The music pulsed through the clubhouse walls — something gritty and low, the kind of beat that carried under your skin. Laughter echoed off steel beams and open rafters. The scent of grilled meat, spilled beer, and smoke curled through the air like memory.
The party was loud, like always.
But this one had a purpose.
The brothers raised their drinks to celebrate the club’s future under Reyes as VP. But more than that — they celebrated Avery. Her survival. Her return.
And though she’d never been the party type, she was here. Draped in one of her signature outfits — sleek black, cinched at the waist, perfume subtle but sharp — and her heels clicking against the worn wood floor as she walked beside Reyes toward the bar.
“Still not your scene, huh?” Reyes asked, leaning in so only she coul
