Shirley
The smell of gasoline and smoke still clung to me long after we’d left the garage. Dante hadn’t said much during the ride back—his jaw had been set, hands gripping the handlebars like he could throttle the truth out of the air itself. I’d spent the entire trip reading the tension in his shoulders, feeling every bump of the road reverberate through my bones.
Now, standing in the clubhouse’s hallway, I could still hear the echo of the bikes settling outside, the deep growl of engines shutting off one by one. It should’ve felt like home base—safe, solid—but instead it was thick with something else. Watchfulness. Unease. Like everyone had heard something in the dark that they couldn’t un-hear.
I’d barely set my helmet on the table when Cassandra appeared in the doorway. Her hair was
