Chapter 19

Chapter 19
Alyssa
"You ready?" Ashley asks as we pull into the clubhouse lot.
Morning slices across chrome—King's, Niko's, and Mason's bikes parked in perfect formation, metal flashing like teeth. The air is crisp, a raw mix of exhaust and wet leaves that smells like trouble waiting to happen.
Of course, Gray's bike is nowhere in sight. He's probably off handling whatever chaos couldn't wait until nightfall.
Typical.
That means Ashley won't get the confrontation she came for.
Fine. I'll chew my men out solo.
My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. If what Ashley told me is true—if there really is a trafficking ring in our town—keeping it from me wasn't protection.
It was betrayal. Plain and simple.
Did they honestly think I couldn't handle it? That pretending I was fragile somehow made me safer?
After everything I've fought through, everything they know about me, they should know better.
Ashley's right. I was born into this life.
This MC runs in my blood. Time to remind them who they're marrying.
I yank the door and step out. Cold bites my skin. The slam echoes across the lot—loud and final.
Ashley's door clicks behind her, and I hit the lock without looking back.
Gravel crunches under my boots. My steps are steady, deliberate—anger propelling me, but under it something sharper: resolution.
I'm done being fucking sheltered.
Boulder and Diesel don't even try to stop me. One look at my face and they shift—tight shoulders, narrowed eyes. They read the weather and step aside before it hits them.
There's a flicker in their gaze—not fear exactly, but close enough to make them get the hell out of my way.
Good choice.
Because I'm only here for my men.
Everyone else is safe... mostly.
The second I push through the door, the room snaps to attention.
The usual scent of whiskey and old leather hits me first—heavier today, thicker, settling in the back of my throat like smoke I can't swallow. The air hums with charge, raw and electric, as if someone strung a live wire through the walls.
Conversations die mid-sentence.
Heads lift. Eyes find me, then drop just as fast—like they've caught me holding a loaded gun and are praying I don't pull the trigger.
Ashley is my shadow. Quiet. Solid. Her footsteps sync with mine, matching the hard calm sitting in my chest. The tension is so tight it feels audible, ticking beneath the silence, one wrong move away from detonation.
Okay—so Gray did drop the news this morning.
Guess the club's got itself a new kind of headache.
My gaze sweeps the bar out of habit, and for a moment the tension blurs into memory.
It's wild, really—my twins were born on this floor. I can see it like it was yesterday: me screaming through contractions while King held me upright, Mason coaching them out of me, and Niko trying his best not to pass out... or throw up.
And before any of that, I was just a kid trapped in my father's sickness. While my mom was at home fighting cancer, he was here—trafficking children in the basement.
Using me as bait to lure the monsters in.
So yeah. The clubhouse holds both the worst and the best of me.
It's a place built on pain and survival—but also where I became the woman I was always meant to be.
Nina looks up mid-swipe when she sees me and jerks her chin toward the elevator. "They're in Gray's office," she says, one corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk. "Whatever they did, try not to kill 'em. They take good care of this place."
I give her a short, tight smile. "No promises."
She snorts and goes back to wiping down her bar. For a second, I watch her hands—steady, practiced, the same hands that taught me how to defend myself and how to protect the people I love.
If anyone knows what I'm capable of when I'm pissed, it's Nina.
She's become a mother figure to me. The woman who saw the defenseless little girl I used to be and chose to teach her how to stand, how to shoot straight, how to keep breathing when everything else was trying to suffocate her.
Ashley flips her braids over one shoulder with that effortless attitude she was born with. "I'm gonna wait for Gray's fine, cryptic ass down here," she says, grinning. "Go handle your business, girl. And don't let them sweet-talk you with those pretty-boy eyes and big dicks."
I shoot her a look and roll my eyes. "Please. They're in deep shit this time—they can try, but nothing's going to save them."
She gives me a mock salute as I step toward the elevator. The metal doors slide open with a low hum, cool air spilling out like the building itself is bracing for what's next. The ride up is too quiet—too calm for the storm I'm carrying in my bones.
When I reach Gray's office, I catch the handle just as it swings inward.
Niko's standing in the doorway like he's been waiting—like he already knew I was coming.
Fuck. I'm guessing someone warned them.
Luther, probably.
"Hey, sweet girl," he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as loaded.
He gives me an uneasy grin—the kind meant to smooth things over but only grates harder against my nerves.
"Save it," I snap, shoving at his chest until he moves aside.
There's no guilt in his eyes. No fear, either. Just a flash of heat I pretend not to notice.
He gets off on me raging at them—I know he does—but I'm in no mood for that shit today.
I step inside, and my gaze lands on King first. He's sitting in a chair, calm and collected, a laptop closed in front of him. But then I see it—the faint twitch of the scar over his eye. His tell. The one that says he's not happy I'm here but he's holding it together long enough to hear me out before deciding what to do about it.
But he's got me fucked up. I'm not the one getting punished right now—they are.
Mason's beside him, green eyes steady and assessing, but his jaw's tight enough to crack. He's bracing for impact. Always the calm before the storm—except this time, the storm's me.
I cross my arms and plant myself in the center of the room, every muscle tight with restraint. "So," I say, my tone flat but razor-edged, "Who's gonna be the one to tell me what the fuck is going on?"
They exchange a look.
"No." The word hits like a warning shot. "Don't look at each other. Look at me."
