My jaw tightens.
Saylor reads my face. Steps back, creating distance with a precision that tells me she's done this before. Pulled back from a moment because something interrupted.
"You have to go." Not a question.
I nod. "Club business."
She doesn't ask what. Doesn't push. She picks up the rag from the sink and starts wiping the bar again, like the last ninety seconds didn't happen.
Except her hands are shaking. And she's not looking at me.
"Saylor."
She stops wiping.
"I'll tell you my name next time." I hold her eyes. "I promise."
A moment of silence, then the almost-laugh, closer to real than it's ever been. "You better."
I walk out, cross the parking lot, swing onto the Harley.
The engine fires and the vibration runs through my legs. All I can feel is her hand on my chest and her mouth against mine and the way she kissed me like she was furious about how much she wanted it.
The compound is fifteen minutes away. I make it in ten.
Ruger is in the chapel. Bloodhound beside him, arms crossed. Ounce leaning against the wall, face unreadable.
I stop in the doorway because prospects don't enter without being asked, and wait.
Ruger looks up. His face is grim. "Get in here, kid. Close the door."
I step inside. Close the door.
"Show him." Ruger nods at Bloodhound, who slides a laptop across the table.
On the screen: a forum post. Names, dates, dollar amounts. Club financial records, laid out in public view, posted from an anonymous account two hours ago.
My stomach goes cold.
The intruder didn't stop at looking. They took this.
Ruger's eyes find mine. "You told me you were keeping an eye on the network."
My mouth goes dry. "I flagged the anomaly, Prez. Eight days ago. Unauthorized access from an unknown IP."
I swallow. "You told me to keep watching."
"Well, now the watching is over." He taps the screen. "Whoever this is went from looking to leaking. Our financials are sitting on a public forum with enough detail to draw attention we don't need."
Ounce speaks from the wall without moving. "Can you find them?"
Everyone looks at me.
The kid. The prospect. The one who let the last leak happen.
I look at the screen. The data, the access patterns, the digital fingerprint of someone who thinks they're invisible.
Nobody is invisible. Not online. Not to me.