“Maybe not. But true.”
“Want a medal?”
He smirks. “Nah. I will take a cupcake though.”
I slide the box toward him. He grabs one and talks around a mouthful. “You bark orders and expect her to roll over. She is not built that way.”
“I know.”
“So try talking to her like she is not a prospect you are disciplining.”
I flip him off. He grins.
Switch calls from the back door, “Quit flirting and get over here.”
We step outside. The air is cooler, sharp, grounding.
Switch leans on the railing. “Tank found out one of those college punks is local. Daddy is connected. Thinks he is bulletproof.”
“Figures,” I mutter.
“Cops are sniffing around,” Rev adds. “They will probably screw it up.”
“We need eyes next weekend,” Switch says. “Quiet eyes. No bodies. Message only.”
I nod. “Got it.”
Switch crosses his arms. “And Blade? I heard you told Bri to stay out.”
“Yeah.”
“You think that is gonna stop her?”
“No.”
“So what are you planning to do?”
I look out at the yard, shadows long and stretching into darkness.
“Handle the threat.”
“And Bri?”
I do not answer, mostly because there is nothing I can say that would not make me sound like a fool or a liar. The truth is, I cannot guarantee anything where she is concerned. I cannot control her. I cannot predict her. I cannot pretend I am unaffected. Through the window, Bri laughs, soft and warm, completely unaware of the storm brewing right outside the door. The sound hits me like a sucker punch, because she is standing in the middle of all this danger without even realizing it, and I am the idiot trying to build a wall around her with my bare hands.
I grip the railing and stare out at the yard, feeling the familiar weight settle onto my shoulders. The responsibility. The threat. The memory of what happens when things slip. If those college kids show up again, if they push product, if they test boundaries or try to stake a claim in our town, I will shut them down. That much is certain. I know how to handle threats. I know how to send messages. I know how to keep Perdition clean and keep innocent people out of the crossfire. That part has never scared me.
What scares me is her. Because I will keep Bri clear as long as I have lungs to breathe. I will put myself between her and anything that looks like danger. I will take the hit before she ever sees it coming. And if she steps into the line of fire anyway, if she decides her curiosity or stubbornness or desire to prove something drags her toward this storm, then God help me, because I will protect her from those kids, from the poison they bring, from this world, and if it comes down to it, from myself.
The worst part is that I do not know how long I can do all three at once, and I do not know what happens when I finally fail at one. That uncertainty sits heavy in my chest, because out of every threat I have ever faced, the idea of losing her—physically or otherwise—is the only one that truly terrifies me.
SIX
BRI
Bella’sout in the living room now, baby Jax curled against her chest, his little head nestled in the crook of her neck. The night winds down slowly, the house settling after all the noise and teasing and plates clinking. It feels like the walls exhale, soft and tired, content.
I grab my keys from the counter and stretch, pretending my heartbeat is normal even though I’m still replaying that kitchen conversation in my mind. “Alright, I’m heading out.”
