Do I say something?
Do I put a hand on her shoulder?
Am I supposed to hug her?
Feels wrong to want to, after everything that went down. Feels worse not knowing if she even wants me here.
So I sit here and wait. Pulse still jacked, jaw locked tight, trying to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to face her when she walks through that door. How do I comfort her when it should’ve been me? I was ready to kill one of my best friends, proving my loyalty to the Royal Bastards. Now Turbo’s tearing through every damn database, searching for clues about who took out Ty and his parents. Execution style… that’s what the news keeps saying. A professional hit. The only question left is why.
The sound of a car pulling up gets my attention so I make my way to the door. I stop short of opening it when I hear voices on the porch. Londyn’s and someone else’s… a man.
Moving closer to the window, I keep myself tucked into the shadows.
His voice is low, but I can hear what he’s saying. “You left the TV on?”
Londyn answers. “Yeah. I always leave it on. Makes it look like someone’s home.” She sounds exhausted.
The man pauses, then asks, “You want me to stay tonight?”
There’s a silence, long enough that I hold my breath.
Finally she says, “No. I’m tired. I just want a hot shower and my bed.”
Her voice cracks a little on, bed.
Stepping closer, he leans in, and kisses her.
There’s a fire in my chest. Anger. Jealousy. I can’t tell which, but my fists clench so hard my knuckles pop.
He’s touching her like he belongs here. Like he’s the one who gets to comfort her.
Ty’s gone. Her parents are gone. And now this motherfucker thinks he can swoop in, and play protector.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself not to move, not to storm out there and knock this asshole out. Not yet.
But watching him kiss her twists something hard and ugly inside me. He steps back, tells her he’ll call tomorrow to check in, and that a couple of officers will stay posted outside until the FBI takes her into protective custody.
Protective custody? What the fuck?
The front door opens. Keys hit the side table, and her bag drops to the floor.
Then her voice cuts through the quiet. “You can come out now. He’s gone.”
“How did you know I was here?” I ask, stepping from the shadows.
She doesn’t flinch, her eyes locking on mine. “I saw a black Harley parked between two cars down the street. I remembered it from the night I met you at your house.”
I glance away, jaw tight. She’s sharper than I gave her credit for.
She nods toward the TV, still glowing in the corner. “And I never leave that thing on. Not once. So I knew someone was inside.”
I shift my weight, uneasy. “You’re good.”
Her face is pale, and tired, but there’s a slight coldness in her voice. “Or you’re not as good as you think you are.”
That makes me laugh a little and eases some of the tension.
I don’t know what to say, not with everything that’s happened, not with that kiss still burning in my head.
