Page 18 of Joker

“When I get her there,” I say again, slower this time, “what exactly am I delivering into my chapter’s lap?”

The room goes quiet again.

Raven’s fingers tighten on her purse strap.

The little girl presses even closer into her.

Grinder’s expression turns to stone in a way that has nothing to do with chapter politics and everything to do with personal rage held together by sheer force of will.

And that’s when it clicks. This isn’t club business wearing a personal face. This is personal business being handledwith club resources because it got dangerous enough to stop pretending otherwise.

The threat is real. Not theoretical. Not messy divorce paperwork and a man refusing to let go.

Real.

I look at Raven again with that in mind, and suddenly every tight line in her body makes more sense than I’d like.

Grinder says, “You’re delivering my daughter and my granddaughter somewhere he won’t think to look first.”

Daughter. Granddaughter.

There it is.

The missing piece.

And suddenly the way he’s standing in this room, the way he’s keeping his voice even by force, the way the air feels just slightly too controlled around him all makes perfect sense.

This isn’t a president sending me off with a chapter obligation. This is a father trying not to rip the world open with his bare hands because it won’t fix the immediate problem.

I scrub a hand over my beard and blow out a breath. “Would’ve been real nice to know I was walking into family business.”

“You know now.”

“Yeah, and I’m thrilled.”

That gets me a flat look from Grinder and the faintest flicker of something almost embarrassed from Raven, like she’s sorry I got dragged into this.

I don’t know why that annoys me too. Probably because none of this is her fault and she still looks like she’s braced for blame. That’s usually a bad sign.

The little girl shifts behind Raven’s leg, and I finally drag my focus off the adults long enough to look at her properly.

“Kid got a name?” I ask.

Raven answers before Grinder can. “Lexi.”

Her voice catches me a little off guard. Soft, but not weak. Low enough to be careful, but with enough spine under it to tell me she didn’t always sound like somebody trying not to disturb the room.

“Lexi,” I repeat, mostly so the kid hears it in my voice.

She doesn’t answer. She just keeps staring at me around the stuffed bunny she’s now pulled up against her chest like a tiny shield.

I huff a quiet breath through my nose and push away from the doorframe.

The second I move toward them, Lexi’s grip on Raven’s leg tightens hard enough to bunch the denim under her little fist. Raven shifts too, not dramatically, but enough that I catch it. Protective. Instinctive.

Again, fair enough.

I stop a few feet away and crouch down instead of towering over the kid like some dumb bastard who doesn’t know how not to spook a child.