A wave of exhaustion hit next, heavy enough to drag me under, and the fear of falling asleep fought back hard.Closing my eyes felt too dangerous.
“I’ll stay awake.You sleep.No one gets near you while I’m in this bed.”
“You need sleep too.”
“Later.You first.”
Arguing served no purpose.He had already decided.So I let myself settle against him, let my body sink into the mattress and his warmth, let the tension drain.He slid his fingers through my hair in a slow, soothing pattern, and my throat ached from the surge of emotion.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered.“Rest.”
So I did.Darkness arrived without claws, no trace of Mercer’s voice, no grip closing around my throat.Real sleep washed over me for the first time in two years.
Only dawn revealed one thing: I had not woken once.
Sunlight touched the room.I found myself still pressed to his chest, his arm still anchoring me, his heartbeat still steady under my ear.
For the first time in far too long, I woke up safe.
Chapter Six
Ace
Something felt wrong long before we reached the parking lot.The sensation didn’t come from anything obvious.Instinct stirred first, the kind sharpened by years in bar fights, club disputes, and situations where missing a single warning sign meant bleeding.The Broken Spokesat ahead in the late morning sun, the same weathered boards and faded paint as always.The neon sign stayed dark like every other morning.Even so, the air held a heavy stillness.Birds usually claimed the oak near the entrance, their chatter marking every morning.Today, silence answered instead.
I shut off the engine and didn’t move.Both hands stayed locked on the steering wheel while my eyes scanned every inch of the lot.No cars.No pedestrians.No movement in the shadows under the overhang.Nothing stood out, yet instinct continued howling.
“Ace?”Marci’s voice came soft from the passenger seat.“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“Stay in the truck.”
I stepped out, my boots hitting the gravel.Heat pressed down from above, but tension -- not temperature -- stiffened my shoulders.Every muscle went on alert.My eyes took in the roofline, the tree line, the street beyond the lot, searching for threats.
A splash of red caught my attention.
The front door ofThe Spoke-- the heavy door I had locked myself last night -- was covered in spray paint.Jagged letters streaked downward like blood.
I SEE YOU.
Cold hit first.Anger followed right on its heels.The message had been scrawled fast, fueled by rage or obsession.Fresh enough to shine under the sun.
He had been here.
I heard the truck door slam behind me.“I said stay --”
Too late.Marci rounded the hood and froze mid-stride, her hand flying to her mouth.Her body jerked backward as though the words had physical weight.Before panic could drive her into a run, I moved toward her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Easy.I need you steady.”
“He was here.”
“I know.”My free hand reached for my phone.“Get in the truck and lock the doors.I’ll check the building.”
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere.I need you safe while I verify we’re alone.”
She backed away, climbed into the truck, and hit the locks.I waited until theclicksounded before approaching the door.My finger grazed the red paint.Still tacky.The vandal had come within the last few hours -- while Marci slept in my bed and I stayed awake beside her, watching the wrong doorway.
