Page 97 of Hellbent
Grave Sons MC.
My heart stops. The noise of the bar fades like someone pulled a plug.
Grave Sons is a support club for the Order of Disorder. Billy calls them “little brothers”—loyal, eager, and never smart enough to ask questions.
This isn’t a coincidence.
They’re here for me.
There’s no question. No maybe. Not after the bounty post. Not with that patch.
I thought I could sneak in, ask questions, and slip away unnoticed. But I’m not slipping away from anything. Not now. I’ve walked myself straight into it.
And this is the moment I realize I’m going to lose everything—Damian, Wyatt, Jake, Ryder…the garage, safety, the chance to start over.
I turn back around, heart pounding, mind scrambling for a way out.
“You okay?” the guy beside me asks.
I don’t answer.
They walk slowly toward the bar, scanning the room. My eyes track their movements in the mirror behind the shelves. One of them glances my way and stops.
Shit.
I slide off the stool, moving slow. Like maybe I’m just heading to the bathroom. Like I’m not about to bolt. Like my legs aren’t made of sand.
“Miss?” one of them says behind me. Voice too calm. Too pleasant.
I keep walking.
“Hey,” the other adds. “We need a word.”
I reach the back hallway. Eyes on the door.
“We need you to come with us.”
My heart thunders. I shove through the back door into the warm night, my eyes darting down the alleyway, searching for anyone—anything—but it’s empty.
Then the door creaks again.
They’re right behind me.
I spin around.
The big one steps out first, blocking the way to the street—broad as a wall, braided beard swinging, mirrored sunglasses still in place.
The other—leaner, quicker, with close-cropped hair and a long, pale scar splitting one eyebrow—cuts off my retreat toward the back lot.
“Easy,” the bigger one says. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
“We just need you to come with us,” Scar adds.
“Fuck off.”
I try to dart between them, but Scar intercepts me. His hand grazes my wrist and I rip it away.
He grabs harder.
