Chapter 175 Another One

Chapter 175 Another One
Lily

The ride back to the clubhouse felt like drifting through a void.

I sat slumped behind Jinx, too wrung out to hold myself upright. My arms hung limply around his waist, not clinging, not even really holding on. If I stayed on the bike at all, it was only because he made sure I didn’t fall.

The wind should have hurt. My skin was raw with bruises, scrapes, stitches pulling tight with every bump. But I felt nothing. Not pain, not cold, not even the rumble of the road beneath the tires. The world blurred, trees, streetlights, the familiar curve that meant home. I’d made this ride hundreds of times. But tonight, it felt like we’d crossed a border and left everything familiar far behind.

No one spoke over the comms. No jokes, no complaints. Even the thunder of nearly thirty motorcycles felt muted, their engines nothing more than a distant memory. It was as if the world itself was in mourning.

Jinx was the first to kill his engine. The silence that followed rang in my ears, strangely sharp. He swung one leg over and turned back to me.

“C’mon, Shadow.” His voice was hoarse, no sarcasm, no grin, just exhaustion and years he hadn’t earned.

He helped me off the bike. My knees buckled. He caught me, steady and silent.

The clubhouse doors were already open. People crowded outside, brothers, old ladies, prospects, all with the same hollow, haunted faces. No one spoke. Instead, they melted aside, heads bowed, hands pressed over hearts, as Knox and Elias carried Lucian inside.

I followed, slow and numb, one step at a time.

The clubhouse felt different. The usual scents of beer, grease, and cigarettes had been replaced with antiseptic, fresh blood, burning candle wax... scents that didn’t belong here, that made everything feel wrong.

As I crossed the threshold, something caught my eye. The pool table. Someone lay on it, covered entirely by a Reaper cut. My brain, exhausted and sluggish, tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Another brother hurt? Another body?

Nathaniel stood vigil at the table, head bowed, both hands laid gently on the covered form. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.

“…Nathaniel?” I whispered, voice rasping out of me.

He looked up. His eyes were empty, swollen and red, as if he’d cried himself dry. His gaze flicked from me to the table, then back again.

A cold, sick feeling twisted inside me.

“No…” The word slipped out, weak and hopeless.

Nathaniel lowered his eyes again, saying nothing.

I looked at Jinx, but he just frowned, lost. “What?”

I stepped forward. The room was impossibly still, everyone holding their breath. My fingers shook as I reached for the leather cut, silently begging for this to be a mistake.

Please. Please don’t let it be...

I pulled the jacket back.

It was Ash.

He looked so peaceful, almost asleep. Someone had washed the blood from his face, brushed his blonde hair back, folded his hands neatly across his chest. He looked like he might wake at any moment... but he didn’t.

“No…” My voice was hollow, stripped of tears or even fear. There was nothing left inside me to give.

Nathaniel’s lips trembled. “I’m sorry…” His voice broke on the words. “I couldn’t save him.”

His apology echoed through the clubhouse, hanging in the air like smoke. Jinx stared, uncomprehending. Then his whole body went rigid.

“No.”

Nathaniel squeezed his eyes closed. “I’m sorry.”

Jinx shook his head, breath coming short and ragged. “I said… No.”

He moved in a blur. A beer bottle exploded against the far wall, glass flying. Another bottle, another crash. Then a chair, splintered against the wall. Bottles, shelves, all shattering, raining shards and liquor on the floor.

“JINX!” Victor’s shout cut through the chaos, but Jinx didn’t hear.

“NO!”

He hurled another chair, shattering a framed photo on the wall, the Reapers, back when the world still made sense. Nathaniel moved before I could react, grabbing me by the shoulders, pulling me behind him, shielding me as another bottle burst nearby.

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice trembling. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. Nothing was okay.

Jinx roared. Not a scream, not a yell, a sound torn from deep inside, raw and wild and broken beyond repair.

He flipped a poker table. Cards and chips skittered everywhere, a useless rain of color and noise. Someone tried to stop him. He threw them off, then drove his fist into the wall. Drywall cracked, wood splintered, blood smeared across his knuckles. Again. Again. Again.

“I’M SO SICK OF DIGGING GRAVES!”

The room froze. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Jinx dropped to his knees, still punching the floor, blood pouring from his hands until there was nothing left but pain.

“I CAN’T…” Another punch. “I CAN’T…” Another. “I CAN’T KEEP LOSING MY FUCKING FAMILY!”

The only sound left was Jinx, sobbing, gut-wrenching, all-consuming, the kind of grief that left no room for anything else.

I couldn’t look at him.

Not like this. Not while he was shattered and alone.

Nathaniel’s arm stayed wrapped protectively around me, a barrier against the chaos Jinx had left behind.

I eased out of his grasp. For a heartbeat, he held on tighter.

“No.” His eyes searched mine, desperate. “He’s not okay.”

“I know.”

“He could hurt you.”

I looked past Nathaniel, over the wreckage, to where Jinx knelt. He wasn’t raging anymore. He wasn’t breaking chairs or bottles. He was just, broken. Utterly, devastatingly broken.

“I know,” I whispered.

Victor moved to block my path, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Lily.” His voice was gentle but firm. “Give him a minute.”

I shook my head, my voice barely holding together. “He doesn’t need a minute. He needs somebody.”

Victor hesitated, glancing from Jinx back to me. “He doesn’t even know where he is right now.”

“I do.”

I stepped past them, and this time, neither Nathaniel nor Victor stopped me.

The clubhouse was so quiet that I could hear every ragged breath Jinx fought to draw. He was hunched on the floor, forehead pressed to the boards, blood seeping from his fists. His entire body trembled.

I knelt beside him, not caring about the shards of glass cutting into my knees. For a long moment, I just sat there, silent, steady.

Then I reached out, resting my hand on the back of his neck. He flinched at the touch, breath hitching.

“…Jinx.”

He didn’t answer.

I edged closer, ignoring the pain flaring in my ribs, the stitches pulling tight, the exhaustion burning through every muscle. All that mattered was the man beside me, drowning in grief.

I wrapped my arms around him, slow, gentle, the way he’d done for me a hundred times before.

For a second, he was frozen. Then suddenly, his arms crushed around me, squeezing the air from my lungs, pain erupting through every bruise and cut. But I didn’t care. He held me like he was terrified I’d vanish, too.

His forehead pressed hard against mine, his body shaking so violently it rattled my own.

“I’m sorry…” The words poured out between sobs, raw and broken. “I’m so… so fucking sorry…”

I closed my eyes and leaned into him, our foreheads pressed together in the quiet, holding each other up when the world around us had fallen apart.