Page 125 of Joker

“She doesn’t owe me every scar before she’s ready to hand it over,” I say.

That gets me another long pause.

Then, rougher now, “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said so far.”

I don’t answer. Because this isn’t about winning. It’s about planting something permanent.

Grinder’s quiet for another beat before he says, “You hurt her, and I’ll bury you myself.”

That almost gets a laugh out of me. Not because it’s funny. Because fair enough. “You won’t have to.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Behind me, Blaze makes a sound suspiciously like he’s choking on his own amusement again.

I don’t turn around. If I do, I’m liable to throw something.

Grinder’s voice comes back lower now. Tired, maybe. Worn around the edges in a way that has nothing to do with club business and everything to do with being a father who had to send his daughter away to keep her alive. “I don’t have to like it,” he says.

“No,” I agree. “You don’t.”

Another beat. Then finally, grudging and heavy and still clearly pissing him off every second it leaves his mouth. “No one lays a hand on her.”

“No one,” I say.

“No one gets near the kid.”

“They won’t.”

“If she says jump, you ask how high.”

That one almost makes Logan snort.

I ignore him. “Already there.”

A long exhale crackles through the speaker. Then Grinder says, “Have her call me.”

That hits me differently than I expect. Not because it’s surprising. Because it’s not. Because under all the territorial father bullshit and chapter politics and whatever complicated mess Cal turned their relationship into, that’s still what this comes back to.

He wants to hear his daughter’s voice. He wants to know she’s okay.

I glance out the window again.

Raven’s laughing at something Lexi just did, one hand pressed over her mouth while the kid spins in a circle like she’s performing for the whole damn property.

Soft. Alive. Safe. For now.

“I’ll tell her,” I say.

Grinder’s quiet for one last second before he mutters, “You better.”

Then the line goes dead. The second it disconnects, the room stays silent for about half a heartbeat.

Then Blaze loses it. Absolutely fucking loses it. He doubles over laughing so hard he has to brace a hand on the doorframe.

“Oh my God,” he wheezes. “That’s my old lady?”