Page 46 of Ginger

I stood in the rain for a moment longer, feeling the weight of Rayburn's gun against my lower back. The confrontation had gone exactly as planned. I'd seen the fear in his eyes, the understanding that he had wandered into the territory of a predator far more dangerous than himself.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing a text from Diego:Clean exit. No stops. Heading straight back to his place.

I typed back a quick response:Good. Keep eyes on him for 72 hours. Make sure the message stuck.

Tucking the phone away, I walked toward my bike. It was time to head back to the clubhouse. I needed to let Ginger know she was safe, that Rayburn wouldn't be bothering her again. That I had handled it.

Chapter Sixteen

Ginger

The evening light filtered weakly through the blinds of our suite, casting long shadows. I shifted on the sofa, as I watched KiKi fidget with the hem of her shirt. The air between us felt thick, charged with something I couldn't quite name but recognized all the same—the particular tension that comes before a confession.

"So the other girls are still giving you shit?" I asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us. The suite wasn't much, but it was larger than the single room we’d had before, and it was a haven from the chaos of the main room downstairs.

KiKi nodded, her gaze fixed on the carpet. "Sasha's the worst. She’s pissed I’m not entertaining the men, but she still has to. No one has told her I’m pregnant. They know the rules, and would expect Vegas to throw me out."

I leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Maybe she’s just jealous?"

"Fuck no." KiKi snorted. "She seems to like being with the men. I think she just feels like I’m getting special treatment and wants to know why."

I watched how KiKi's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her drink—a bottle of water.

“You found a job or a place to live yet?” I asked.

She shook her head, looking defeated. I hated that for her. She’d been so strong and vibrant when I first arrived.

"You could stay here," I offered, knowing as I said it that it wasn't really my offer to make.

KiKi's hands stilled in her lap, fingers interlacing so tightly her knuckles went white. I knew that look—the one that said there was more, something worse lurking beneath the surface.

"What aren't you telling me?" I asked, my voice dropping lower though we were alone in the suite.

She looked up then, her eyes meeting mine for the first time since we'd started talking. There was fear there, raw and unmistakable. "I fucked up, Ginger."

The words hung between us, heavy with implication. KiKi's version of "fucked up" existed on an entirely different scale than most people's.

"Is it the same as last time?" I asked quietly, referencing abortion she’d had years before, when she’d been pregnant with Vegas’ baby.

The color drained from her face so quickly I thought she might pass out. Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. When she finally spoke, it was barely a whisper. "Vegas can never find out."

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach.

"KiKi—"

The door flew open with a bang that made us both jump. Detroit filled the doorway, six-foot-four of solid muscle and barely contained violence. His cut was spotted with something dark that I deliberately didn't look too closely at. Blood had a way of looking different to people who'd seen too much of it; it stopped being shocking and started being just another stain to deal with.

Detroit's eyes, cold and assessing, swept the room before landing on KiKi. His expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, a coiling of tension that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Detroit," I said, rising to my feet. Not out of respect—I wasn't a club girl who needed to bow and scrape—but because facing danger sitting down had always seemed like a bad idea.

He closed the door behind him with a deliberate click that somehow sounded more threatening than the slam had been. "Ginger." He nodded once in acknowledgment before his gaze returned to KiKi, who looked like she might be sick. "Got some business to discuss."

KiKi's eyes were wide, the whites showing all around like a spooked horse. "I was just leaving," she said, her voice an octave higher than normal.

"Sit the fuck down," Detroit said, the words quiet but carved from granite.

She sat, collapsing back onto the sofa as if her strings had been cut.

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