Shirley
The air inside the clubhouse was thick with the mingled scents of leather, smoke, and testosterone. The music from the jukebox thrummed low, a lazy blues riff that didn’t match the coiled tension humming beneath the surface. Conversations paused for just a heartbeat when Cassandra and I walked in together—just long enough to make the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
I’d learned enough in the last few weeks to know that in Dante’s world, silence wasn’t a courtesy. It was a calculation.
Cassandra moved beside me like she’d been here before, chin up, eyes scanning the room. She didn’t fidget or shrink under the attention. I tried to copy that, though my pulse was drumming in my ears.
I caught sight of Knox leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed, a lazy smirk curling hi
