Page 52 of Steel's Secret
I look down. He’s right, drips of thawing blood dot the floor like breadcrumbs leading back to the alley.
“I’ll clean it.”
City shakes his head. “That’s not the point.”
Rampage whistles low. “Whoever you hit… damn, Prez. Looks like you went full Tama.”
I stiffen, and Rampage immediately regrets the joke. Tama-level violence isn’t funny. It’s a warning sign. A red flag.
City steps closer, voice low enough only I hear. “You need to get yourself under control before the Club starts asking real questions.”
I laugh a short, cold, humorless laugh once. “They’re already asking.”
“And they’ll keep asking,” City says. “Because you’re not acting like yourself.”
He’s wrong. I’ve never acted more like myself. I’m my father’s son. His legacy. His violence. And Aria is the only thing that makes me want to be anything else.
I shoulder past them and head for the hallway, needing space, needing silence, needing anything but eyes on me.
But Rock intercepts again, stepping out of the kitchen doorway. “Prez.” One word. Heavy enough to anchor a goddamn ship. “Church,” Rock says. “Now.”
Of course. Of fucking course.
I follow him to the meeting room, City and Rampage trailing behind, Draft already slipping in through the side door with his tablet, Nova and Caine arriving from the back hall.
The table is full in under a minute.
Tama’s chair at the head is mine now. It’s always felt too big. Tonight, it feels like a throne I never earned, but I sit. The leather creaks under the weight of everything I’m not saying.
Rock closes the door, turns back, and the room goes silent. “Someone trashed the lawyer’s office,” Rock says flatly.
My jaw ticks. Aria isn’t “the lawyer” to me. But no one here needs to hear her name on my goddamn lips.
Draft pulls up photos. The room inhales sharply.
“Looks personal,” Nova mutters.
“It was,” I say.
All heads snap my direction. City’s eyes narrow. Rampage’s brows lift. Caine leans forward. Draft almost drops his tablet.
Rock’s voice is low. “Explain.”
My molars grind. The lie forms quickly. Efficient. Instinct. “They were looking for information on Saint Motors,” I say. “Trying to fuck with our finances. She just happened to be the one holding the paperwork.”
It’s not a bad lie. It’s believable enough. Has just enough truth to hide the rest, but the guilt hits my stomach like a brick. I’m lying to the Club. To my brothers. For her, again.
City taps his knuckles on the table. “You sure she wasn’t targeted?”
I stare him down without blinking. “She wasn’t.”
Rock watches me too long. “Alright,” he finally says. “Then we deal with the Syndicate.”
A plan forms around me. Voices rise. Arguments ignite. Strategies collide. But none of it lands. Because all I can think about, all Ifeel, is Aria’s hand on my jaw, her whisper againstmy skin, and the panic in her voice when she said,Someone was here.
Her fear is louder than the whole goddamn room.
My phone vibrates. I look down to see Aria’s name flash on the screen. I shove it deeper into my pocket. City’s eyes flick to it, and he frowns, but says nothing. Not yet.
