Page 95 of Turmoil's Target

Damon leans against his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Dixon lounges in a nearby chair, his posture deceptively relaxed.

“What’s this about?” Damon demands, his gaze flicking between Abe and me.

I step forward, chin lifted, shoulders squared. “It’s about Sassy. I think she’s the rat who’s been feeding info to your enemies.”

Stunned silence descends, broken only by the soft creak of leather as Dixon shifts in his seat.

Damon’s eyes narrow, his expression hardening into a mask of barely contained fury.

“Explain,” he bites out, the single word laced with enough venom to fell an elephant.

I take a deep breath, marshaling my thoughts. “Think about it. She’s always been on the fringes, never fully engaged with the club. Always watching, always listening. And now she’s disappeared without a trace?”

I shake my head, a mirthless laugh escaping my lips. “It’s too convenient. She’s been playing us from the start, gathering intel to use against us.”

Dixon leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. “She’s got a point, Damon. Sassy’s always been a bit of a wild card. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was working with the enemy.”

Damon drags a hand down his face, his expression bleak. “Fuck. If you’re right, Sera, then we’re in even deeper shit than we thought.”

He pushes off the desk, pacing the confines of the office like a caged lion. “We need to find her. Find out what she knows, who she’s working with.”

Abe nods, his jaw clenched tight. “I’ll put the word out. She can’t have gotten far.”

As they spring into action, a fierce wave of protectiveness surges through me.

I’ll be damned if I let anyone, least of all a two-faced traitor like Sassy, destroy the club.

EPILOGUE

Turmoil

Seven Months Later…

The crisp autumn air nips at my cheeks as I step out of the clubhouse into the darkening evening.

Early November in Vegas—the days are getting shorter but the nights are just starting to come alive.

I breathe deep, savoring the smell of woodsmoke drifting from the bonfire pit.

Seven months since the chaos of that wild summer.

But also seven months with her by my side.

As if on cue, I catch sight of Seraphina walking across the parking lot, her dark hair tossed by the breeze, alight with glimmers of sunset orange.

My heart kicks into a gallop.

Damn, will the sight of her ever not make my pulse race?

I hope not.

I stride over to meet her halfway.

When I reach her, I pull her into my arms and kiss her hard, letting the press of her soft curves against me say all the things I’m still learning how to put into words.

“Mmm, hello to you too,” she murmurs against my lips before pulling back to look up at me. “How was your day?”

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