Not again.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Look at me.”
She does.
Barely.
“You wanted my attention so bad, Cherry. You got it. Now fucking talk.”
Her mouth trembles. “They knew about Rosa.”
The name hits harder than I expect.
Diablo’s gaze cuts to me.
I stare at Cherry.
We never named the baby out loud.
Not in church. Not around the club. Not to anyone who didn’t have blood on their hands that night. At the clinic, when the nurse asked if she wanted anything written on the paperwork, Cherry had whispered Rosa because she said it was the only pretty thing she could think of while everything hurt.
Rosa.
Rose.
My stomach turns.
Cherry covers her mouth.
Magic mutters, “Fuck.”
Alpha’s eyes sharpen. “That explains the flower choice against you personally.”
“No,” I say, voice flat. “White roses were Mutherfuker signature before this.”
“Yes,” Alpha says. “But using roses with Lady, with Cherry, with the baby name? That is layered messaging. Someone knew the club symbolism and your personal history.”
Cherry sobs. “They knew her name. They said if I didn’t help, my sister would get flowers at her kid’s school. White ones. They sent a picture of the playground. Then they sent one of my niece with a circle around her face.”
“Why not come to me?” I ask.
The question leaves my mouth rough.
Cherry looks at me like I slapped her.
“Would you have answered?”
Silence.
There it is.
The truth doesn’t care who it cuts.
“I called you,” she says. “I texted. You stopped answering unless it was club business or money. After the miscarriage, you said you’d always look out for me, and then you looked through me every time I walked into a room.”
I feel Diablo’s stare.
I don’t need it.