Page 55 of Brotan

Understanding dawns in his weathered face as he studies me—the slump of my shoulders, the hollow look I can't hide. "You didn't just send her back. You pushed her away." He studies me with eyes that see too much. "Self-loathing's a hell of a drug, son."

I drop into a chair at his small table, suddenly exhausted. "I’ve got some shit to take care of. Won't be around for a while."

"Why's that sound like goodbye?" Gus asks, settling across from me.

"Because it probably is." I reach into my pocket, pull out the three bullets I took that day I found him with the gun. They clink against the wood as I lay them on the table. "Can't leave without returning these."

Gus stares at the ammunition, recognition flickering in his eyes. "I didn't expect you'd ever give those back."

"I took your choice away that day." I push the bullets toward him, my fingers lingering on the cold metal. "It was wrong."

Gus stays silent for a long moment, calloused finger tracing the edge of one bullet. His gaze stays fixed on me, cutting through bullshit like always. "This ain't just about a woman."

"No." I look past him to the window, unable to stand seeing the truth etched into his face. "But it is because of one."

"You're going to do something stupid, aren't you? Something there's no coming back from."

"Sometimes there's only bad choices and worse ones," I say, the words feeling like stones in my throat.

"You think dying for her is noble?" Gus challenges, his voice hardening. "Think she'll thank you for it?"

"Not looking for thanks," I mutter. "Just need her safe."

Gus shakes his head slowly. "You're making the same mistake I almost made. Thinking the world's better off without you in it. The difference is, you stopped me. Shame there's no one to return that favor."

We both know this is the end of the conversation. I've said what I came to say. Gus doesn't stand when I do. He doesn't make a move to say goodbye either. I've failed him, too. Added his name to the list of people I'm letting down.

Outside, the sun has dipped lower, casting long shadows across the clearing. I stand beside my bike, staring into the trees, the decision I need to make warring in my head. There's only one way to make sure my fucked up life doesn't backfire on the human's stupid enough to let me in.

I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before typing a message to Ryker: "Barkley's Tavern. Off Route 16. Twenty minutes."

I pocket the phone and kick the bike to life. Gus raises a hand in farewell—or maybe warning. I nod once and tear away from the cabin, leaving another piece of whatever humanity I'd managed to build in Shadow Ridge behind me.

Barkley's sits at a crossroads outside town like some forgotten gravestone—a dive bar closed for years, windows boarded, parking lot cracked and overgrown. Perfect for a meeting neither of us wants witnessed.

I arrive first, parking the bike behind the building where it can't be seen from the road. The place reeks of rot and stale beer. Feels fitting.

Ryker's truck appears right on time, headlights cutting through the gathering dusk before going dark. A beat-up Ford with New York plates. He parks beside the collapsed porch, unfolding his lanky frame from the driver's seat with lazy confidence.

"Didn't think you'd heel so quick," he calls, approaching with a smirk. "Figured I'd need to burn down another building or two."

The beast inside me snarls, clawing at my ribcage. My fingers twitch with the desire to crush his windpipe, to watch the life drain from his eyes. But I cage it. For Maya. For the club. For whatever slim chance I have of walking away from this.

"What does Quinn want?" I ask, staying out of striking distance. Old habits.

Ryker's smile widens. "Now that's more like it. Direct. To the point." He leans against a rotting porch column. "He wants what he's always wanted—his champion back in the pit."

"I'm done with that life," I say, the lie bitter on my tongue. The truth is, the fights are never done with you. The blood stays under your fingernails no matter how hard you scrub.

"I said he wantsachampion in the pit," Ryker says, inspecting his fingernails. "I didn’t say that was you."

The words hit like a sucker punch. "What?"

"Quinn's got a new investment. Orc. Goes by Granite." Ryker's grin widens. "Tough son of a bitch. Fast. Young. Just needs one big win to launch him to the top."

Understanding dawns, sour as bile in my throat. "He wants me to throw the fight."

"Not just throw it. Get destroyed by it." Ryker pushes off the column, taking a step closer. "Quinn's got everything riding on this kid. He needs his debut to be spectacular."

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