Page 86 of Mystic's Sunrise

“Ashlynn.” She said it like it should mean something. Like the name alone could stop bullets. She stepped further in, hips swaying, one hand cocked on her hip like she expected me to give a shit. “You and me have somethin’ in common.”

I raised a brow, slow. “That so?”

She smiled—cold and bitter. “Payback.”

That word had weight. I felt it settle into the room like smoke. I sat up a little, eyes narrowing.

“The Devil’s House MC,” she went on, voice dipped in venom. “They tossed me out like trash. After everythin’ I gave them.” Her hand curled into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palm until her knuckles went white. “I was supposed to be his.”

“Whose?” I asked, wondering where the fuck this was going.

“Spinner,” she spat. “That bitch Lucy waltzed in and poisoned him. Turned the whole damn club against me. Made me look crazy. Like I didn’t belong.”

She looked crazy now. The kind of crazy I could use.

“No club. No home. No him,” she muttered, eyes glassy, jaw tight. “They took everythin’ from me.”

I chuckled, low and mean. “So you come crawling to me. Want me to play knight in shining armor? Help you win your man back?”

Her eyes snapped to mine, wild and filled with hate. “I don’t want him back.”

She stepped forward, leaned across the desk.

“I want towatch them burn.”

Now that... that got my attention.

I set the glass down slow, the ice inside clicking like a countdown. Then I leaned forward too, elbows on the desk, staring straight into the pit of her madness.

“And what exactly do you think I can do for you?”

Her smile was a razorblade dressed in red.

“You’re already circlin’. I know things Drago.” She paused, lips curling. “They’re hidin’ a certain redhead you’re after.”

My jaw flexed.

She laughed soft, like she’d struck gold. “Thought so. You want your ol’ lady back. I want revenge. You bring the fire, I’llpoint you to the fuel. I know that club since I was a sweet butt for over a year. Who they trust. Who they don’t. Who slips up when they drink too much.”

I studied her closer. The twitch of her fingers. The way she said Lucy’s name with the same hate I did. Ashlynn wasn’t just bitter—she was broken in all the right ways. Dangerous, desperate, and willing to drag the whole damn world down if it meant someone else burned first.

I exhaled slow through my nose, leaning back again, eyes never leaving hers.

“Alright, Ashlynn. Let’s talk.”

She smiled—wide and wicked.

And just like that, I had a new weapon in the war.

Ashlynn didn’t wait for an invite, she leaned back in the chair like it was hers, legs crossed, eyes locked on me with a predator’s calm.

“I was there, you know,” she said, tone casual, but laced with poison. “The night they dragged her in. Zeynep.”

My hand froze over the whiskey glass.

“Nearly dead. Busted up real bad. Face was a mess, body broken, couldn’t even talk. Looked like someone done her over good.”

I didn’t speak. Just let the rage start to boil beneath my skin like old oil on fire. I knew she’d been beaten but hearing a first hand account made me rage all over again.

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