The mountain cabin felt smaller than a coffin. Aria sat on the edge of the single bed, Rogue’s oversized shirt barely covering her thick thighs, his fresh c*m still leaking slowly down her skin from their desperate lovemaking. The video of Tank — alive, smirking, wearing the President patch he’d stolen — played on loop in her mind.
Rogue paced the tiny bedroom like a caged animal, muscles coiled, blood from the earlier fight still drying on his knuckles. “Tank. That bastard never died. He played us all — Kane, Grit, Derek. The whole f*****g club is rotten.”
Emma’s voice called softly from the loft above. “Sis… I’m scared.”
Aria stood, her full breasts straining against the thin fabric as she went to comfort her sister. The forced proximity of the one-bedroom cabin pressed down on all of
