CHAPTER 13
THE KRAIT IN CHARGE
Lane woke up to light he didn’t recognize.
Gray, flat, already late.
He checked the clock. 8:31.
That alone pissed him off.
His head throbbed dully—not hungover, just wrong. Like sleep had been too deep, making him feel even more tired. He dragged a hand over his face and noticed the sheets.
Blue.
They were not blue yesterday
That registered slowly, the way things did when he didn’t care enough to figure them out. Then memory clicked into place—Melanie. She must’ve changed them while he showered.
Lane sat up and let out a breath through his nose.
He thought of the night before and why she ended up in his room.
He rolled his eyes and sighed.
Lane had decided to keep Melanie around a couple of years back. Not officially—nothing ever was when it came to girls. She’d shown up at a party once quiet, cleaner-looking than the others, not spun, no track marks. No tits and ass on display. She didn’t demand attention and she was discreet.
That’s mainly why she lasted.
Having her around was like keeping a pack of cigarettes in a drawer. Or a twelve-pack in the fridge. Just available. When he wanted it, it was there.
There had never been anything else to it.
He didn’t ask her about her day. Didn’t cuddle with her after. Didn’t even know her last name. When he was done, she left. Until next time.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
She’d told him once that she loved him, but nothing changed.
If anything, it made things easier for him. He could get even more out of her. Suddenly, she began cleaning and cooking for him without being asked. Did whatever he needed without pushing for more.
So she stayed.
Before he claimed her for himself, she made her rounds—Ram, Kode, Kolton. This puts her in a category that can’t be taken back or redeemed from. In his head, she was still a snakehole. Ownership hadn’t elevated her. Just kept the others away when he said so.
Lane sat up and rubbed his eyes.
Once his mind cleared, he was glad he overslept. He didn’t want to see Kait and Kolton be all mushy with each other. He didn’t feel like watching them sucking each other’s face between toast bites. Or her feeding him toast.
That sound—the crunch—would’ve gotten on his last nerve.
What’s the deal with the toast and strawberry jelly, anyway? What’s so great about it?
He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face.
He came back out and got dressed. He had one boot on when the knock came.
Soft. Careful. Like she was asking permission to exist.
He didn’t answer right away. Just laced, pulled tight, stood. The second knock followed—closer this time.
“Kount?” Melanie’s voice. “I brought you coffee.”
He opened the door halfway.
She stood there with a black mug in one hand, steam curling up into her face. Hair pulled back. T-shirt and shorts on. She looked at him the way people did when they were trying not to look worried.
“Just checking on you,” she said. “You never sleep past seven.”
He took the mug without touching her. Took a sip. Didn’t thank her.
“I just—” she hesitated, then smiled, hopeful, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Lane moved to the window and pushed the curtain to the side a little.
The yard came into view.
Kait was already outside. He wasn’t expecting to see her.
She had the Kriger angled just right, saddlebag open, working the strap through the bracket with deliberate care. No wasted movement. Hair down. No kutte on. Mack stood nearby, handing her something without ceremony.
Lane took another sip.
Behind him, Melanie drifted in like she belonged there.
“Last night was… different,” she said softly. “You were different.”
Lane didn’t turn.
“You were intense,” she continued, voice warming as she gained confidence. “It was so…”
Outside, Kait tested the saddlebag, tugged once, twice, then nodded. She wiped her hands on a rag and bent to adjust something near the rear mount.
Lane’s grip tightened on the curtain.
Melanie stepped closer. “You know, I was scared for a while…” She swallowed. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to call me in here anymore. After the thing with Dulce and what you said. But then you came back from Huntsville and then last night again…”
Lane’s jaw set.
She rushed on, afraid of the silence. “I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have caused a scene. I just—” Her voice cracked.
Lane watched Kait swing a leg over the bike to test the balance. The machine shifted under her like it knew her weight.
She settled easily. Naturally.
Lane noticed then that Kolton wasn’t out there.
“Are we…” Melanie asked quietly. “Back to normal again? I thought maybe last night meant…”
Outside, Mack stepped back. Kait gave him a brief look—approval, nothing more—and closed the saddlebag. A quick fist bump. Done.
