“I would never fucking hurt her.” The words come out rough, broken at the edges. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I want to punch something. The counter. The wall. Myself. “Everything I’ve done—it’s for her.” I breathe hard. Too hard. My chest heaves like I’ve just run five miles uphill, and it’s still not enough to bleed off the fire under my skin. I try to breathe, to get the violent thoughts under control, but they won’t stop coming. Every second I stand here, I see Clay’s face. I hear his voice. He’s out there. And I know how he thinks. If I don’t stop him first, he’s going to find her. He’s going to find Marlowe. And if anything happens to her, I won’t survive it. I scrub a hand down my face, trying to pull it together. “Just take a ride with me,” I say to Bridger, my voice low, ragged.
His eyes narrow, but he nods once.
Then I turn to Neve. “Stay with her?”
Her lips press together, and she gives the smallest nod, but her eyes well up. She blinks fast, and it only makes it worse. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I know what she’s thinking. And I don’t blame her.
Behind me, Marlowe’s voice slices through the air. “Where are you going?”
I spin around fast, sharper than I mean to. Marlowe stands at the edge of the hallway, arms crossed over her chest, eyes locked on mine like she already knows the answer. Like she heard everything. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes sharp.
“I have business to take care of,” I mutter.
Her eyebrows lift, barely. “Business that keeps me okay, right?” she asks. Her voice is steady, but there's something sharpburied beneath it. “Isn’t that what you just said? Everything you’re doing is to make sure I’m okay?”
I say nothing. My jaw tightens.
She takes a step forward. “Why wouldn’t I be okay, Damian?” she presses, her voice firm, searching for cracks I haven’t let her see.
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
Her hand lifts before she speaks again. She rubs her chest, slow and quiet, right over her heart like it aches. And it fucking breaks me. Because I did that. I’m doing it right now.
“Maybe you should stay there then,” she says quietly. “Wherever this nothing is.”
A hole tears open in my chest, right in the same spot she just touched herself, like she reached in and cracked it open with her bare hands. It’s not sharp, not sudden—it’s deep. A slow split right down the center of everything that holds me together. And it fucking hurts. It hurts worse than any knife I’ve taken. Worse than the bullet that nearly dropped me on the shop floor eight years ago. Those wounds bled and bruised and healed. This one won’t. Because it comes from her. She’s not yelling. She’s not crying. She’s just... done. And that’s what fucking kills me.
I take a step closer. Not enough to touch her, but close enough that she feels it. The heat. The weight. The promise. “I’m coming back,” I say, each word deliberate. “That’s not up for debate.”
Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t back down.
I hold her gaze one second longer than I should, because if I don’t leave now, I won’t. I’ll stay. I’ll touch her. I’ll lose every last piece of control I’ve got left.
So I turn. And I walk out. I tear down the stairs two at a time, rage riding shotgun with every step. The sound of Bridger’s boots echoes behind me, but I don’t slow down. I need to move.Need to do something. I need this blood in my body to mean something other than pressure.
We hit the street, the night cool and heavy. I’m halfway to the car when Bridger grabs my shoulder and yanks me to a stop. “You want to let me in on what the fuck is going on?” he snaps.
I round on him, still breathing hard. My jaw tightens. My fists itch. “There hasn’t been any contact from Vegas,” I say.
Bridger’s face twists. “What do you mean, no contact?”
“I mean the text messages stopped,” I bite out. “They went dark after he trailed Clay to a motel.” I pause and take a deep breath. “And Taylor was inside.”
Bridger jerks back like I hit him. “Taylor? Like Marlowe’s sister, Taylor?”
I nod once.
The look that passes over his face is a mix of stunned, sick, and something colder than I’ve ever seen on him. “What are you thinking happened?” he asks.
I drag a hand through my hair, my voice like gravel. “I think if Clay isn’t dead yet, then he knows where we are.”
Bridger exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his mouth. “Fuck.”
“There’s something else,” I say, my voice low, like if I say it too loud the ground might shift beneath us. “Something I never told you. Or Cody.”
Bridger looks up at me, alarm flashing in his eyes.
I pause. My throat tightens.
