Carter
The moment Jack hung up, Carter’s stomach dropped like he’d swallowed a lead weight.
He kept staring at the phone in his hand, Jack’s voice still ringing in his ears, low and sharp as a blade.
We’re going to talk about your debts… and the way you walked out on Molly and Scarlett.
Shit.
Jack’s tone had been cold enough to freeze blood, but Carter knew better—cold was just the top layer. Underneath was heat. Pure rage. The kind of rage that didn’t burn out quick, the kind that smoldered until it consumed whatever it touched.
And if Jack was pissed, the council would be too. That was worse. The council’s version of angry wasn’t yelling and slamming doors—it was clinical, surgical. They didn’t just strip a man of his crews and his place in the pack… sometimes they stripped him of
