"What did you think would happen when you called me, Liv?" My voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it I can't hide.
"I called my friend. The guy who left the military and was getting his life together. Not..." She gestures at my cut. "Not whatever this is."
"This is who I am now," I say, letting some of the hardness I usually hide show through. "And I protect what matters to me."
She looks at me for a long moment, really looks at me. I wonder if she's seeing all the changes. The new scars, the harder set of my jaw, the watchfulness that never really leaves me now.
"You're different," she says finally.
"We all are."
Her eyes drift to my bad leg. "Does it still hurt? Your injury?"
"Only when it rains." It's a lie. It hurts almost every day, but I've learned to live with pain. Some kinds you just carry with you.
She nods, not believing me but not pushing it either. That's Olivia, always knowing when to let things lie.
"I'll pack a bag," she says finally, resignation in her voice. "But I need to know your plan. All of it. No secrets."
I hesitate, weighing how much to tell her. The truth is, I don't have a detailed plan yet. I need to see Devin, assess the threat, decide how to handle it. But I know the endgame.
"My plan is to make sure you're safe, permanently. Whatever that takes."
She holds my gaze, and for a moment I see a flash of the old Olivia. The one who wouldn't take vague answers, who would push until she got the truth.
"I don't want you to kill him, Tyler."
"I didn't say I would."
"You didn't have to." She searches my face. "Is that what you do now? With your... club?"
"We protect our own." I hold her gaze steadily. "That's all you need to know."
She pushes past me toward her bedroom. "Give me fifteen minutes."
As she disappears down the hall, I move to the window, scanning the street out of habit. The neighborhood is quiet, just a woman walking a dog, a mail carrier making their rounds. Normal life continuing while inside these walls, everything is about to change.
I pull out my phone, send a quick text to Reaper: *In position. Assessing situation. Will update.*
His response comes almost immediately: *Backup ready if needed. Handle it.*
Three simple words that carry the weight of the club's authority. Handle it. That's what I do now. I handle problems.
And Devin is definitely a problem.
I move through the living room, taking in the details of Olivia's life. There's a stack of children's books on the coffee table—preparation for her classes, no doubt. A mug with cold tea sits abandoned beside them. But what catches my eye is the small photo frame turned face-down on the side table.
I pick it up, turn it over. It's a picture of Olivia with her parents, taken maybe five or six years ago. They're all smiling, arms around each other, the kind of happy family I never had. I wonder why she keeps it face-down. Is it too painful to see their faces? Or did Devin make her hide it?
The thought makes my jaw clench. Another reason to end him.
I hear Olivia's footsteps and quickly replace the frame, leaving it as I found it. She emerges from the hallway with a small duffel bag and a determined expression.
"I'm ready."
I take the bag from her hand, our fingers brushing briefly. Even that small contact sends electricity up my arm, a reminder of all the feelings I've tried to bury for years.
"Where are we going?" she asks as I open the front door, checking the street one more time before leading her out.
