Page 27 of Midnight Rebel

Colt sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He’s used to being in charge around here. He sees anything I do at The Manor as treading on his toes.”

“Is he jealous that you’re taking over?” I probe gently.

“I’m not taking over,” Colt insists. “I’m doing what needs to be done while I’m here. Supporting Mom and you.”

Something in his tone makes me pause. “Your duty. Is that how you see it?”

Colt grunts, his hand back in his pocket, fingers balled into a fist. His forearm flexes, betraying the tension he’s trying to hide.

“What’s got under your skin?” I ask softly. “And don’t say it’s Frank.”

A small smile tugs at Colt’s lips. “You know me so well. And it’s only been a few days.”

“How is that different to you knowing how I take my coffee with?—”

“Cream, one sugar,” he finishes.

I can’t help but smile. “Or what I like to eat for breakfast.”

“Two eggs on toast, sunny side up,” he replies without missing a beat.

“All that aside, are you going to fill me in?” I press.

Colt explains about the tunnels, how a crew will be coming in the next few days to fix the damage. For now, they’ve installed some support structures to prevent further collapse, but the area is strictly off-limits.

“Of course,” I assure him. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

A genuine smile spreads across his face. “Good.”

Although his shoulders relax, his hand is still in his pocket, clenched into a fist. Something’s off.

“Colt,” I say softly, “what aren’t you telling me?”

He hesitates, slowly pulling his hand from his pocket. When he opens his fist, I see a crumpled bandana with the Midnight Riders’ logo.

“Found this in the tunnels,” he says grimly. “Along with this.” He produces a small club patch from his other pocket.

I watch as Colt’s fingers trace the outline of the patch, his brow furrowed in concentration.

I take the items, examining them closely. “You think someone’s framing the Riders?”

“Someone wants us to think that.” Colt nods, jaw clenched.

I take the bandana, examining it closely. It’s too clean to have been there during the collapse. “But who? And why?”

“That’s what I need to figure out,” Colt says, running a hand over his face. “If word gets out about this, it could spark a war between the town and the Riders.”

My mind races, connecting the dots between this new information and the financial discrepancies I discovered earlier. What is the link?

The sound of voices from the hallway jolts us. Colt quickly pockets the items, his eyes meeting mine in a silent agreement to keep this conversation between us.

The gravity of the situation settles over us like a heavy blanket. I bite my lip, studying Colt’s face. His jaw is clenched, eyes stormy with worry. It’s clear he’s sharing something big with me, something he hasn’t told anyone else.

“Colt,” I say softly, placing my hand on his arm, feeling the taut muscles beneath his sleeve. “Why are you telling me this?”

He looks at me, his gaze intense. “Because I trust you, Firefly. And because I need your help.”

I’m touched by his trust, but guilt gnaws at me. Here I am, investigating him and his family while he’s opening up to me about something this serious.

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