RT cracked open a beer, the hiss loud in the stillness. “Christ, you could cut the air with a knife,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Chaos, perched like a king in his own corner of the room, studied his son with that hawk-eyed stare of his. He didn’t speak, didn’t interfere. Chaos didn’t have to. The man’s presence was enough to demand obedience, and even now, in the heavy silence, it was clear Devil’s fury wasn’t directed at the club—or at least, not yet.
It was something deeper. Something that none of them could fix.
Violet entered the room just then, carrying a tray of half-empty glasses she’d been cleaning up from the back. The moment her gaze landed on her brother, she slowed. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a mix of worry and irritation flickering across her face. She knew the
