The word lands like a brick.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no. She wants to go to New York. That’s where I’m taking her.” I keep my voice level, respectful, but firm. “She needs her normal life right now, Stone. Her routine. Her apartment. Her career. Not the clubhouse, where everyone’s gonna be looking at her like she’s broken.”
“She just got kidnapped?—”
“I know. I’m the one who found her, remember?” My hand tightens on the phone. “But wrapping her in bubble wrap and keeping her in Stoneheart isn’t gonna help. It’s gonna make her feel like a prisoner.”
“And you know what’s best for my daughter?”
I bite my tongue. Because yeah, I know what’s best for her. Better than he ever has. But saying that out loud wouldn’t helpEmma—and she’s the only one I’m thinking about. “I know what she asked for. And right now, that’s New York.”
“It doesn’t matter what she asked for. You bring her back here where she belongs.”
“With all due respect, Stone, I can’t do that.”
“You’re disobeying a direct order?”
“I’m following the same order I’ve had since I was sixteen—keep your daughter safe. This isn’t emotion. It’s the job.”
Stone is quiet for a long, long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is dangerously calm.
“You and I will be having a conversation when you get back. Understood?”
“Understood.”
I kill the call before I say something that gets me completely blacklisted from the only home I’ve ever had.
That’s the thing with Stone—he’s not just my club president, he’s the closest thing I’ve got to a father. I owe him everything. But even then, I still can’t choose what he wants over what Emma wants, over what she needs. Not anymore. And maybe not ever.
She needs New York right now. Needs to feel safe. So that’s where I’m taking her. It’s what I fucking do, what I’ve always done—what’s right for Emma. Even if it kills me to watch her walk away every time.
When I head back inside, Emma’s still trying to get through her coffee, wincing after every sip.
“How bad?” she asks, trying not to cough as I sit down.
“Scale of one to ten? Solid eight.”
“What would a ten be?”
“Him rolling up here to haul you home by your hood.”
She almost smiles. “Did you tell him I’m OK?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And he wants me to bring you back to Stoneheart immediately. I said no. Told me we’d be having a conversation when I get home.”
Now she does smile, just a little. “You’re going to be in so much trouble.”
“Yeah. I fuckin’ am.”
Her eyes meet mine, and something passes between us—something sharp, familiar, dangerous. The thing we keep pretending isn’t there.
“Why do you keep doing this?” she asks. Same question she’s asked a thousand times, different context.
