TEN
BRI
Four daysof pretending I’m fine. Four days of Blade pretending I’m invisible.
I sit at my desk at Iron Reapers Customs, coffee going cold beside my keyboard, the hum of the shop rolling through the walls like a heartbeat. Paperwork is spread out in front of me. Payroll. Inventory. The kind of stuff that requires brain cells I apparently left back at Perdition.
Because inside? I’m a complete dumpster fire.
It turns out flirting with a dangerous, tattooed biker like you’re auditioning for his personal fantasy and then seeing him every day afterward is… stressful. My confidence that night? Gone. Dead. Buried. In its place is a full-time internal scream.
On the outside, though? I look responsible as hell. Glasses on. Hair up. Typing actual numbers into actual spreadsheets like a legit adult.
Blade hasn’t stepped foot in this office since it became mine. I hear him out there. The low rumble of his voice. The clank oftools. His boots across the concrete. He walks past the doorway like he’s allergic to breathing the same air as me.
And the worst part? Every time he’s within ten feet, my body reacts like someone lit a match inside my chest.
Something changed between us that night. We both know it. He hasn’t looked at me the same since. And when he does look… holy chaos.
I shove my chair back and stare at the ceiling, silently begging the universe to explain why I decided to develop the world’s most inconvenient crush on a man whose entire personality is “don’t get close.”
Here’s the truth, the one I haven’t told anyone:
I want him.
Blade. Logan Calloway. Almost forty. Rough and sharp and haunted in a way that makes me want to trace every scar with my fingertips. His voice is all smoke and grit. He smells like motor oil and heat and a night you’re definitely telling stories about later. He walks into a room and everything shifts around him.
And when he looked at me in Perdition… like he wanted to tear the world apart just to make sure I was safe?
Yeah. Good luck forgetting that.
Every time I think I’m imagining this, I remember the way his jaw locked when that frat idiot touched me. The way he grabbed him. The way he snapped, “It’s about you,” before stalking off like his restraint was hanging by a thread.
No one says that without meaning something. Something big. Something dangerous.
A soft buzz interrupts my spiral. My phone lights up with Bella’s name.
Bella: Rev stopped by last night. Said you were causing trouble at Perdition.
I glare at the phone like it personally betrayed me.
Me: Causing is strong. I was just existing. While looking fabulous.
Bella: Did “existing” involve Blade throwing a guy around like a rag doll?
My soul exits my body.
Me: He touched me first.
Bella: So Blade reacted like someone aimed a flamethrower at you.
I freeze.
Because yeah. He did.
Bella: Bri. What is going on with you two?
If I knew, I’d bottle it and label it “Do Not Shake.”