Melanie kept talking. Lane heard the cadence of her voice, not the words.
Lane handed Melanie the mug.
“Got club stuff,” he said.
She blinked. “Oh. Okay. If you want I can—”
He crossed the room and grabbed his kutte, shrugging into it without looking at her.
She stood there a moment longer, trying to read his face.
Nothing.
“I’ll… I’ll see you later?”
“What’s for lunch?”
“Club sandwiches and fries.”
He nodded and opened the door and she took that as the answer.
When the door closed behind him, Melanie stayed still.
Then she crossed to the window.
She saw Kait putting her bike away in the garage.
Then, she saw Lane walk straight toward her.
And felt ill.
Lane crossed the courtyard with purpose, boots cutting straight lines through concrete, eyes already on her hands instead of her face. Kait checked the saddlebag again, tightening the last strap, checking clearance like the bike might argue with her.
She didn’t look up when he stopped beside her.
“You riding that light on purpose?” Lane asked.
Kait kept working. “It’s a protection run. Not a camping trip.”
Lane nodded once, slow. “It could turn into one, you never know. Should bring a bedroll just in case”
She finally glanced at him, brief. Neutral. “Is not that far. We can come back if we need to.”
Lane’s mouth tightened.
“You’re on flank today,” he said. “Which means you stay in formation. No drifting. No scouting. No superhero shit like in Laredo.”
“Yeah, I know my assignment. Thanks,” Kait said.
“You did a lot of protection runs up in Amsterdam or whatever?”
“Don’t worry about it. I got this.”
She finished tightening the strap and tugged once. Satisfied.
“Well, did you?”
Kait took a deep breath as she got up.
“Yes, a few, although hits were our main source of income.”
“Oh yeah?” He said studying her. “You’re all big killers up there?”
“Business was good.”
“What did y’all kill? Polar bears?”
“No, mostly assholes and smartasses.”
He scoffed. “Where’s Kolton?” Lane asked, like it had just occurred to him.
“With Kyle,” she said. “School shopping.”
Lane tilted his head slightly. “Oh,” he said glancing around the courtyard. Mack had moved off. Ram was showing something to Buster and Cricket. No audience.
“You two gonna get along?” Lane said.
Kait wiped her hands with a rag and looked at him fully this time.
“We’re fine,” she said.
“Yeah?” Lane replied. “Last time you two were ‘fine,’ he forgot about all his responsibilities.”
“He didn’t forget then,” Kait said. “And I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget now.”
“Good,” Lane said. “Or else—”
“What?” Kait cut in. “You’ll beat his face in again?”
Lane didn’t look away.
“You talking about the beating that was supposed to be for you too?” he said. “The one I saved you from?”
The words landed wrong. Too flat. Too certain.
Kait’s breath caught before she could stop it.
“The one you saved me from? The fuck you mean?” she said.
“Let’s just say you got really lucky I got here on time,” he said leaning in.
Lane leaned back, already done.
“Kount!” Tracy’s voice cut across the yard. “Diablo’s on the phone. Office.”
Lane didn’t break eye contact right away.
“Don’t fuck up this run.”
Then he turned and walked toward the clubhouse.
Kait stood there, rag still on her hand, hands resting on the grips like they belonged to someone else.
The one I saved you from…
The words stayed where Lane left them.
Lane shut the office door behind him and leaned against the wall long enough to answer.
“Yeah.”
Diablo didn’t bother with hello. “The fuck you’ve been, Kount?”
Lane shifted the phone to his other ear. “Busy.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Diablo said. “You rode out for that Brews N’ Crews thing and then—nothing. Figured I’d check before I assume you were leaving me here with my pants down.”
Lane exhaled through his nose. “Dryden’s fine. What’s Huntsville look like.”
There was a pause on the line. Not hesitation. Consideration.
“Solid,” Diablo said. “Barry’s been straight.”
Lane straightened slightly.
“Koa’s stepped up,” Diablo continued. “Didn’t have to be told twice. Took point on the night watch rotation, caught a situation before it turned into a mess.”
