, I kill the ignition and drag myself out of the car.

My feet feel like lead weights as I trudge up the stairs and let myself into the unit.

Jolt's sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels on the flatscreen.

He takes one look at my face and sits up straight, brow furrowing. "Jesus, you look like your dog just died. The fuck happened?"

I sink onto the armchair and drop my head into my hands, digging my fingers into my hair.

The words feel like broken glass in my throat.

"Seraphina… she knows Jolt... she figured out we're Reapers Rejects."

Jolt sucks in a sharp breath. "Shit."

"Yeah. I know." The words come out muffled against my palms.

I hear him get up, start pacing.

The floorboards creak under his heavy footsteps. My mind is reeling, thoughts tangled and knotted.

I can still see the betrayal and hurt flashing across Seraphina's face.

The way she recoiled from me, like my touch suddenly burned.

Her accusing voice still rings in my ears.

Each word was a dagger in my heart.

The worst part is—she's right.

I did lie.

By omission maybe, but a lie all the same.

And now it's cost me everything.

Jolt's voice cuts through the agonizing memories.

"How'd she figure it out? I thought we covered our tracks."

I lift my head, meet his concerned gaze with tormented eyes.

"I don't know. We were so goddamn careful. I've been wracking my brain but I can't figure out where we slipped up."

He rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw, forehead pinched in thought.

"All right, let's think this through. Walk me through exactly what happened..."

I take a shuddering breath and start recounting the devastating confrontation with Seraphina.

Each word feels like a knife in my gut, but I force them out.

We need to get to the bottom of this.

Figure out how she uncovered my true identity.

My mind spins in endless circles as Jolt listens, his face growing more grim with each detail.

When I finish, he blows out a heavy breath. "Shit, brother. This is bad." He shakes his head. "Real fuckin' bad."

I clench my fists, fingernails biting into my palms.

The physical pain is a welcome distraction from the emotional agony shredding me to pieces.

What now?

Do we go back to the clubhouse and face the music?

Or stay here and try to figure out how the hell we salvage this clusterfuck?

As if reading my chaotic thoughts, Jolt stands abruptly. "We need to meet with Damon and Dixon. Figure out our next move before this shitstorm gets any worse."

I nod mechanically, but inside I'm reeling.

The thought of facing our Prez and VP, admitting my failure... it makes my stomach churn with dread and shame.

I should've known better than to let myself fall for Seraphina.

Should've kept my goddamn distance.

But I was weak, selfish.

I let myself get swept up in the intoxicating rush of her presence.

And now the club is paying the price for my reckless heart.

Jolt grabs his jacket off the back of the couch and shrugs it on. "C'mon. Sooner we deal with this, the better."

I force myself to stand on numb legs.

Each step feels like wading through wet concrete, heavy with the weight of my mistakes.

But Jolt's right.

We need to face this head-on.

I pull out my phone with leaden fingers and shoot off a quick text to Damon and Dixon:

We got made. Need to meet ASAP.

The words glare accusingly up at me from the screen, a stark admission of my failure.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then shove the phone back in my pocket like it's burned me.

Barely a minute passes before it vibrates with an incoming text.

I yank it out to see Dixon's reply:

Fuck. Get to Mariano's Tacos in Boulder City. Now.

"They want us at Mariano's," I relay to Jolt, my voice rough with tension. "Said to leave right now."

Jolt gives a curt nod, already heading for the door. "Let's roll."

We make our way downstairs in tense silence, the only sound the thud of our boots on the concrete steps.

The Vegas heat slaps me in the face as we exit the building, but it's nothing compared to the icy dread coiling in my gut.

I slide into the driver's seat of the Mustang, the leather molding around me like an old friend.

Jolt climbs in beside me, slamming the door.

Neither of this are happy about this shit.

As I peel out of the parking lot, gravel spraying in our wake, Jolt breaks the heavy silence. "What the fuck happened, man? How'd she make you?"

I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache.

"I don't have a goddamn clue," I grit out, frustration simmering under my skin. "Everything was going smooth, just like we planned. Then out of nowhere, she's in my face saying she knows."

Jolt curses under his breath, dragging a hand over his close-cropped hair. "You think she clocked your ink? Or caught you slipping with club business?"

"No way," I snap, anger flaring at the implication of carelessness. "I was careful. So fucking careful. Kept the tats covered, never mentioned the MC. I didn't slip up."

But even as the words leave my mouth, doubt slithers insidiously through my mind.

Did I fuck up somehow?

Did I leave a trail of breadcrumbs that Seraphina followed straight to the truth?

The thought makes me want to put my fist through the windshield.

I suck in a harsh breath through my nose, forcing my runaway thoughts back into some semblance of order.

"Fuckin' hell," Jolt breathes, his normally stoic face slack with disbelief.

The miles disappear beneath the Mustang's tires as I white-knuckle the wheel, engine growling like a caged beast.

The Mustang screeches into the parking lot of Mariano's, kicking up dust and gravel.

I barely wait for Jolt to climb out before stalking toward the entrance, a throbbing ache building behind my eyes.

Dixon and Damon are already waiting inside, faces grim as we take our seats at a corner booth.

The waitress bustles over with menus, but Damon waves her away with a tight shake of his head. "We're not staying long. Just need some privacy to talk."

He digs into his pocket and slips her two twenty dollar bills.

She shrugs and leaves us be, clearly sensing the tense undercurrent at the table.

As soon as she's out of earshot, Damon leans forward, tattooed forearms braced against the scuffed tabletop. "So. You wanna tell us what the fuck happened?"

