Ava.
I hit accept and put her on speaker.
“Hey,” she says, breathless. In the background, steam hisses and an espresso machine roars. She’s at the coffee truck. “You almost here?”
The sound of her, alive and busy and normal, loosens something in my chest.
“I just passed the two-hundred-miles sign,” I tell her, smiling even though she can’t see it. “Maybe three hours. How are you? How’s… everything?”
I don’t say his name. Viper. Ava’s man. I’ve only heard about him through protective-sister filters and a handful of clipped details. Scary. Loyal. Damned Saints. The reason she’s breathing.
But I also know what it means to have someone powerful decide they’re responsible for you. I know the way protection can tilt into control if the wrong man is holding it.
“Everything’s good,” Ava says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Viper’s out on a run, but he’s been counting down the hours.”
She hesitates.
“I think he’s… nervous,” she admits, like the word tastes strange. “He won’t say it, but he keeps asking what you’re like. What you’ll think of him.”
My throat tightens.
“He’s saved your life,” I say carefully.
“I know,” she answers, softer. “But meeting family is different. He’s not scared of anyone. He’s just… scared of getting this wrong.”
It’s hard to picture a man like that nervous about anything. The idea makes him feel a fraction more human, which I’m not sure is reassuring or terrifying.
“Ghost said he’d keep an eye out for you on the road,” Ava adds.
“Ghost?”
“An enforcer. One of ours.” Her voice turns gentle but firm, the way it used to when she was trying to keep me calm without lying. “Nadia, listen. If one of the Saints tells you to do something, you do it. No arguing. If they ask you something, answer. It’s about safety, not control.”
My stomach tightens.
I don’t like the idea of needing men like that. I don’t like how familiar it feels to be told to comply, even if the intention is different. Even if this time it’s meant to keep me alive.
“I’ll be careful,” I promise.
“I can’t wait to hug you,” she says. “Call me when you’re closer.”
The call ends, and I set the phone back in the console, my fingers lingering like I can keep her voice within reach.
Ava is alive.
She sounds happy.
She sounds worried about me.
I’m heading toward her.
The world can’t be all bad.
Then headlight glare blooms in my rearview mirror.
Two motorcycles surge up behind me, engines low and aggressive. Not weekend riders. They move in formation, staggered and controlled. The hairs along my arms lift.
A third bike slides into place.
