Page 12 of Secret Betrayals
Nostalgia washes over me as I take in the photos and other memorabilia that line the walls as we walk the halls. Items that the club has accumulated over the years. I shake off the feelings and memories that have a hold on me. We follow Axel as he leads us to the man I haven’t seen or spoken to in seventeen years. Am I ready for this? No the fuck, I’m not. But I am here.
So, here we go.
Armand slows his steps, dropping behind me like the seasoned enforcer he is. Always watching my back. People may question my decisions and my place—fine. Let them. They’ll never understand what I do for my family. I don’t need them to. Armand and my crew? They're always at my side, no matter the cost.
Still, my palms sweat. My nerves won’t settle, and I hate that shit. I’m a savage, a stone-cold bitch when I need to be, but this place? It does something to me. Gets under my skin in a way I thought I’d buried. I shouldn’t be this affected. I shouldn’t let old ghosts rattle my cage.
But here we are.
Armand senses we’re close. How? Because Armand knows every room I might ever walk into. Entry points, exits, hiding spots, secret compartments—you name it. He’s a walking map of survival.
Axel stops at a large door at the end of the hallway, glancing back. When he opens it, Armand immediately steps around me and enters first. That’s protocol. That’s us.
Axel lingers by the door, his tone a little too tight. “Right this way,MissBarone.” The emphasis is petty, childish even. He gestures toward someone in the room, jaw ticking.
Aww. Did I bruise your feelings, Axel? Poor baby. Grow a pair.
He gestures toward a seat clearly meant for me. I catch a few muffled grumbles behind him, but ignore it. I give him a slight nod and take my place at the table without hesitation.
I know what this is.
They weren’t expecting four of us, and they damn sure weren’t expectingme. A woman. In their space. Intheirso-called sanctuary. Boo-fucking-hoo. If my presence offends their testosterone-fueled sensibilities, too bad. I don’t answer to them. They work formyfamily.
I sit back, slow breaths, keeping my cool. Then I scan the room behind my sunglasses—and there he is.
Talon.
He’s sitting at the far end of the table, the so-called chapel they worship their bullshit codes in. The room is dressed up to intimidate—oversized table, heavy wood, darker lighting—but it doesn’t faze me. It’s all for show, like everything else in their posturing world.
Their energy? It’s givingsmall dick syndrome.
They try to look hard, but I see through them. I earned my seat with blood, sweat, and unrelenting will. I’ve done shit they wouldn’t have the stomach for. So, no, I won’t be quiet. I won’t be small. And I sure as hell won’t apologize for walking into their clubhouse like I own the damn place.
Because Ido.
I wait until I’m good and ready before I remove my sunglasses. Set them neatly into my designer bag, which goeson the table, not the nasty-ass floor. It’s a three-thousand-dollar bag. Let’s be serious.
A sharp inhale pulls my attention. My eyes snap up and lock onto his.
Talon.
Seventeen years. And still, my body betrays me. My skin remembers him, my chest aches, but I give him nothing.
Nothing… but the slightest smirk.
His face says it all—shock, rage, recognition.
“Hello, Talon.”
Damn, he still looks good. Dangerous. Unforgiving. My ruin and my reason. But this? This is business.
He stiffens. His eyes cut to the boys at my back, then to me. Back again. Once. Twice. Then a third time, slower. And I know the moment it hits him, he seeshimselfin them.
That’s when he snaps.
“What the actual fuck is this?” he growls, eyes like blades, slicing through every inch of me and the boys. His brain’s scrambling, trying to sort the pieces, but he can’t hide from the truth blooming right in front of him.
And neither can I.
