“TELL ME it is not true.”
Jeremiah had never heard that tone in Ronan’s voice before.
Not in battle. Not in grief. Not even in the worst nights this club had ever survived.
It was a quiet, dangerous kind of calm.
The office door was closed. The clubhouse hummed softly on the other side of it, normal life moving forward without them.
Inside this room, the air felt heavy enough to choke on.
Jeremiah sat stiffly in the chair across from Ronan’s desk, the laptop open between them like a third man in the conversation.
On the screen, the final frozen frame of the video stared back at him. A man who looked like him. A man doing something he had never done.
He rubbed his palms against his jeans and forced himself to breathe.
“It is not true,” Jeremiah said.
Ronan watched him carefully. “