Lane nodded once to himself.
“And Trace?” he asked.
“Same,” Diablo said. “Different style, but steady. He’s loud. Koa just does the work. Both of them have been carrying themselves like they already wear the patch.”
Lane listened. Didn’t interrupt.
“They’re for sure not playing outlaw like the others,” Diablo added. “They get it.”
Lane was quiet for a beat.
“Good,” he said. “Keep them close.”
“You still fast-tracking them?” Diablo asked.
“Yes. We need better members.”
Another pause. Shorter this time.
“Then you won’t be disappointed,” Diablo said. “Whatever’s got you tied up out there—handle it. Huntsville’s fine.”
Lane glanced toward the window, where the courtyard was just visible through the blinds.
“I know, I appreciate you taking care of shit,” he said. “I’ll check back in tonight.”
“No problem. How’s Toast doing?” Diablo said.
“How do you know that’s what she goes by now?”
“Kode always answers when I call.”
“Fuck off.”
“So? You talking to her?”
“Don’t start.”
Diablo sighed loudly, frustrated at Lane’s answer. “You’re killing me, man.”
“Leave me alone with that shit. Was there anything else?”
“Nah. Oh, hey, next guy we let prospect, can he be under 6 foot? Feeling kinda short over here.”
“That because you are short. Fuckin’ Mexican midget.”
Lane ended the call with that.
He stood there a moment longer, phone still in his hand.
Then he put it away and walked back out into the day.
The day ran its normal course.
Kait checked in on Loraine at Snake Eyes. Nothing dramatic—just presence, reassurance, and a quiet understanding that things were shifting faster than they used to.
She called Ernie to let him know Ram would be at the Alley later. No explanation beyond that. Ernie didn’t ask.
She gave Sunshine a courtesy call after that. Short. Direct. Enough warning to stay clear of Ram without making it a conversation.
By late afternoon, she met Kolton at Loraine’s place for dinner.
That’s where the CPS situation finally settled into something solid.
LeeAnn had been ordered by the court to complete a parenting class. Until then, Kyle would stay with Loraine.
Kolton couldn’t list the Nest as an address, and even if he could, Kyle wasn’t allowed to live there for obvious reasons.
After Kyle was down for the night, Don let them use his office.
The door stayed closed. No interruptions. A small radio sat on the filing cabinet by the window, volume low, just loud enough to fill the space. Blue on Black played underneath everything—slow, worn, almost tired.
Kolton sat at the desk with a cardboard box open in front of him, loading magazines one round at a time. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t fumble. His movements were careful, practiced, and just slightly stiff.
Kait was in front of him organizing the loaded magazines in the rollup
“The run’s simple,” Kolton said. “In theory.”
She waited.
“We meet the truck just past the Roma crossing,” he continued. “Escort north. No stops unless something forces it. Driver crashes at the Nest for a bit, then rolls out for Houston by noon.”
Kait nodded. “Box truck or semi?”
“Semi,” Kolton said. “ And then, Mondragón’s people handle the border side. Once it crosses, it’s our problem.”
He handed her a loaded magazine and reached for another.
“Our job is just getting it to the Nest,” he added. “That’s it.”
Kait picked up a handful of ammo and starting to load her own.
“Do we get to know what we’re protecting?” she asked.
“Nah. Not our problem.”
“You up for it? You feeling okay enough?”
Kolton didn’t answer right away.
“I’m still pretty sore,” he said finally. “Nothing that’ll slow me down, though.”
“I think he went a little overboard,” she said brushing his hair back with her fingers. The bruising on his face looking purple and yellow.
“Lane?” he said and shook his head. “No. just made it messy. He can kill someone with one punch.”
Kait rolled her eyes. “Please.”
“That motherfucker hits like a semi. No pun intended.”
She studied him for a second, then nodded like she accepted that.
They worked in silence for a few beats. Metal clicks. Controlled pressure. The rhythm of preparation.
Kait spoke without looking up. “You know how it went down?”
Kolton paused mid-load.