King leans back in his chair, the picture of control. He doesn't speak. Doesn't flinch. Just watches me with that dark, unreadable stare that pisses me off—mostly because I'm definitely not supposed to be getting turned on right now.
My eyes narrow. Of course it's him.
The ringleader. The one who always has the final say. The one who decided what I could handle—and what I couldn't.
The thought burns hot in my chest, feeding every ounce of fury I've been smothering since Ashley told me. Betrayal tastes metallic, bitter, familiar. It's everything I promised myself I'd never tolerate again.
Even from them.
He thinks silence will calm me. That if he stays perfectly still, I'll eventually let it go. That I won't flip this fucking desk between us just because he's sitting there acting like he doesn't know exactly why I'm here.
"Say something," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "Because if you don't start talking, I swear to God—"
King snaps to his feet so fast the chair screeches back. Before I can blink, he's towering over me—close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him, his shadow swallowing the light between us.
My breath stutters for half a beat.
"What are you gonna do, kitten?" he purrs, tone low and wired with challenge, head tilted like he's actually curious—like he's daring me to show him.
My pulse spikes, but I don't back down. I close the last inch between us, lift my chin, and meet his stare, one brow arched.
"I don't think you want to find out. You three are in big fucking trouble."
King's mouth quirks, a ghost of a smile that's pure provocation, the kind that makes my blood boil—unfortunately, in more ways than one.
"Trouble, huh?" he murmurs. "Looks like my kitten's got her claws out this mornin'."
Yeah, and they're aimed right at him.
He's too calm. Too confident. Dangerous in a way that twists my fury into something hotter until I can't tell which burns more. His stare isn't an apology or fear—it's ownership and a dare: push me, and I'll push back even harder.
His eyes flicker down to my lips, flaring with hunger.
My mouth goes dry. It's infuriating how easily he seizes control—how he can turn a fight into something else entirely with a single look.
The air between us crackles with tension, every rational thought about staying angry slipping through my grasp.
But I force it back into place, grinding my heels into the floor and locking it down before it unravels.
"Don't look at me like that," I warn, my voice tight. "Start talking."
King's smirk widens, and without a word, he grips my hips and lifts me onto Gray's desk like I'm just another object he owns.
"Mace, lock the door," he orders, his eyes never leaving mine.
The click of the door echoes through the room like a threat—or a promise.
Great. Now I'm trapped in here with them.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" I snap, even though my fingers curl against the edge of the desk instead of pushing him away.
"Probably." He steps between my legs, close enough that his breath brushes my lips. "But you wanted to talk, right? Let's talk."
"You don't need to be this close for that," I bite back.
His mouth curves, slow and knowing. "You sure?"
I roll my eyes, refusing to take the bait—even when his proximity wakes a pulse in my vagina I don't want to acknowledge.
"Positive," I say, forcing my voice flat. "Now stop trying to get into my panties and tell me why I had to find out from Ashley that someone's trafficking kids again."
Beside him, Niko finally speaks. "Oh. That's what you're mad about, sweet girl? I thought—"
Mason clears his throat loud enough to cut him off. One hard look from him and Niko shuts up instantly.
Niko lifts his hands in mock surrender. "What? I was gonna say I thought it was something worse."
Like what?
My pulse skips. Is there something else they're keeping from me?
Before I can chase the thought, Mason steps in, his tone steady but clipped. "Alyssa, we didn't find out until this morning. It's why Gray called church."
I stare at him for a beat, trying to figure out if he's full of shit or not.
None of them have ever straight-up lied to my face before—and I'm not ready to assume they would now.
My eyes move to Mason, to Niko, then to King. None of them look away.
"If Ashley hadn't told me," I ask quietly, "when were you planning to?"
"Tonight," Niko answers without hesitation. "We wanted to come to you with more answers than questions. To have a plan so we could put your mind at ease."
I fold my arms. "How exactly were you planning to 'ease my mind' about trafficking?"
King's hand comes up, rough knuckles brushing down my cheek. His eyes are dark, voice low and laced with steel. "By having a timeline ready for how we're gonna kill every sick motherfucker involved."
My breath catches, but I hold his stare. "And what if you didn't find what you needed today?"
He shakes his head once. "There was no what if. Not when it comes to you."
I exhale slowly, the fight in me melting into something softer—less violent, more tired.
Turns out wanting to strangle my men is more exhausting than I thought.
Niko must see the shift, because his posture eases. "That's why we didn't tell you right away, sweet girl," he says gently. "We weren't trying to keep secrets. We just needed time to make sense of what we found."
Mason leans against the desk beside me, making a low sound of agreement.
King's still standing between my legs, his hand finding my hip like he's grounding himself there. His thumb moves in slow, absent circles against my skin, heat bleeding through the touch.
"Feel better yet, kitten?"
I huff a quiet laugh, fingers curling around his bearded jaw as I tug him down for a quick kiss.
Yeah. I definitely feel better than I did before I stomped in here.
But that doesn't mean I know everything.
Just that girls are missing.
And now that they've promised to be straight with me, I want every detail they have.
Ashley's right—sitting at home while they take all the risks isn't good enough anymore.
I won't bring it up now, but by the end of this, I plan on putting a few bullets in some heads myself.
I glance at my men, my tone going serious. "Okay—I don't know shit except that girls are missing. That's it. No names, no details, nothing. So tell me everything you know. Now."