3 MONTHS LATER

Three months. That's how long Riley had been living a double life, balancing on the razor-thin edge between her duty as a cop and the dangerous world she had been forced into with her brothers. Every day, it was harder to tell which side she belonged to. During the day, she still wore her uniform, patrolled the streets, and dealt with the mundane calls—shoplifting, traffic stops, disturbances. But at night? At night, she was someone else.

Riley leaned against the grimy wall of a seedy motel, her hands wrapped around a cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air in lazy spirals. She didn't even smoke. It was just part of the act now—one of the many habits she'd picked up to make herself look like she fit into this world. She was waiting for her brothers to finish the latest drop-off. Carl was loitering nearby, eyeing her as he usually did. She threw him a glare, hoping to keep him at bay. The first time he'd gotten too handsy, she'd busted his lip. The second time, she'd left him with a bruise on his cheek. But Carl wasn't the type to learn a lesson.

Mike and Kyle were harder to read. There were moments when they seemed grateful to have her around, moments when they let her in, like she was finally part of the family again. Then there were moments when she could feel their suspicion, lingering in their eyes when she said too little or acted too tense. But so far, she'd kept her cover, kept the lies straight. She'd fed them information as needed to keep Sinclair happy- at Jackson's discretion of course- information on police presence here, some information on what they had on Sinclair there- and everyone was satisfied that she was a happy little double agent.

At the same time, every day felt like a new betrayal. She was closer to Mike and Kyle than she'd ever been, riding with them on runs, helping to distribute Sinclair's shipments. Her heart twisted painfully each time they laughed with her, shared stories from their past, or looked at her like the kid sister they used to protect. Because all the while, she was feeding information back to Detective Jackson. He had her reporting everything—who Sinclair's key men were, where the shipments were moving, and what deals were happening behind closed doors.

"We're almost there," Jackson had said the last time she'd met with him. "You're doing good, Riley. We're close."

But how close was close? How much longer could she keep this up?

It was taking a toll on her, wearing her down bit by bit. The worst part was that she couldn't even talk to anyone about it. She kept her distance from Luke at work, avoiding his gaze, keeping conversations short, professional. She had to. If she let herself get too close, she knew she'd slip, tell him something she wasn't supposed to. Luke didn't know the full scope of the case. Jackson had made sure of that.

Still, she saw the way Luke looked at her, especially when she showed up with a new bruise—bruises that weren't from her brothers, but from the people they worked with. She saw the worry in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, and it killed her. She could still feel the warmth of his lips on her skin, could still hear the way he'd whispered "just in case" before letting her walk away.

But there was no room for that now. Not here. Not while she was so deep in this mess.

"Hey." Carl's voice broke into her thoughts, his grin oily as he stepped closer. "You're looking tense tonight. Want me to help you relax?"

Riley's grip tightened around the cigarette, her jaw clenching. "Back off, Carl, before I give you another bruise to match the last one."

He chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Feisty. I like that about you."

Before she could snap back, Mike and Kyle appeared from around the corner, their expressions unreadable as they approached. She flicked her cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, forcing herself to focus.

Kyle crossed his arms, looking between Riley and Carl with his eyes narrowed before closing in on Carl, backing him up against the railing.

"I don't care who you work for," he growled. "If you touch her, you're a dead man."

Carl chucked uneasily and gulped, glancing sideways. Kyle towered over him. "All in good fun, man."

Kyle said nothing and stepped back, turning to Mike.

"It's done," Mike said gruffly, glancing over his shoulder. "Let's roll."

Riley nodded and followed them to the car, her heart heavy as she climbed in the backseat. The engine rumbled to life, and soon they were pulling away from the motel, the city lights flickering past in the darkness.

---

Back at the station, Riley kept her head down, avoiding too much interaction. She'd become an expert at slipping in and out of the station without drawing too much attention. But even now, she could feel Luke's eyes on her from across the room, watching her like he always did.

That day, she had a fresh bruise on her arm from a scuffle that had broken out at one of the biker clubs. She hadn't even bothered covering it up. What was the point?

Luke caught up to her by the coffee machine. "Riley," he said quietly, his voice laced with concern. It usually was. "We need to talk."

She didn't meet his eyes, pouring herself a cup of coffee and keeping her hands steady. These conversations tormented her, came too close to unlocking a part of herself that allowed her to be vulnerable. There was no room for that. "What's there to talk about, Luke?"

"Don't do that," he said, stepping closer. "Don't shut me out. You're not okay, and we both know it."

Riley took a slow breath, willing herself to stay calm. She couldn't let him in. Not now. "I'm fine," she lied, turning to face him, her expression blank. "This is part of the job."

"The job," Luke repeated, his voice tight. "You mean Jackson's job? Because it sure as hell doesn't seem like any of this is affecting him. Every time you come in, you look worse. You're getting hurt, and I can't—" He stopped himself, the frustration clear on his face.

"I'm doing what I have to do," she said, her voice hardening. "That's all there is to it." She turned and stalked away without sparing him a second glance.

---

Later that night, Riley found herself back in the Warehouse Club. It wasn't a place she enjoyed going—too many bad memories from the first time she'd walked in and overheard a conversation she wasn't meant to. It had almost cost her everything.

Tonight, she was supposed to play her role like usual—help her brothers move a shipment, look tough, and keep her mouth shut. But things took a turn the moment she saw them. The same two men she'd seen with Cole that first time.

They were seated at a booth, drinks in hand, and as soon as they saw her, their faces twisted in something between disdain and amusement. One of them, a tall guy with a scar across his cheek, sneered when she approached.

"Well, well," he said, setting his drink down with a smirk. "If it isn't the cop sister. Didn't think we'd see you back after what happened to Cole."

Riley kept her expression blank, refusing to let them get to her. "Just here for business," she said evenly, her voice cold. She kept her chin up, though she could feel their judgment like a weight on her chest.

The other guy, a shorter man with a shaved head, snorted. "You got some nerve showing your face around here after that."

They were testing her, pushing her buttons. But she wasn't about to let them see any weakness. Instead, she took a slow step closer, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah? Well, I'm here, aren't I? So either you can get over it, or I can make you."

There was a beat of silence, the tension thick in the air. Then, to her surprise, the scarred man chuckled. "She's got some fire, huh?" He exchanged a glance with the other guy, then nodded. "Alright. We'll see how you handle yourself tonight."

Riley didn't reply, but she could feel a small shift in the way they looked at her. She wasn't sure if it was respect or if they were just waiting for her to screw up again. Either way, she knew she'd have to keep her guard up. These men were dangerous, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill her if they thought for a second that she wasn't on their side.

By the time they finished the deal and loaded the shipment, Riley was exhausted—physically and mentally. Every minute felt like she was walking a tightrope, balancing between her loyalty to the force and her brothers, all while trying to keep Sinclair's men from getting too suspicious.

As she climbed into the car with Mike and Kyle, her mind drifted back to the upcoming shipment of automatic weapons. A week. She had one week to figure out how to stop it before the situation spiraled out of control.

But as the car rumbled to life and they drove into the night, Riley couldn't help but wonder—how long could she keep playing both sides before it all came crashing down?

***********

Author Note:

Earlier update than usual! Couldn't keep y'all in suspense too long ;) 

Posting the next couple chapters shortly!

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