Page 57 of Brotan

"Going somewhere?" His voice is deceptively calm.

"Got a flight to catch."

"Like hell you do." He steps into the room, blocking my exit. "Hammer said wait a day."

"Don't have a day." I shoulder the bag. "Quinn's got a fight set for tomorrow night."

"And you just rolled over and took it?" Anger edges into his tone. "Since when does Crow bow to some human fight promoter's demands?"

"Since he had someone take pictures of Maya through her bedroom window." The words scrape my throat, taste like copper on my tongue. "Since he made it clear what happens if I don't show."

Diesel's expression shifts, the anger collapsing into something worse—understanding tinged with pity. "We can protect her, brother. The club—"

"The club can't be anywhere near this." I cut him off. "Quinn's watching. One hint of Ironborn involvement and the deal's off."

"What deal? You taking a dive for this asshole?"

I don't answer, which is answer enough.

"Jesus Christ." Diesel runs a hand over his face. "Against who?"

"Another orc." The admission burns my throat. "Goes by Granite."

Diesel drops his hand, shock written across his features. "You swore you'd never—"

"I know what I swore." I try to push past him, but he plants himself more firmly.

"Let me call Hammer. We can figure this out."

"There's nothing to figure out." I check my watch—three hours until the flight. "This is my mess. I'll handle it."

"By committing suicide?" Diesel shakes his head. "You know you'll never walk out of that ring alive. Quinn won't let you."

I don't answer, can't meet his eyes. The silence stretches between us, weighted with everything unsaid.

"You stupid son of a bitch." Diesel's voice drops, a dangerous edge creeping in. "You think dying in that ring fixes anything? You think that's what she wants?"

"I think she deserves a life without monsters in it." I look up, meeting his gaze directly, letting him see what this is costing me. "Both the ones hunting her and the one she thought she could save."

"She didn't think she was saving you," Diesel says, his voice dropping, "She saw you. The real you. That scared you more than Quinn ever could. Crow, don’t do this."

"I'm sorry, brother." The words feel inadequate, but they're all I have. "I'm out of choices."

The move is lightning-fast—a right hook Diesel sees coming but chooses not to block. Recognition flashes in his eyes a half-second before impact, a silent acknowledgment of my choice. He drops like a stone, unconscious before he hits the floor. I catch him, lowering him carefully onto my bed.

"Forgive me," I mutter, though he can't hear me.

I grab my cut from the hook on the wall, running my fingers over the patches that mark my life for the past four years. The bike and the chain. The territory markers. The date I patched in. The only real family I've known since the camps. With careful movements, I fold it and place it on the dresser, a final goodbye. My phone goes beside it, a severed connection to the life I almost believed I could have.

I try not to think about Maya as I head for the door—the way her skin felt beneath my fingertips, how she looked at me like I was worth saving, how her smile made the beast inside me go quiet for the first time in twenty years. How I'll never see that smile again.

One last glance at Diesel's unconscious form, and I'm gone, through the clubhouse, out the door, into the fading daylight. I throw the duffel across my bike and kick it to life, the engine's roar drowning out whatever remains of my conscience.

The road stretches ahead, leading away from Shadow Ridge, away from everything I almost let myself believe I could have and toward an ending I've been running from since the day I stepped into my first fighting pit.

At least I know that when this is all done, no one else will suffer for my mistakes. Maya will be safe. The club will move on without me. And all of this—the pain, the fear, the memories of what might have been—will finally end with me.

ChapterTwelve

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