Chapter Forty: No Place at the Table

The ride back from the warehouse was tight and silent, the kind of silence that doesn't let you breathe. Engines roared, but nobody spoke, not even over the wind. Every mile felt heavier. I clung to Jax, but I could feel the storm building in front of me, could feel the way Clay's shoulders stiffened every time he glanced back.

When we pulled into the lot, the bikes clicked quiet one by one, the sudden hush almost deafening. Clay was off his Harley before the kickstand hit, boots hitting the ground like hammers. His glare found me before I even swung my leg over.

"You outta your goddamn mind?" he barked, his voice carrying across the lot. "I told you to stay put, and you show up at my meet?"

I slid off Jax's bike, gravel crunching under my boots. My stomach twisted, but I didn't back down. Not this time.

"You think this is a game?" Clay kept going, jabbing a finger at me like it was a weapon. "You're a distraction. A liability. That bastard's sniffin' around because of you, and now you're handin' him excuses."

Jax stepped forward, jaw tight. "Clay—"

But I stopped him. My hand touched his arm, firm. *Let me.*

I turned back to Clay, heartbeat pounding, but my voice came out steady. "If I'm such a distraction, why'd he fold tonight?"

Clay's mouth twitched, just barely.

"He sat there smiling, actin' like he had the upper hand," I pressed. "But when you said forty percent, he froze. He cracked. You all saw it." My eyes flicked around the lot. Chibs nodded faintly, Bobby too.

I took a step closer, squaring up. "You didn't see his jaw twitch. You didn't see the vein in his temple. I did. Because I know him. He can put on a poker face all night long, but he can't hide from me."

Clay's glare didn't soften, but the silence that followed was heavier than his shouting.

"You wanna outplay Hunter?" I finished, voice low. "You need someone who knows his tells. That's me. You don't have to like it. You don't even have to want me there. But you can't deny it."

---

For a beat, nothing. The lot held its breath.

Then Chibs spoke up, his brogue steady. "She's right, brother. He cracked. Wouldn't've seen it without her."

Bobby rubbed his beard, slow. "She's got a point. Hunter's slick. If she can spot the cracks, might be worth keepin' her close."

Tig grinned like a wolf. "Girl's got bite. Kinda like it."

Happy just gave one of his quiet nods, the kind that carried more weight than words.

Clay looked at each of them, then back at me. His jaw worked, his cigarette burning low. Finally, he exhaled smoke hard, shook his head, and growled, "You step outta line again, you'll wish Hunter got to you first."

But there it was. The flicker in his eyes. Silent, grudging respect.

---

The boys drifted off, scattering into tasks, leaving the lot quieter than before. Jax caught my arm before I could follow. He pulled me aside, into the shadow of the clubhouse, his eyes burning.

"What the hell was that?" he hissed.

I blinked at him. "What?"

"You goin' toe-to-toe with Clay like that." His voice was low, rough, but not angry in the way Clay's had been. More... torn. "You were right, but don't you ever make me stand there watching you push him and Hunter in the same night. You're gonna get me killed, Rae."

My chest tightened, words spilling before I could stop them. "Maybe that's the point. If he's looking at me, he's not looking at you."

Jax's eyes flashed, his hand gripping mine tight. "Don't you dare say that." His voice cracked, raw, like he'd swallowed glass. "Don't you dare make yourself the shield."

I swallowed hard, the fight in me faltering for just a second. "Then stop trying to lock me out."

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was sharp and fragile, like glass about to shatter.

Finally, Jax let go, shaking his head, his voice softer but no less fierce. "You scare the shit outta me, Rae. That's the truth."

And with that, he walked off, boots heavy, leaving me in the shadows with my heart pounding against my ribs.

---

From the corner of my eye, I saw Clay through the clubhouse window, lighting another cigarette, smoke curling around his head like a crown. His face was hard, but I knew better. He could hate me all he wanted, but tonight I'd forced him to respect me.

And in Charming, sometimes respect was more dangerous than hate.

Perfect — that's exactly the right emotional note: Rae feeling defeated, trying to slip out, and then the softer side of the club showing through Tig and Bobby. It lets the tension breathe down while still keeping the weight of Clay and Jax's reactions. And it sets up the *next morning fallout* beautifully.

I turned from the window, the lot stretching wide and empty now. My boots carried me slow toward the gate, each step heavier than the last. I didn't know if I meant to go home, or just get away from all the eyes and judgment pressing down on me. I just knew I needed out.

"Where you think you're goin', sweetheart?"

The voice came easy, familiar. Tig leaned against his bike, arms crossed, watching me like he'd been waiting for me to make that move. His grin was softer than usual, but the edge was still there.

I stopped, throat tight. I didn't answer. Didn't have to. My silence was an answer all its own.

Tig pushed off the bike, hands slipping into his pockets. "Can't let you just walk out. Not with him sniffin' around. You know that."

I looked at him, tired. Too tired to argue. The fight had bled out of me somewhere between Clay's glare and Jax's words. All I could do was meet Tig's eyes, shoulders slumping.

Before he could press it, Bobby came out of the clubhouse, his gaze following mine to the gate, then back to me. He took in Tig, the shadow I carried, even the space where Jax had walked off. He sighed, deep and slow, then adjusted his cut.

"C'mon," Bobby said. "I'll take you home. Stand guard outside. You'll get some peace, but we'll be back early. Clay'll want everybody here first light."

For a second, the knot in my chest loosened. I nodded, quiet, grateful, and followed him to his bike.

As we rolled out, Tig watched from the lot, arms crossed, a rare seriousness in his eyes.

The clubhouse faded behind us, but the weight of it rode with me all the same.