“Knew how what went down?”
“How did they,” she paused. “How did they decide I wasn’t going to be punished?”
He finished setting the round before answering.
“Don probably said something,” he said carefully. “I didn’t know the details. They didn’t talk to me much that day, you know?”
Kait looked at him and scoffed, shaking her head.
“But honestly,” he admitted. “There was no reason to. It was my fuck up. Sorry I dragged you along.”
“We ride together, we bite together. Right?”
Kolton smiled at her. “That’s right.”
The song hit its chorus quietly, like it didn’t expect anyone to listen.
They went back to loading.
The question stayed between them, unanswered.
They rode back to the Nest as the light started to flatten out, the day losing its edges.
Blaze’s bike wasn’t in its usual spot.
That registered for Kait before anything else.
Kolton killed his engine near the yard and swung off, scanning instinctively. Cricket was there, helmet under one arm, talking to a prospect. No Blaze.
Don stood near the picnic table with a folded map and a paper cup of coffee he hadn’t touched.
“Good timing,” Don said. “Brief’s short.”
Kolton stepped in first. Kait followed, ready to ask about Blaze.
Don unfolded the map and flattened it against the table.
“Main route stays the same until mile twenty-two,” he said. “After that, you cut west. Secondary road. Fewer eyes. Slower, but cleaner.”
Kolton nodded, committing it to memory.
“If anything feels off,” Don continued, “you take the alternate all the way in. No debate. No pride.”
“Understood,” Kolton said.
Kait leaned in slightly. “Any changes on formation?”
Don glanced at her. “Kolton lead. You flank right. Cricket tail until the truck’s secured.”
She nodded.
Then she asked the question that had been sitting in her chest since they rolled in.
“Where’s Blaze?”
Don folded the map again, slow and deliberate.
“Blaze isn’t riding,” Don said.
Kolton looked up. “What?”
“Something with the baby,” Don said. “Doesn’t matter. Run’s still on.”
Kait felt it before she processed it—the shift, the space opening where Blaze should’ve been.
“So it’s just us three? No left flank?” she asked.
Don didn’t answer right away.
The clubhouse door opened behind them.
Lane came out adjusting his gloves, kutte already on, eyes sweeping the yard like he was counting liabilities.
He stopped near the bikes.
“Let’s go,” he said. “I’m not waiting around for any of you.”
His gaze slid to Kait and stayed there a beat too long.
Kait’s jaw tightened.
Lane took a step toward his bike. “Come on.”
Kolton shrugged and started moving. Cricket followed without comment.
Kait exhaled once and caught up.
“Prince is still leading,” she said. Flat. Controlled.
Lane scoffed and looked at Kolton. “Are you?”
Kolton met his eyes. “After kicking my ass, the least you could do is take over.”
Lane let out a short laugh. “Thought so.”
“King said you were lead,” Kait said, keeping her eyes on Kolton.
“I ain’t feeling too hot, babe,” Kolton said going to his bike. “I don’t mind.”
Kait nodded and mounted the Kriger and brought it to life, the engine settling into a low, steady growl.
Cricket rolled up last, visor down, silent.
Don and Klaus stepped closer.
“Get it done,” Don said. “Bring the truck home.”
“Yes, sir,” Kolton said.
Lane smiled to himself as he kicked his bike to life, the engine barking once before evening out.
He didn’t wait for formation.
He rolled forward—slow enough to force them to follow.
Kait slid into flank position, exactly where she’d been told to be.
The gate opened.
They rode out.
And Kait was pissed.
They rolled out just after nine.
The Nest fell away behind them, swallowed by dark, the gate closing like a decision already made.
Lane took lead.
He just rolled forward and didn’t slow, forcing the rest of them to adjust or look sloppy. Kait slid automatically into his right flank, half a bike length back, offset enough to see his hands, his shoulders, the way he checked his mirrors too often like he was tracking every variable, counting mistakes before they happened.
The highway opened up fast.
Lane set the pace high—not reckless, not stupid. Just fast enough to feel intentional. Faster than necessary. Faster than comfortable. Kait matched without thinking, engine steady, eyes scanning past him instead of at him.
