Chapter4
723 Words
The ledger was heavier than it looked.
Rae held it under one arm as she walked down the hallway, the leather cover cracked and worn, the edges frayed from years of being handled by men who treated it like scripture. Her father’s handwriting peeked out from the corner of a folded page, and the sight of it twisted something deep in her chest.
She pushed the feeling down.
Feelings were distractions.
Distractions got you killed.
The clubhouse was louder now — men talking, boots stomping, engines revving outside. The air buzzed with tension, the kind that came before a storm. Rae moved through it like a blade through water, silent and steady.
A few men watched her pass.
Some with curiosity.
Some with resentment.
Some with the kind of hostility that came from fear.
She didn’t acknowledge any of them.
She’d learned long ago that the most dangerous person in the room wasn’t the loudest — it was the one who didn’t need to prove anything.
She stepped into her father’s old office and shut the door behind her. The room smelled like leather, smoke, and the faint trace of the cologne he used to wear. Dust coated the desk. Papers were stacked in uneven piles. A half‑empty bottle of whiskey sat beside an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.
He’d been stressed.
More than usual.
Rae set the ledger on the desk and opened it.
The first page was a list of names — allies, enemies, debts owed, debts collected. She flipped through slowly, scanning for anything out of place.
Halfway through, she found it.
A symbol.
A black serpent coiled around a skull.
Her breath stilled.
The Black Reapers.
Her father had dealings with them.
Secret dealings.
And someone had tried to scratch the symbol out — violently, repeatedly, until the paper tore.
Rae leaned closer, tracing the torn edge with her fingertip.
What were you hiding, Dad?
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Rae didn’t turn.
She didn’t tense.
She simply shifted her weight, grounding herself, ready to move.
“Didn’t take you long to start digging.”
Brick’s voice. Low. Mocking.
Rae closed the ledger and turned slowly.
Brick stood in the doorway, arms crossed, blocking the exit. His expression was smug, but his eyes were sharp — watching her, waiting for a reaction.
She gave him none.
“You lost?” she asked.
Brick stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Tank said you’d be trouble.”
“Tank says a lot of things.”
Brick smirked. “You think you’re tough now. You think you can walk in here and act like you’re one of us.”
“I don’t think I’m one of you.”
“Good,” Brick said. “Because you’re not.”
He took another step forward.
Rae didn’t move.
Brick’s smirk widened. “You know, you used to flinch when someone raised their voice. Used to look at the floor when a man got close.”
Rae’s voice stayed calm. “I’m not that girl anymore.”
“No,” Brick said. “You’re not. But you’re still just one woman in a room full of men who don’t want you here.”
Rae tilted her head. “Then why are you the only one stupid enough to say it to my face?”
Brick’s smirk faltered.
Rae stepped forward — one smooth, controlled movement — and Brick instinctively stepped back.
She didn’t raise her voice.
She didn’t posture.
She didn’t threaten.
She simply looked at him.
And Brick realized, too late, that she wasn’t bluffing.
“You want to intimidate me,” Rae said quietly. “But you don’t know how.”
Brick swallowed. “You think you can take me?”
Rae didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
Her silence said everything.
Brick’s jaw tightened. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”
Rae stepped past him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his.
“No,” she said. “I’m going to get answers.”
She opened the door.
“And if you get in my way again, you’re going to regret it.”
Brick didn’t follow her.
He didn’t say another word.
He just stood there, staring at the door she’d walked through, realizing the balance of power had shifted — and he wasn’t on the winning side.
- Writer
