“No, ma’am.”
The ma’am slips out before I can stop it.
Sophie’s mouth twitches.
Amelia looks thrown by it, but only for a second.
“He’s August’s father,” she says. “And yes, I know what he is. I know better than anyone in this room what he is. But my son is five. I’m not making his father disappear and spending the rest of my life wondering what that does to him. I’m not starting over with blood on my hands. I’m not escaping one nightmare by owing men a body.”
The clubhouse goes dead quiet.
Even Royal looks impressed.
Legend studies her for a long moment.
Then he nods. “All right.”
She blinks. “All right?”
“No one kills him without your say.”
“Without my say?” Her voice rises. “I’m saying no.”
“Then no.”
Oaks shifts. “Prez.”
Legend’s gaze cuts to him.
Oaks shuts up.
Good survival instinct.
Amelia looks suspicious again. “You mean that?”
Legend’s voice is steady. “Yes.”
Sophie steps closer to Amelia. “He means it.”
Amelia breathes out shakily.
I don’t like it.
Not because I’m bloodthirsty.
Fine. Not only because I’m bloodthirsty.
I don’t like it because leaving Jeremy alive means he gets more chances. Men like that don’t walk away ashamed. They walk away planning. He’ll use cops. Judges. Church friends. Money. Her fear. The kid. Anything he can reach.
Whiskey taps a pen against the table. “Then we need a different way to keep him off balance.”
Legend looks at him. “Talk.”
“Vale needs narrative control. He’s building the concerned-husband version already. Wife unstable. Child taken. Motorcycle club interference. If he comes back with law, he’ll push that angle.”
Amelia sinks into a chair like her knees finally give up. “He’s good at that.”
“I noticed,” Whiskey says. “So we give him a story he hates more.”