Kolton rode left flank, a fraction farther back than he should’ve been. Cricket held tail, clean and quiet.
No signals yet. No reason.
The first thirty minutes passed like that—wind, dark, the white lines pulling them south. Lane drifted lanes without warning, not cutting anyone off, just forcing micro-adjustments. Kait compensated every time, smooth and silent, refusing to give him anything he could call a mistake.
Her jaw ached from how tight she was holding it.
Lane lifted his left hand once, palm down.
Slow.
Kait eased back immediately. So did Kolton.
Lane didn’t.
He surged ahead instead, then settled back down like nothing had happened.
She wanted to signal regroup. Wanted to flash him twice and make him acknowledge it.
She didn’t.
He was baiting her.
An hour in, the road thinned. Long stretches of nothing. Ranch land. Darkness pressing in from both sides. Lane rode closer to the shoulder than necessary, then drifted back, crowding the lane just enough to make her adjust again.
Testing reaction time. Judgment. Patience.
Her hands stayed loose on the grips. Her breathing stayed even.
She watched his right shoulder tense before every move. Watched the delay between decision and execution. He wasn’t riding sloppy.
He was riding solo. Just him and his Dyna.
Another twenty minutes passed.
Then Lane signaled.
Right arm out. Downward chop. Exit.
It came late.
Too late.
The Texaco was already there—bright and ugly, sodium lights washing the dark flat. Lane cut across clean but tight.
Kait reacted without hesitation.
She dropped speed, shifted line, lifted her left hand and signaled hard—clear, unmistakable. Kolton adjusted immediately. Cricket followed just as clean. No wobble. No panic. The formation folded inward and peeled off like it was supposed to.
They rolled in smooth.
Lane didn’t slow until he was already under the lights.
Engines idled.
Kait stayed mounted, eyes forward, hands loose on the grips.
Lane killed his engine and swung off first.
Hey Man Nice Shot blasted from the station’s shitty speakers, distorted enough to rattle the canopy.
“We top off here,” he said. “No stops after this.”
Kolton nodded once. “I’ll grab gas.”
Lane tossed him a bill. “Twenty on two.”
Kolton and Cricket headed toward the store without comment.
Kait didn’t move.
She didn’t need gas. Didn’t need water. Didn’t need anything.
Lane watched them go, then turned back to her.
She shut her engine off and dismounted.
“How about a little heads-up next time,” she said. Calm. Flat.
Lane’s mouth twitched. “I signaled.”
“Late,” she said.
“No, you reacted late.”
She crossed her arms. “Is this what you’re doing for the next two hours?”
He looked at her now, expression blank. “What the fuck am I doing?”
She didn’t blink. “You’re testing me.”
Lane let out a short breath, almost amused. “I’m only setting pace.”
“You’re signaling late,” she said. “On purpose.”
A pickup rolled into the lot behind them, diesel clattering, gravel popping under the tires.
“Goddamn, baby,” a voice called. “Hey!”
Lane didn’t turn.
Another voice laughed. “Look at you, girl!”
The driver leaned farther out the window, eyes flicking to Lane. “That your girl, man? Damn!”
Lane answered without hesitation.
“Nope.”
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t cruel in tone.
It was clean.
The truck erupted in laughter.
“Well shit,” the driver said. “Let me get your number, baby.”
“How about two nines, motherfucker?”
Kolton said already moving.
He cleared leather and shoved both pistols up into the open window, muzzles inches from the driver’s face.
The laughter died instantly.
“Easy, man,” the driver said, hands flying up. “Just messin’.”
Kolton didn’t slow. “You got something else you wanna ask my girl?”
“Kolt, stop,” Kait said.
Kolton ignored him. “You gonna keep running your mouth?”
Lane grabbed Kolton’s arm. “Cool it, Prince.”
Kolton twisted just enough to free one arm and drove the butt of his pistol forward, cracking it across the bridge of the driver’s nose.
Bone popped.
Blood followed.
Lane surged in immediately, grabbing Kolton by the back of his cut and hauling him down hard.