I scrub a hand over my face, exhaustion and frustration warring for dominance. "Honestly Prez... I don't have a fuckin' clue. One minute everything was fine, the next she's coming back to the penthouse and has all this information."

My mind races, replaying every interaction, every conversation over the past few weeks.

Trying to pinpoint the exact moment I slipped up, revealed too much.

But I'm coming up empty.

I was so careful.

Always watching my words, keeping up the cover identity the club crafted.

Dixon clears his throat, shrewd gaze boring into me from across the table. "You give her anything? Any piece of info that she could've used to connect the dots?"

I start to shake my head, then freeze.

Realization crashes over me like a bucket of ice water as a couple offhand comments slot into place.

Details about my childhood.

Favorite foods and holiday traditions that would've meant nothing to anyone else.

But to someone with Seraphina's resources and connections?

It would be child's play to trace those crumbs back to my true identity.

To my family.

"Shit," I breathe, cold dread settling like a stone in my gut. "The last time we talked, I mentioned a couple things about growing up. Nothing major, but..."

I trail off, seeing the same grim understanding in the others' eyes.

Damon drags a hand through his hair, mouth pressing into a thin line. "So that's it then. All the work we put into this, the chance to finally get some solid intel on her operation. Down the fuckin' drain because you got sloppy."

His words hit like a punch to the jaw, but I can't even argue.

He's right. I failed the club.

I let my guard down and jeopardized the whole play we've been setting up for months. Disappointment crashes over me in a suffocating wave.

"I'm sorry," I rasp, forcing myself to meet Damon's steely gaze head on. "I know I fucked up. But my only intention was to make this successful."

"Save it," he cuts me off with a sharp shake of his head. "Doesn't matter now. What matters is figuring out our next move before this shit catches up to bite us in the ass."

Dixon's eyes narrow as he leans forward, elbows braced on the scarred tabletop. "There's another possibility we gotta consider. That the leak came from our end, not yours."

I frown, not tracking his meaning for a second.

Then it clicks.

Jolt demands, voicing the ugly suspicion. "You sayin' we might have a rat?"

"I'm saying we can't rule it out," Dixon replies evenly. "Information's been like a sieve lately. That deal with the Colombians last month. The shit with Hopper's kid. Too many things slipping through the cracks."

I don't even know half of what they're talking about, but it's not surprising since we haven't been at the club.

A grim silence descends as we all chew on that thought.

The idea that one of our brothers could be selling us out, stabbing the club in the back... it ties my stomach in knots.

But Dixon's right.

If there is a rat in our midst, we need to sniff the fucker out before they start fucking up more of our shit.

Damon blows out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "Okay, I'll put some quiet feelers out, see if anything turns up on that front. In the meantime, we proceed as planned. Turmoil, you're officially done with the bitch until we get this sorted. Keep your distance."

I clench my jaw but nod stiffly. In my eyes she isn't a bitch.

As much as it guts me to cut ties with Seraphina, especially after the unbelievable connection we shared, I know it's necessary.

For her safety as much as the club's.

When shit dies down though, I'm going to show her just how much she means to me.

I rub my temples, a dull throb building behind my eyes.

This whole situation is one giant clusterfuck, and I'm not sure how we're gonna untangle it.

But one thing's for damn sure—I'm not letting Seraphina get caught in the crossfire.

Whatever it takes, I'll find a way to shield her from the fallout.

Jolt drums his fingers on the table, mouth twisting wryly. "So just to recap—we've got a potential rat in the ranks, Turmoil has to kick the finest piece of ass in Vegas to the curb, and I'm naturally guessing that our financial situation isn't gettin' any better. That about sum it up?"

"Jesus," I groan, slumping back in his seat. "Please tell me there's some good news buried in this steaming pile of shit."

Dixon chuckles, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Well, Doc is gonna be a daddy."

Jolt and I both snap our heads toward him, jaws dropping in unison. "No shit." I sputter, trying to wrap my brain around the bombshell.

Doc, one of our gruff and grizzled prospects, will be changing diapers and singing lullabies soon enough.

Jolt voices the question on the tip of my tongue. "Who's the lucky lady?"

Dixon's grin widens. "Sassy."

A collective groan rises from the table as we all process the fact a clubwhore is going to be his baby mama.

Sassy, the club's resident drama queen.

The woman who's fucked half the charter and stirred up more shit than a backed-up toilet.

She's going to be Doc's baby mama.

That is hell in a handbag.

I shake my head in disbelief. "Man, I don't know whether to congratulate him or stage an intervention."

"Maybe both," Jolt snorts. "Can you imagine those two trying to co-parent? It'll be like a damn soap opera."

Damon holds up his hands in a calming gesture. "Hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Doc's a big boy, he can handle his business. And who knows, maybe this will be good for both of them. Give ‘em something to focus on besides stirring up trouble."

I want to believe him, but the skepticism must show on my face because Dixon claps me on the shoulder with a wry smile. "Hey, stranger things have happened. Look at us—a bunch of screwups and rejects, but we've made it work so far."

He's got a point.

The Reapers Rejects may be an unusual crew, but we're a brotherhood.

We've got each other's backs, come hell or high water.

And right now, that's about the only thing I can count on.

As the weight of the day's revelations settles over me, I lean back in my chair and let out a heavy sigh.

Between Seraphina, the rat in our midst, and now Doc's impending fatherhood, my head is spinning.

I know one thing for damn sure—I'm not facing any of it alone.

My brothers are right here beside me, ready to ride into whatever shitstorm comes our way.

And that's enough to keep me putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how rocky the road ahead might be.