Page 75 of Ruger's Rage

"Yeah. Said her mom, Raven, was some clubwhore from Pittsburgh. Striker came back for them when he got exiled here." Rookie looks up, devastation etched across his features. "She's your cousin, Prez. And she's been playing me this whole fuckin’ time."

Bloodhound curses under his breath. "Perfect setup. She fucks information out of the prospect, passes it to Striker, who uses it to hit our locations and frame the Vultures."

"While doing the same to them," I finish, the pieces falling into place. "Creating a war neither side started."

"I swear I didn't know." Rookie's pleading now. "I thought she was just some college girl. She never mentioned MC connections."

"Because she's smarter than you." My restraint hangs by a thread. "Every week, you've been giving Striker exactly what he needs to destroy everything we've built."

"I'll make it right." Desperation edges into his voice. "Tell me how to fix this."

I study him—the genuine remorse, the betrayal still fresh in his eyes.

He’s not a traitor in the traditional sense, just a kid who thought with his dick instead of his brain.

We’ve all been there, but this is the only chance he’ll have to redeem himself.

It doesn’t help that Digger’s his cousin. Motherfucker.

Dumb, idiotic kid.

"You're confined to the clubhouse. No phone, no contact with anyone outside the club. Do your classes online. Tell your fuckin’ professors you had surgery or some shit, I don’t care." I lean forward, making sure he understands the gravity of his situation. "And you're going to tell us everything about Kinsey—where she lives, her routines, everyone she associates with."

"What are you going to do?"

A cold smile spreads across my face. "I'm going to remind my uncle why he shouldn't have messed with my family."

Two can play this game.

If Striker wants war, I'll give him one.

Just not the one he's expecting.

CHAPTERTEN

Tildie

Back at the club, I pace the floor of the main room, the conversation with Striker replaying in my mind like a horror movie I can't turn off.

The way he looked at me. The mention of my real name. The message from Marco.

Tell your pretty bartender that her ex sends his regards. Says he's looking forward to their reunion.

A shudder ripples through me.

Now, seven months of running, of rebuilding, of thinking I might have escaped—all shattered in one sentence.

"Stop wearing a hole in the floor," Ellie says, perched on the edge of the couch. "He can't hurt you here."

"Can't he?" I turn to face her. "He found me, Ellie. Found my real name, my job, my relationship with Ruger."

"And now you're surrounded by an entire motorcycle club that would die to protect you." She pats the cushion beside her. "Come sit. Driving yourself crazy won't help."

She's right, but the restless energy coursing through me makes sitting impossible. "I just hate feeling helpless again. Waiting for men to decide my fate."

"You think that's what's happening?" Ellie raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I sit, you've made your own choices. Choosing to stay. Choosing Ruger. Choosing to face this instead of running again."

Her words sink in, a counter to the panic threatening to overtake me.

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