Page 20 of Crusher's Illusion

I sit on the coffee table in front of her, arms crossed, anger festering just beneath the surface. I’m watching her, trying to figure out if this is all some twisted game or just bad judgment.

“You didn’t listen.”

Nevaeh’s gaze flips to me. “I didn’t publish it.”

“Bullshit,” I spit out.

“I didn’t, Erik,” Nevaeh says, voice hoarse. “I pulled the article. I wasn’t going to go live. My editor pushed it without me. I tried to stop it.”

“Youtried?”I lean forward with my arms resting on my knees, making my muscles bulge. “But you didn’t stop it. And now the men I ride with, bleed with, are exposed. That center’s compromised. And you…”

“What? Deserved to get attacked?” She snaps. “I was nearly killed.”

I look away for a second too long. Because no, she didn’t deserve that. No one does. “And you think coming here makes you safe?” I almost release a low chuckle.

“I didn’t know where else to go!” Nevaeh’s voice cracks, hands trembling as she clutches the blanket like armor. “You think this was easy? You think I wanted to betray you?”

I say nothing.

Nevaeh’s eyes shine, but not with tears, but from fear, which almost makes me crack. She sets the untouched coffee down beside me. “You don’t have to trust me. But I didn’t do this for fame.”

I stare at her for a long time. Long enough for the rage to burn low and leave only the wreckage behind. “You broke something,” I finally say. “And it wasn’t just the story.”

As I stand, walking toward the hallway and away from the woman who might have just lit a fuse under everything we’ve built, I feel the weight of it settle in.

The war has begun, and she brought it to our door.

TEN

HOUSE OF KNIVES

NEVAEH

I don’t belong here.

I knew it the second the gates opened and that steel-beast clubhouse rose up behind the chain-link fence like a monster waiting to swallow me whole. There’s no sign, no nameplate, no welcome. Just cracked concrete, cameras, and men with deadly eyes who look through you like they're measuring your coffin.

To the outside world, this place is a forgotten machine shop, gray, boxy, and lifeless. But inside?

It’s loud with memory.

The door opens to heat and grit and noise. The main room is a mess of contradiction. Couches that look like they’ve been bled on and stitched back together. A Saints flag hangs above a huge flat screen, a game paused mid-fight with the controller on the floor, half-dead batteries rolling underneath.

The walls are cluttered with road maps curling at the corners, Sharpie scrawls over black-and-white photos of men who don’t smile. Some of them are dead. You can feel it. There’s a weight in the room. Every wall hums with unfinished business and notes of a big fuck you to the world.

A guy with massive arms, shaved head, and zero fucks walks by without looking at me. Another one, younger, eyes sharp, tilts his chin like he’s memorizing my face in case he needs to describe it later to the coroner.

I walk past the bar. A monster made of old wood and stories. The liquor shelf is stacked like an arsenal, and the wall behind it is a collage of filth and faith. Marker messages layered so deep they blur. Prayers, slurs, confessions. This is their church. Their absolution. Violence instead of God.

The kitchen, oddly enough, is spotless. The coffeemaker’s working overtime. The fridge has a lock on it, like someone’s hoarding treasure or secrets. Probably both.

I keep following Crusher, forcing myself not to flinch. We pass the reinforced door to the garage. It smells like oil, rust, and testosterone. Music thumps from inside. Angry, loud, metal on metal. Maybe welding. Maybe rage.

And below it all… the basement. The one I haven’t seen but feel under my feet. They say it’s where the ghosts are kept, and I believe them.

A hallway branches off with doors marked in Sharpie:Prospects. Patches. Guests.I guess I’m the last one.Guests.The word tastes like a lie. Crusher stops in front of the door, producing a key from his jeans pocket.

“This is where you’ll be staying. No one but you will have a key to get in. You’ll be safe here.” The gentleness of his voice on the word safe, sends a pang to my heart.