Page 37 of In the Midst of Chaos

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, knowing that I was going to have to talk to Huxley sooner than later.

Nate’s eyebrow went up to his hairline.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You’re the last person who should judge,” I said because he fucked anything, and it always bit him back in the ass.

“I’m not fucking my brother’s bitch!”

“You don’t have a brother,” I deadpanned.

“I have a bunch,” he said, pointing to the club. That was Nate—loyal to a fault.

I straddled my Harley. Then I threw my head back, and I groaned because he was right. I was fucking up.

“I can’t fucking help it. She just gets me. She knows this life, what’s expected of me, and she’s proud of me.”

He nodded because he got it. His mother couldn’t hack this life, so she ran away from it instead of embracing it, and then she came back after life threw her some punches.

It was rare to find someone to be proud of you when they knew blood stained your hands. Not the case with Finley, and that was just one of the things that made it better.

Nate stayed quiet.

“Go to her,” he said. “If it comes down to it, I’ll cover for you.”

Fuck, I hadn’t expected that.

I knew he was loyal to me for the club, but what he was doing was being loyal to me and not because the Death Disciples were involved.

Because of that, I decided to bring him into what I had been investigating.

“I think we have a rat in our ranks,” I told him.

His face went from passive to stony in a second.

“Who?” he demanded to know.

“I don’t know, but I’m trying to find out.”

Then I gave him some of the evidence I had gathered.

By the time I made it to the manor, it was dark. Instead of going to my room, I left for Finley’s tower.

I was already thinking about all the ways I was going to make her come. The fact that I hadn’t fucked her yet showed a level of restraint I didn’t even know I possessed.

I needed her, but once I claimed her like that, there was no going back, and she would be mine forever.

As I passed my parents’ study, I heard them fighting.

“You can’t do that to me,” my mother yelled. “We agreed, never someone from our inner circle.”

I sighed.

“You might want to close the door the next time you two fight about your infidelities.”

My mother staggered back as if I had slapped her. She was a great mother and wanted us to think our parents were perfect. Perfection was nothing more than an illusion crafted by lies.

My father didn’t show a reaction—always the perfect poker face.

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