Bronc held my gaze. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
When the room was empty, I sat for a long time, finishing my coffee. I thought about what it would mean to Harper, losing her father like that. He’s the one who fucked her life up. She’d probably be relieved.
Then I remembered the last thing Harper had said to me before we left the bakery that morning. “Do you think Brie will ever want to see me again?”
I’d hoped I wasn’t lying when I said. “She’ll run to you the second she’s in trouble.”
But the truth was, I didn’t know. There were some wounds you couldn’t cauterize, no matter how many times you bled for them. And there were some sisters who’d rather burn alive than admit they ever needed saving.
I stood, my legs cramping from sitting too long, and headed for the door. There were errands to run, messages to send, weapons to clean. But before I did any of that, I let myself imagine what I’d do to Steiner if he ever touched Brie.
It was a long, ugly list.
The world was a meat grinder, and my job was to keep Harper and her family out of it. I’d failed once. I wasn’t about to let it happen again.
So I made a promise right then, in that empty sunlit room. I’d find Brie and Harper’s mom. I’d bring them home, even if I had to drag them across an ocean and through hell itself. And I’d never let another monster touch what was mine to protect.
Not while I was breathing.
Chapter 19
Harper
The kitchen glowed with that particular morning gold that follows a frosty night, sunlight sharp enough to make the crumb-strewn countertop glitter. I’d been awake for hours, all showered, dressed in soft leggings and an oversized sweater, my damp hair curling at the ends. The memory of Jess’s hands on my skin kept me warm. Three empty coffee mugs bore witness to my waiting, the fourth nearly slipping through my fingers as I chased the ghost of last night’s pleasure—his mouth between my thighs, the growl in his voice when I came the third time, how he’d cradled me afterward like something precious.
Crumbs from yesterday’s pastry dusted my notebook, my sweater, and the patch of bare knee peeking through the torn fabric of my leggings. I didn’t brush them away. The stillness felt fragile, like the world was holding its breath.
The front door sighed open at noon. Jess stood framed in the doorway, morning light catching the damp ends of his hair. His knuckles shone raw and pink. He’d been at the gym again, punishing the heavy bag or maybe just his own regrets. My chest tightened when his gaze found me, that familiar ache blooming under my ribs.
“Hey,” he rasped, voice rough as gravel. I wondered if he’d spoken at all during the pack meeting.
“Hey yourself.” My mug clinked against butcher block. “How’d the meeting go?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he crossed to me. “Gave my apologies for being a colossal dick for the past however many years. Told them I’d been a jealous bastard. That their mates deserved better than my…” His fingers brushed crumbs from my knee. “My shit.”
The touch sparked memories. Those same fingers inside me last night, coaxing sounds I didn’t know I could make. Heat flooded my cheeks.
“You didn’t have to…”
“I did.” His hands engulfed mine, warm and sure. “For years, I let anger rot me. Punished you for surviving. Punished them for…” His thumb traced my pulse. “For finding what I thought I’d lost.”
The confession hung between us, fragile as the sugar crystals on my sleeve. I wanted to kiss it away, to drag him back to bed where words didn’t matter. But his eyes held a new softness; the black irises rimmed with gold like a solar eclipse in reverse. I stayed still.
“You don’t owe me…”
“Let me.” His forehead pressed to mine. “Let me be better.”
The refrigerator hummed. The clock ticked. His thumb kept circling my wrist as shadows moved behind his eyes. The unspoken things waiting in his throat.
“I need you to sit down,” he said, pulling me to the couch. I followed and sat on the edge of the cushion spine straight. His voice had gone formal, like he was reading a bad report and didn’t know how to soften the blow.
He poured himself a mug of the now-cold coffee and walked back over to me. He sat across from me on the new coffee table, set the mug down and put his hands on his knees. He wouldn’t look at me for a full fifteen seconds. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“We were working on finding your sister. Wrecker and Parker ran all the numbers, all the addresses. I was searching too, and I found something. A file from Houston PD. Seems your father hadn’t stopped dabbling in illegal shit when he’d been convicted in that Ponzi scheme. He must have gotten mixed up with some really bad men who did really bad things.” He squeezed my hands. “I hate to be the one to have to tell you, but he was killed last month.”
The world stopped. For a full minute, I didn’t understand what the words meant. Then they clicked together, cold and smooth and permanent.
“How?” I asked. My voice sounded flat, like it was being piped in from another room.
