I fling myself behind the wheel and fly out of the lot. I’m doing sixty through a residential zone, praying I don’t see red and blue in my rearview. Not until I get there. Not until I know they’re safe.
The path narrows to a single point. Sable. Everything else—my fight, Stauder, whatever bullshit he’s about to pull tonight—it can burn.
Sable’s voice rattles in my head, strung so tight with fear I could feel it cutting her in half. She tried to hide it. She always does. She thinks being strong means going at it alone.
But I heard her. And the second she said Ashley’s name, I stopped breathing.
JT’s got eyes on the traffic cams. He’s working her plates, scanning for every blonde in a ten-mile radius of that park. Will’s holding down the bar. I told them I'd call if I needed backup—didn't need to say it, but I did, as if the words themselves could ward off disaster.
But right now, it’s just me. This truck. The engine roaring as I punch it through a yellow light with half a second to spare.
My knuckles whiten around the wheel.
Sable’s got the Sig. We checked the boxes: Registered in her name and a concealed carry permit in case some asshole cop decides to ask questions. I trained her how to hold it, when to draw, and how to move.
Because I knew there might come a day when she would have to use it.
God, please don’t let that day be today.
She’s already on her way. I don’t blame her. Bash is out there. That sweet, scrappy little kid who’s already been through too much. I’d be doing the same thing. Hell, I am. But Sable walking into that park alone with Ashley somewhere out there?
My fucking nerves are burning.
Seeing JT the other night—bloodied and broken—felt like a knife twisted in my gut.
But Sable—fuck, Sable. If she gets hurt trying to protect him… It will destroy my very being. I’d never forgive myself.
I slam my palm against the steering wheel, sharp and loud. The echo ricochets through the cab.
“Come on,” I grit out, leaning into the next curve, tires squealing as I take it a bit too fast.
I see the park coming into view.
Almost there. Hold on, Sable. I'm coming.
The second I pull into the parking lot, I see him.
Bash.
He perches at the edge of the bench, folded into himself the way he gets when his nerves take over. Ashley sits too close, arm draping over his shoulders, staking a claim she has no right to.
My focus locks on them before I'm even fully out of the car, my hand clutching my bag like it holds a live wire. A jogger cuts across my peripheral and that's when I notice there are a few people scattered around—someone walking a dog, a woman at the playground with a stroller—but no one close. No one watching.
My chest seizes.
Bash’s eyes find me before hers do. Recognition flickers across his face. Relief softens the crease between his brows but it doesn’t last long. He pushes off the bench on instinct—only for Ashley’s arm to tighten around him, bicep flexing as she pins him in place.
She turns her head and sees me.
The air between us shifts. Her smile stiffens. Her back goes rigid. Her hand clamps down harder on my son.
My feet are moving closer.
Each step feels heavy and slow, but I’m closing the distance fast, every cell in my body vibrating with fury and fear. I don't reach for the gun yet. Not with Bash that close. Not with her hands still on him.
Her fingers move through his hair with a softness she hasn't earned, her entire body leaning into a lie she’s desperate to make real.
My stomach turns. Another wave of nausea rolls through me.
