The place is quiet—unusually quiet for a clubhouse that usually has at least a few members up at all hours. The main house sits dark except for a single lamp glowing through the front window, probably left on for security. My hands are welded to the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white from gripping too hard for too long. I have to consciously force myself to loosen my grip, flex my fingers until feeling returns.
Zay doesn't move to get out. Just sits there in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead through the windshield at nothing. I can feel the questions building in him like pressure in a closed container.
"You coming in?" he asks finally, voice neutral but loaded.
"No," I answer.
"Asher—"
"Don't," I cut him off.
But he's not having it. "Val came back from the Vipers looking like she'd seen a ghost," he presses, turning in his seat to face me. "Won't talk about what happened. Won't look either of us in the eye. Keeps having these—episodes. Panic attacks, maybe. And now Talia's with them, which makes zero fucking sense unless?—"
"Unless what?" I interrupt, voice coming out sharper than intended, cutting like a blade.
He holds my gaze. "Unless something happened that we don't know about. Something bad enough to make your sister choose the Vipers over her own family."
"She's eighteen," I say, jaw clenching. "Legally an adult. She can make her own choices."
"Does Jackie know she's with them?"
"Not yet."
"Jesus Christ, Asher." He runs both hands over his face, the gesture exhausted and frustrated. "She's going to lose her goddamn mind when she finds out. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"And you're just—what? Going to let Talia stay there? With Killian and his crew? Let her play whatever game she's playing?"
"I'm not letting her do anything," I snap, feeling heat rise in my chest. "She made her choice. She's eighteen. Legally an adult. I can't drag her out of there kicking and screaming without starting a war."
"But you want to," Zay observes, reading me the way he always does, seeing through every defense.
I don't answer because we both know the truth. Of course I want to. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to go back there, break down the door, and carry my baby sister out over my shoulder if necessary.
"What aren't you telling me?" he presses, leaning forward.
I turn to face him fully, meeting his eyes. "Mind your business, Zay."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. This is between me and Talia. Whatever she's planning—it's not your problem."
"Everything that affects this club is my problem," he counters, voice hardening in that way that means he's not backing down. "Xavier just woke up from a three-week coma. Val's barely holding it together. And now your sister is playing house with our enemies. So yeah, I think it is my fucking business."
"Then take it up with her," I throw back. "Not me."
We stare at each other for a long moment. The tension in the truck cab is suffocating, thick enough to choke on. Outside, the first birds are starting to make noise, heralding dawn.
Finally, Zay shakes his head slowly. "You're making a mistake."
"Probably," I agree, because I'm not delusional enough to think otherwise. "But it's my mistake to make."
He opens the door, steps out into the predawn darkness. Cold air rushes in, sharp and clarifying. He leans back in before closing it, one hand on the frame. "Whatever you're about to do, be careful. We can't afford to lose anyone else. Not you, not Talia, not anyone."
"I'm always careful," I lie smoothly.
He snorts, the sound bitter. "Right. That's why you've been shot twice this year."