"Okay."
Something eased in his expression. He crossed the room, cupped my face in his hands, pressed his forehead to mine.
"I've got you," he murmured. "You're not alone anymore." I'd been alone for so long I'd forgotten what the alternative felt like.
I had no idea how much I'd need that promise before dawn.
3
BEHIND ENEMY LINES
My apartment had never felt smaller. I'd been pacing for twenty minutes, trying to convince myself that coming back here was the right call. Axel had wanted me to stay at the clubhouse after Slash's text, but I needed clothes, toiletries, my medical kit. Just a quick stop. In and out.
The Kawasaki was hidden in the underground garage, tucked between a concrete pillar and someone's dust-covered sedan. I'd taken three different routes getting here, doubled back twice, watched for tails the way Tyler had taught me years ago.
Paranoid,I told myself.You're being paranoid.
But Slash had sent a photo of my building. My window. Circled in red.
Paranoid was just another word for alive.
I shoved another pair of scrubs into my go-bag, moving through the apartment I'd called home for three years. It looked different now. The exposed brick I'd loved felt like a target. The street-facing windows I'd admired for their light now seemed like vulnerabilities. Even the jade plant on my windowsill—the one I'd nursed from a cutting, talking to it during lonely nightslike a crazy person—looked like something I might never see again.
My phone buzzed. Axel.
You get your stuff?
Almost done.
Hurry. Bad feeling.
I typed back:Your bad feelings are contagious.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Just be careful. Please.
That word again.Please.From a man who probably hadn't said it ten times in his adult life.
I was reaching for my grandmother's jade pendant—the one thing I never took off, but I wanted to grab the box it had come in, the last piece ofobaachanI had left, when glass shattered in the living room.
My body reacted before my brain caught up. I dropped the phone, grabbed the tactical pen from my pocket, pressed myself against the wall beside my bedroom door.
Footsteps. Heavy boots on hardwood. Multiple sets, not even trying to be quiet.
"Come out, come out, little witness." Slash's nasal voice made my skin crawl. "We know you're here. Saw your pretty purple bike in the garage."
Four days. Four days since I helped a stranger, and now I'm going to die in my own apartment.
"Check the bedroom," Slash ordered. "I'll take the kitchen."
I controlled my breathing the way Tyler had drilled into me.Slow inhale. Slow exhale. Fear is just adrenaline. Use it.
The footsteps got closer. My door swung open, blocking me from view. A Devil's Dust member stepped through—young, nervous, gun held in shaking hands like he'd never actually pointed it at a person before.
Amateur.
I moved.