The pickup peeled out, tires chirping, engine screaming as it tore back toward the road.
Silence dropped hard in its wake.
Lane watched the taillights disappear, amusement still flickering in his eyes.
“Saddle up,” he said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Kolton stood there breathing hard, fists clenched, like he wanted to chase something that was already gone.
Kait didn’t look at him.
She swung back onto the Kriger, hands steady on the grips.
Roma was still miles away, and she was already done with this bullshit night.
After the station, Lane rode clean.
No games. No tests.
Which somehow felt worse.
The truck stop hummed around them. Diesel engines, air brakes sighing, radios murmuring through open cabs. Sodium lights washed everything the same tired yellow.
Lane stood with Cricket near the edge of the lot, eyes locked on the highway. Cricket had the binoculars up, steady, methodical, lowering them only to scan again with his naked eye.
Lane didn’t look away.
Kait leaned back against the Kriger, helmet hooked over the bar, arms crossed.
Kolton stood beside her, quieter than usual.
After a moment, he said, “You okay back there?”
She didn’t look at him. “Yeah, why?”
He hesitated. “The Texaco thing—”
“It wasn’t a thing,” she cut in.
Kolton studied her profile. “You sure?”
She finally glanced at him. Neutral. Flat. “I’ve heard worse.”
He nodded, not convinced but smart enough not to push.
They stood there for another beat.
Then she said, “Blaze should’ve been on this run.”
Kolton blinked. “Yeah.”
“We have yet to ride together like we said we would,” she continued.
Kolton exhaled slowly. “We will, baby.”
She shook her head once and caught a glimpse of Lane. “I just can’t fucking stand him.”
Kolton let out a slow breath. “Oh, come on. He’s not that bad.”
She looked at him.
“He’ll grow into you,” Kolton added.
“Doubt it.”
Kolton chuckled. “What’s the deal, anyway? Always at each other’s throats.”
Kait turned her eyes back to the road. “He’s an asshole.”
“That, he is.”
She didn’t respond.
Across the lot, Cricket shifted his stance.
Lane hadn’t moved.
Kolton stepped closer, slipping a hand around her waist. He leaned in, voice lower now. “You know… I can’t blame those guys back there.”
She glanced at him.
He grinned. “You’re crazy hot, babe. Like, it’s fucking ridiculous. You make guys forget how to act. Shit, girls too. Dulce is head over heels. I heard some shit.”
She huffed a quiet laugh despite herself. “You’re an idiot.”
“You see,” he said easily. “That’s my point.”
He dipped his head and kissed her—quick, familiar, a little reckless.
Kait reacted and pulled him by his kutte kissing him back.
Kolton wrapped his arms around her and got more intense.
It didn’t last.
“Truck’s moving,” Lane said from across the lot.
Flat. Loud enough to cut clean through the moment.
Kolton pulled back first.
Kait didn’t look at Lane.
She reached for her helmet.
Business again.
The night wasn’t waiting on anyone.
The truck came into view a few minutes later.
White box. Faded logo reading TEXTILES DEL NORTE S.A. DE C.V. on the side—needle and thread stitched into a square, the kind of company you never noticed unless you were looking for it.
Lane lifted two fingers.
Cricket saw it instantly. Lowered the binoculars. One sharp nod.
Lane signaled the formation without looking back.
Kolton moved up.
Cricket slid wide.
Kait took flank.
The truck merged onto the highway.
And Lane turned mean.
Not sloppy.
Not reckless.
Precise.
He changed speed without warning. Not enough to force braking—just enough to keep everyone tight, alert, on edge. He signaled early enough to be technically correct, then stacked the timing so Kait had to react instead of anticipate.
Lane rode like he was running a drill no one had signed up for.
Kait adjusted every time.
Clean. Sharp. Controlled.
Which only seemed to piss him off more.
He tightened the rhythm—speed up, ease back, drift lanes, cut wind just enough to steal her clean air. All of it technically sound. All of it deliberate.
Not dangerous on paper.
Dangerous in practice.
Then he did it.
