Page 154 of Sins of the Hidden

"We're leaving," Law growled, knuckles white around the door handle. His body rigid, neck muscles straining. He threw the door open against the wall. Everyone flinched but me.

"You should go. My husband has a bit of a temper, especially when it comes to our girl," Claudia said gently. "Be safe, okay?"

I nodded once, keeping my eyes on Oakley as I followed Law. Cold rushed in as the door opened, carrying the scent of the coming rain. Law stepped out first. I followed like a shadow.

Through the closing door, I watched her. She should feel relief—the threat gone, leaving her in the safe hands of her mother. Instead, emptiness crossed her face. The spot where my eyes held hers retained the pressure of a gaze that took more than it gave.

The door shut. Outside, Law's hatred sizzled between us. But something new had taken shape—my taste on her mouth, her kiss on my cheek. Between those points, something tangible formed—something she no longer knew how to fight.

Something neither of us could escape.

"Wait!" Claudia's footsteps fluttered behind us, her heart racing beneath paper-thin skin. She gasped when she saw my face. "Oh my goodness, you're hurt."

Her hand rose toward my cheek. I stepped back immediately. Only Oakley touched. I was good earlier when I knew Oakley was watching, trying to show her without words that my threat to her parents' lives was just that—a threat. The only one I wouldn't ever act on. But not now, and not my face.

"I'm sorry!" Her hand retreated as she swallowed. "You just have a—wait here."

"For fuck's sake," Law muttered. "We don't have time for this shit."

Claudia returned clutching a small box, movements careful like approaching a rabid animal. She extracted a bandaid, removing the wrapper with nervous fingers. A square of pink—ridiculous unicorns grinning from the adhesive.

"Hold still," she instructed, voice pitched as if speaking to a child rather than a man who'd killed more people than she'd likely met.

I didn't move as she applied the childish patch to my cheekbone. Her touch felt alien—too gentle. Mother's hands had only ever touched to hurt, fingers digging into flesh, twisting deeper than necessary, enjoying the wounds she couldn't make me feel.

"There," Claudia said, stepping back with a smile that looked too much like Oakley's. "All better."

Law's laugh cut through the memory. His eyes fixed on the pink unicorns now stuck to my face, amusement crackling through his frame. Claudia shot her husband a glare sharp enough to kill lesser men. "Everyone needs a little care sometimes," she said, voice honeyed but firm. "Even men with weapons like yours."

My fingers twitched toward the adhesive. The urge to rip it off crackled beneath my skin—then faded. The patch would stay. Not because it provided comfort, but because Oakley would see it.

I should get her something. A gift. If Law didn't return tonight, would she appreciate a necklace made from his ashes?

"Let's go," Law said, already moving toward his car, assuming I'd follow.

Oakley lingered in the doorway, attention catching on the ridiculous pink bandaid, then meeting my eyes. For one heartbeat, her lips twitched upward. Almost a smile. Or maybe I imagined it. Didn't matter. I'd crawl through fire for even the illusion.

Forgiveness tasted close—toxic and sweet like her kiss.

The clubhouse parking lot stretched empty under the night sky, just a few bikes scattered across cracked asphalt. Sarge's massive chopper with its matte black finish dominated the space like its owner dominated rooms. Law stepped out of the car, shoulders already tensing for whatever waited inside. "Think Chet's still alive?"

I shrugged. Didn't care if he was or wasn't.

Inside, the scent hit first—whiskey, cigarettes, old leather, and fresh blood. They were in the back room—Chet sprawled across the leather couch with the arrogance of a man who'd forgotten how easily bodies break. His feet rested on the coffee table, boots leaving dirt on the polished wood. Sarge sat across from him, hood pulled low, scarred face hidden in shadow like always. The air between them crackled with violence, barely contained.

Chet's eyes lit up when he saw us, relief flashing across features too sharp to be trustworthy. "Thank Christ. My knights in shining leather." He unfolded from the couch, stretching dramatically. "Thank you for your hospitality," he turned to Sarge with a mocking bow, "but I would love to have a conversation with someone that actually entertains me."

Sarge's massive frame didn't move, but his voice crawled out from the shadows—gravel and rust. "One more word and I'll rip your tongue out through your asshole."

Chet sighed, grabbing his jacket with exaggerated weariness. "You ever hear yourself talk? No wonder Joslyn looks bored half the time."

The room went dead silent. Law took a step back, leather creaking as he moved.

Sarge lunged faster than a man his size should move—pure violence compressed into flesh. His fist connected with Chet's jaw, the crack echoing like gunfire in close quarters. Bone meeting bone. The sweet sound of consequences. Chet stumbled backward, blood streaming from a split lip, yet somehow still grinning through crimson-stained teeth.

Law inserted himself between predator and prey before Sarge could finish what he'd started. "We need him intact," he reminded Sarge, lawyer voice activated. "For now, at least."

Sarge's eyes—one normal, one blind—locked onto Law's. The pulse in his neck throbbed visibly, counting down to murder. "Your problem now. Get him the fuck out of here."

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