It sits just beyond the fence line, faceless for now.
Whatever is out there watching her… it’s patient.
But I’m watching too now.
And I don’t lose sight of threats once I’ve marked them.
Not ever.
Seventeen
Holley
The morning starts out so normal it feels like a lie.
The kind of morning that tricks you into thinking the world is steady, that nothing bad is lurking behind the next minute. Sunlight filters through the kitchen window at the Hellions’ compound, hitting the coffee pot just right. Tony is in the garage, already cursing at someone for stripping a bolt. And Tiffany—his daughter—leans against the counter finishing her drink, looking like a woman made of steel and sarcasm.
“You ready?” she asks, lifting her brow at me.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, adjusting the strap of the tote bag I’m bringing.
We’re going into town for groceries. Simple. Harmless. A chance for me to get to know her better because—let’s be honest—I have absolutely no idea how to be around people Tony loves. I want her to like me. Not because that’s required, but because the thought of disappointing Tony in that way feels… unbearable.
She smirks, clearly reading my nerves. “Relax. You’ll be fine. Worst-case scenario, you pick out the wrong brand of coffee beans and he sulks for a week.”
“That’s worst-case?” I squint my eyes at her, “he didn’t drink coffee when we were together. Did I miss a cue?”
She smiles. “You pass.”
“Huh?”
“Look in this world women are a dime a dozen. I brought up coffee to see if you paid attention to my dad for more than the orgasms he gives you. You passed the test.”
“Does he sulk?”
She nods, “that is as bad as it will get unless you do something dumb.” She moves. “Trust me,” she says, heading for the door, “in this family sulking is a cake walk to some of the things these men will do to get a point across.”
I laugh, grabbing my jacket.
The air outside is crisp. Clean. A hint of lingering winter.
For the first time in days, I almost feel normal.
I almost feel safe.
We head into town in Tiffany’s Jeep—windows cracked, music low, her drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She’s tough the way Tony is tough. Not loud. Not posturing. Just… grounded. Someone who’s been through enough hard things to know she doesn’t need to prove a damn thing.
“So,” she says ten minutes into the drive, “what exactly is going on with you and my dad?”
I nearly choke on my own breath. “Oh—I—um—well?—”
She laughs, a full, amused bark of sound. “Relax. I’m not vetting you. Much.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I know,” she grins, “but it’s fun.”
She turns onto the main road leading toward the grocery store. The town is small, the kind where people nod at stoplights because they recognize your vehicle. Not where I grew up.
