Red light pulsed again.I watched the glow paint the floor in crimson before fading back into shadow.
“He targeted anyone who helped me.Friends who offered a couch, people who gave me work, anyone who showed kindness.He made their lives difficult.Investigations, firings, whatever created isolation around me.”My voice dropped lower.“After the second escape, I stopped using my real name.No cards, no traceable habits.Just moving from one place to another for a few weeks or months, then vanishing before he found me.”
“How long?”Ace asked.
“Two years.Two years of truck stops and motels and jobs that paid under the table.Two years of looking over my shoulder, jumping at sirens, scanning every face in every crowd.”I pressed my forehead against my knees.“I’m so tired of running.”
Silence settled over us, heavier than anything before.I had revealed too much, offered him enough pieces for a full picture if he chose to look.No way existed to pull the words back or pretend nothing had happened.
When Ace finally spoke, his voice sounded harder and colder than any version I had heard from him.“He put his hands on you.”
The statement left no room for doubt.I nodded anyway.
His jaw tightened, a muscle jerking under the rough stubble along his face.His hands -- those scarred, steady hands -- curled into fists against his thighs before he deliberately relaxed them.“He know where you are now?”
“I don’t think so.”I lifted my head, meeting his eyes in the dim light.“I’ve been careful.No social media, no contact with anyone from my old life.I paid cash for everything, got a fake ID good enough to pass basic checks.But I want to stay here for a while, if I can.”
“Because of the job.”
“Because I need the job.Need the money, need something stable for once.”I hesitated, then added, “And because you didn’t ask questions I couldn’t answer.”
He let my words settle, hazel eyes focused on my face, an intensity strong enough to unsettle most people but strangely steadying for me.“Why did the siren set you off tonight?What specifically triggered it?”
“He called the cops on me.Multiple times.Told them I was unstable, suicidal, a danger to myself.They’d show up with that siren going, and he’d be there looking so concerned, so helpful.And I’d be the one who looked hysterical.”My hands were shaking again.“Sometimes I still hear that sound and think he’s found me.Think it’s starting all over again.”
Ace was quiet for a long moment.The neon sign buzzed outside, and somewhere in the distance, I heard an engine pass on the highway.Normal sounds.Safe sounds.But they felt thin as paper after everything I’d just said.
“I’m taking you home.”Ace pushed to his feet.
“That’s not necessary.I can --”
“I’m taking you home,” he repeated, offering his hand again.“It’s late, you’re shaken up, and I’m not letting you drive like this.”
“Ace, really, I’m fine now --”
“Marci.”He waited until I looked up at him.“Let me do this.Please.”
Thepleasebroke through my resistance.I took his hand and let him pull me up, staying on my feet as he guided me out from behind the bar.He grabbed the broom and made quick work of the broken glass while I gathered my things, neither of us speaking.The routine of cleanup felt grounding, normal.Well, until it had all gone to hell.
He locked up, checking the door twice before pocketing his keys.The parking lot stretched dark and empty except for my Honda and his motorcycle.The massive bike dominated the space, black and chrome throwing back the lone beam from the light above the lot.
“I’ll take you on the bike and have one of the guys bring your car around tomorrow.”He was already moving toward the motorcycle.
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle.”
He glanced back at me.“Then this’ll be a first.”
The night air felt cool against my skin after the warmth of the bar, carrying the scent of dust and distant rain.My legs still felt unsteady, but I followed him across the gravel, each step taking me farther from the safety of the building and closer to the man who’d just seen me at my most vulnerable.
Ace straddled the bike, the movement easy and familiar.“I have a helmet Jenna used occasionally when she needed a ride.Just didn’t realize I’d need it.”
“It’s fine.I’m sure you’re a careful driver.”
“Climb on behind me.Hold my waist.Lean through turns.Never fight the motion.”
I swung my leg over, settling onto the seat behind him.The motorcycle felt alive beneath me, all potential energy waiting for release.I hesitated for a heartbeat, then wrapped my arms around his waist, absorbing the solid warmth of his body through his shirt, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The engine roared to life, vibration rolling through every muscle.And as we pulled out of the parking lot into the Oklahoma night, I realized something had shifted between us -- something unnamed, yet undeniable, felt as clearly as the wind on my face and the unwavering strength of the man holding me steady as we rode through the dark.