A sudden lane shift. No warning beyond the bare minimum—signal flashing as he was already moving. The truck’s shadow swallowed her sightline and the wind buffeted hard, shoving the Kriger sideways.
For half a second, the bike went light.
Kait corrected instantly. Knees tight. Throttle smooth. She held it, brought the bike back under her like it had never slipped.
No wobble. No shout. No drama.
Lane didn’t look back.
But his pace changed.
Not slower.
Satisfied.
Twenty minutes later, he signaled again.
Exit.
The same gas station.
The sodium lights hit them like déjà vu.
They rolled in hard and tight, the truck pulling wide to idle. Engines cut one by one.
Kait swung off first this time.
“What the fuck is your problem?” she snapped, helmet already off.
Lane didn’t look at her. “Excuse me?”
“You trying to make me crash?” she said. “You almost ran me off the road.”
Kolton stepped in immediately. “Hey, whoa.”
Lane’s eyes flicked to him. “Stay out of it.”
Kolton held his ground. “What happened?”
Kait didn’t look away from Lane. “He’s riding like a fucking asshole. Almost made me crash.”
Lane stepped closer. Too close. “I ride the way I always do.”
“You did that on purpose.”
Kolton put a hand on Kait’s arm—not hard. Grounding. “Babe,” he said quietly.
She didn’t shake him off.
Didn’t soften either.
Lane’s jaw tightened. His pupils were blown wide.
“If you can’t keep up,” he said evenly, “then switch. Prospect.”
Cricket hurried over. “Yeah?”
Lane didn’t take his eyes off Kait. “Take right flank.”
Cricket nodded, fast. “Okay.”
“Don’t you fucking dare, Cricket,” Kait said through her teeth.
Cricket froze. “What should I—” He swallowed. “Um, Prince?”
Kolton shrugged. “Kount’s in charge.”
“Yeah, so right flank,” Lane said calmly pointing at Cricket.
Kait scoffed.
“And tail,” Lane said to her.
Simple.
Kait didn’t argue again.
She turned, mounted the Kriger, and took tail without a word.
Kolton crossed to Lane and said something low—something Kait didn’t bother trying to hear.
The Mexican truck driver walked past them, gave a thumbs-up—more question than confirmation.
Kolton returned it. One thumb up. A nod.
The rest of the ride went smooth.
Lane rode clean and flawless the rest of the way, making it clear nothing she did would ever earn his respect.
The gates closed behind them just before four.
Engines died.
The Nest went quiet.
No lights in the clubhouse.
No movement.
No Don.
Kait swung off the Kriger and stood there for a second. The air was still hot, heavy with dust and oil. She looked toward the clubhouse anyway—dark windows, no music. Too quiet for the distraction she was begging for.
Kolton lingered a few steps back, like he was waiting for her to say something. Or for the night to rewind.
She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t wait.
She walked straight past the bikes, boots steady, jaw tight, and headed upstairs.
Kolton followed halfway. “You good, babe?”
She didn’t slow but looked back and glared at Lane one last time.
“You wanna talk?” he tried.
She shook her head as she stopped at her door but didn’t answer.
“I’m getting in the shower,” she said after hanging up her kutte, and walked straight to the bathroom.
Not angry.
Final.
The door shut behind her.
Kolton moved quietly, setting his colors down, giving her space without being asked. He didn’t try to join her. Didn’t speak.
The shower came on hot and hard, steam filling the small space fast. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped under the spray, bracing one hand against the tile as the water hit her shoulders. The ride still vibrating through her bones.
It didn’t wash it away.
The signals.
The shifts.
The way Lane rode after he sent her to the back.
She stayed there longer than she needed to, letting the water run until her skin went pink and her thoughts slowed enough to stack themselves into something usable.
When she finally shut it off, the room felt too quiet.
Kolton was already in bed when she came out, turned on his side, pretending to be asleep. Or maybe actually asleep. Either way, she couldn’t care less.
She lay down next to him, on her side, and put her head down on the pillow.
She closed her eyes and as the last image of Lane appeared in her head—
she was out.
