Chapter Thirty- Eight: Go Time

The chapel doors shut behind me with a dull thud that echoed all the way down my spine. My lungs ached with the weight of that meeting, every word Clay threw, every look Jax gave, every piece of myself I'd just spilled across the table. The air outside was supposed to feel lighter, fresher, but it didn't. It sat heavy, pressed down by a different kind of storm.

And there she was.

Gemma leaned against the wall like she'd been carved out of it, cigarette smoldering between two fingers. Smoke curled around her face, turning her into a shadow with eyes sharp enough to cut glass. I froze before I could stop myself. She had that effect—like you'd walked right into the middle of a courtroom and realized she was judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one.

"So." She dragged the word out, her mouth curling into a smirk. "You sittin' in chapel now, huh? Didn't think you were the type to warm church pews."

I shifted, folding my arms across my chest, instinct more than choice. "Didn't exactly volunteer."

Her laugh came low, smoky, full of teeth. "Nobody does. But you were in there, which means you heard enough. And if Clay let you sit, that means you're involved." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "So why don't you tell me what the hell you're draggin' through my doors, sweetheart?"

The way she said "my" made me bite down hard. Everyone knew the table belonged to the patched members, but Gemma—she always had a claim. The clubhouse, the boys, even the air around them—it bent to her when she wanted it to.

"I didn't drag anything," I muttered.

"Bullshit." She flicked her ash close enough to my boots that I smelled the burn. "Men don't drive seven states for nothin'. They sure as hell don't leave knife scars on women for fun. So again—what's your mess doing in my clubhouse?"

Her words dug into me like claws. My throat tightened, but I forced it out. "It's not just my mess anymore."

Gemma tilted her head, studying me the way a hawk studies something too small to fight back. "That right? You think Jax can save you from it? Or you think Clay's gonna throw away business 'cause you fluttered your eyelashes?"

Her smirk was cruel. "News flash, darlin'. Business comes first. Always has. Always will."

Heat rose sharp in my chest. "You don't know what Hunter's capable of."

"Oh, I know men like him." Her voice dropped, smoke spilling past her lips like venom. "Smooth. Patient. Waiting for you to fuck up so they can swoop in. And I know girls like you too—always thinkin' they're poison, when really they're just fire." She leaned closer, close enough I caught the edge of her perfume under the smoke. "Fire burns what it touches. Even family."

Her words stung worse than the smoke. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Gemma smirked, seeing she'd landed it. "Don't get it twisted, darlin'. I ain't sayin' you're weak. I'm sayin' you're dangerous. And I don't let dangerous linger around my boys unless I know where it ends."

My hands curled into fists, nails digging half-moons into my palms. I wanted to scream that I hadn't asked for this, that I'd warned them, that I'd tried to leave. But Gemma Teller-Morrow wasn't the type to be convinced. She didn't need reasons. She just needed control.

Her eyes softened—barely, but enough to throw me off. "You're tied to him, Rae. Hunter. Whether you want it or not. And ties like that? They choke people. Don't matter how many scars you show, don't matter how many promises you make. At the end of the day, it's about what that man wants. And if he wants you..." She blew smoke in a slow line, straight into my face. "...then everybody else pays the bill."

My chest cracked, a jagged ache spreading under my ribs. "You think I don't know that?" My voice came out raw. "You think I don't hear it every second I breathe? That every time I see Jax, every time I see Abel, I don't wonder when the cost comes due?"

Gemma's eyes flickered, quick as a spark, but she didn't flinch. She just ground her cigarette into the ashtray on the wall, twisting it until it was nothing but ash and stub.

"Good," she said. "Long as you know it."

---

While I was dodging Gemma's questions, Jax found his way into his own.

Half-Sack hustled to keep up with him across the lot, words spilling out too fast. "Hey, uh, Jax—so what was that about in there? With Rae? I mean, no disrespect, but she's... I dunno, she's kind of—"

Jax slowed just enough to tilt his head, that look sharp enough to cut steel.

Half-Sack's face went red immediately. "I mean—she's pretty. Not that I'm saying anything, I just... I don't get why Clay's got her in on it. She ain't club. And I know, I know—prospects don't get answers—but..."

Jax laughed. Not jealous. Not insecure. The kind of laugh that made it real clear he wasn't worried about me looking anywhere else. Dry, amused, and dangerous. He clapped Half-Sack's shoulder hard enough to make the prospect wince.

"You're right," Jax said. "Prospects don't get answers. You ask questions, you get what we give you. That's how it works."

Half-Sack nodded fast, eyes wide. "Yeah. Of course."

"And Rae?" Jax's voice dropped low, steady. "She ain't for you. Or anyone. Off limits. You tracking me?"

Half-Sack nodded so quick his head looked like it might snap off. "Tracking."

"Good man," Jax said, already walking off. His boots hit gravel with the weight of someone who didn't explain himself twice.

---

The lot buzzed with movement, men scattering into tasks. Phones rang, bikes revved, voices dropped low over cigarette smoke. Everyone was already shifting into motion, the club turning like gears.

Gemma hadn't moved. She watched me while I tried to pretend her words didn't still echo in my head. Dangerous. Fire. Burn.

The sound cut through it all—a phone buzzing sharp in the quiet. Clay pulled his from his cut pocket, thumbed the screen. For a second, silence. He read whatever was there, and his mouth twisted.

Then he let out that laugh.

Low. Rough. Smug. The kind of laugh he gave when a deal went his way—not in fairness, not in compromise, but in the kind of selfish win that left the other side bleeding. It wasn't joy. It was a knife dragged slow over stone.

He slid the phone back into his cut, looked around the lot like a king at his court. Smoke curled from his mouth as he barked, "Listen up!"

Every head turned. The lot went still.

"It's go time tonight."

The words landed like a gunshot. Shoulders squared, boots shifted, and the hum of engines waiting to roar filled the silence.

Jax caught my eyes across the lot, his jaw set, steady as stone. Clay's laugh still echoed in my ears, sharp as Gemma's warning.

And all I could think was that the blood Gemma said I'd bring with me? It was coming.