Page 59 of Boulder's Weight

As I work, three men burst through a door at the back—Andrés's crew, late to the party.

They freeze when they see us, clearly not expecting to find anyone in their warehouse.

Axel looks at them and speaks with a cold smile. "Reapers Rejects send their regards."

Then, all hell breaks loose.

The next few minutes are a blur of violence.

I take down one guy with a tackle that sends us both crashing into a stack of boxes.

My fists connect with his face repeatedly, each impact more satisfying than the last.

I'm channeling all my frustration—about Kelsey, about Amara's disappointment, about my own conflicted feelings—into each blow.

"Boulder! That's enough!" Axel's voice cuts through the red haze of my rage. "He's down. Let's finish this and go."

I look down at the man beneath me, his face a bloody mess, and realize I've gone too far.

I stand, shaking out my bruised knuckles, and rejoin the others as they finish setting fire to the warehouse.

We leave as quickly as we came, the sound of sirens in the distance pressuring us to get the fuck out of here as fast as possible.

The ride back to the clubhouse is silent, each of us processing what happened on the run in our own way.

Victory tastes sweet, but I know it won’t last long.

Back at the clubhouse, everything seems ten times lighter.

I’d say we’re almost celebrating in a way.

We've struck a blow against Andrés, shown that we won't tolerate attacks on our people. But while the others break out beers and whiskey, Amara gestures for me to follow her to the chapel.

"Sit," she says, closing the door behind us. Her expression is serious, not angry but concerned. "We need to talk."

I sink into a chair, already knowing what's coming.

"You've got potential, Boulder," she begins, leaning against the table. "I wouldn't have you as a prospect here if I didn't think so. But your focus has been shit lately."

"I know," I admit. "I'm sorry about this morning."

"It's not just this morning," Amara says. "It's the distraction I see in your eyes, the hesitation when the club needs to come first." She pauses, her gaze intent. "This girl at the café—Kelsey—she's becoming a liability."

I start to argue with her, but she holds up a hand to stop me before I can even start.

"I'm not saying end it. I'm saying get your priorities straight. Your prospect status isn't guaranteed. You understand me?"

The warning is clear. Fuck up again, and I could lose everything I've worked for.

"Yes, ma'am," I say, meeting her eyes. "I can handle both. The club comes first, always."

She studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Make sure it does. Now get cleaned up. You look like shit."

I head to the bathroom to wash the blood from my knuckles, my reflection in the mirror making me pause.

There's something wild in my eyes, something dangerous that wasn't there before.

The club life is changing me, hardening me.

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