I almost ignore it—we've been maintaining communication silence to avoid tracking.
But something makes me check it, and what I see makes my blood run cold.
The message is from Amara:
You’ve been radio silent. At least check in and let me know you’re safe.
"Fuck," I breathe, reading it again.
I should check in, but there’s a reason I’ve been so fucking quiet.
We know we’re being tracked, and I thought it could’ve been through any calls or texts I was making, maybe even Imani’s burner phone, but is it something else?
If my Prez is asking me to contact her, then I need to do it.
I text her back:
En route. Will be there soon. Make sure you have the gates ready for us.
"What is it?" Imani asks, moving closer to read over my shoulder.
Her body presses against mine, her perfume hitting my nostrils.
She reads the message, her face going pale. "Amara wanted you to contact her? Okay, that’s fine, right?"
"Yeah, it's fine," I reply, though something in my gut says otherwise. "She's probably just worried since we've been dark for so long."
But the timing feels off.
Amara doesn't usually check in like this unless something's wrong.
The woman has ice in her veins and trusts her people to handle their business without constant contact.
We continue through the drainage system, the familiar scents of home growing stronger with each step.
The tunnel system opens into a larger chamber, and I recognize the landmarks.
We're directly in front of the clubhouse now, obviously underneath it.
"There," I point to a heavy iron gate marked with the Reapers Rejects MC emblem. "That leads directly into the compound."
I get out of the drain first, squeezing through.
I offer a hand to Imani and as I pull her up, pain radiates through my side.
God damn bullet wounds.
Once we’re both out, she slings the bag over her shoulder.
"Ready to meet everyone?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," she says, and I don’t miss the nervousness in her voice.
We walk in through the gate, Rooster and Doom standing guard.
As soon as we’re in, they shut it behind us and my brothers come up, patting me on the back and telling me how good it is to see me.
We head right toward the clubhouse because I’m tired as fuck.