My chest warms, even with fear chewing on the edges. “Yeah. He told me to pack a bag and be ready for when he comes to get me.”
“Good.” She exhales and shakes off the panic. “If anywhere in this world is safe for you, it’s next to that man. He would throw himself in front of a speeding train for you and then punch the train for daring to exist.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Pretty much.”
Ansley cups my cheeks and tilts my head like I’m a scared kid. “Hey. Look at me. You are safe. Blade is terrifying in the best possible way and he’s smarter than people give him credit for. You trust him.”
“I do,” I whisper. “With everything.”
She nods like that settles it. “Then pack. If you disappear for more than forty-eight hours, I’m calling everyone, including the FBI and probably a psychic.”
I sniff-laugh and pull her into a hug that lasts longer than usual because hugs might actually be medicine. “Thank you.”
“Of course. I love living in our apartment. If you die, I’ll have to pay the full rent and that is not happening,” she jokes into my shoulder.
Her humor glues my sanity back together a little. I grab my duffel bag from my room and start filling it with clothes, toiletries, my laptop, my favorite hoodie, and yes, sexy underwear because if I’m going to be panic-hiding with my man, I refuse to wear granny panties.
Ansley leans against my doorframe, arms crossed. “Pack one dress too. Just in case he takes you somewhere to remind you both that life isn’t all bullets and testosterone.” I toss one in. Because she’s right. As the bag fills, so does that small spark of safety inside me. Blade told me I’d be okay. And if anyone in this world gets to decide that… it’s him.
I finish zipping the duffel and drop it by the front door. My adrenaline is still doing parkour in my veins, but with each second that passes the fear shifts into this weird, buzzing anticipation. I keep telling myself that being with Blade means safety. Protection. A giant biker shield from the boogeymen of the world.
Ansley pats the couch cushion beside her and forces a smile that looks exactly likeI’m pretending everything is normal so you don’t cry.“Come sit. Distract yourself until he gets here.”
I flop down next to her and pull the blanket over my lap. We queue up American Monster because nothing says comfort like watching real murders play out on television while you wait for a biker to pick you up because danger is on the horizon. Peak coping.
Ansley hands me a bowl of popcorn like it’s emotional support carbs. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispers. “Just breathe.”
I nod and stuff popcorn in my mouth. Focus on serial killers instead of drug lords. Totally healthy strategy.
My phone buzzes in my lap.
Blade’s name fills the screen.
Blade:Five minutes. Be ready.
Oh boy.
Ansley and I stay planted on the couch, eyes glued to the paused TV screen, silence filling the room while we wait. My duffel sits by the door like an anxious dog, ready to bolt. My heart thumps so loud I’m convinced the neighbors can hear it.
Then.
A knock.
Short. Firm. Blade-knock.
My pulse trips. “Okay. That’s him. I think that’s him.”
Ansley squeezes my hand once before letting go. “Go verify it’s not a serial killer. Preferably before opening the door.”
“Great advice. Love your survival instincts,” I whisper, even though my voice is a shaky mess.
I creep over quietly and peek through the peephole. Relief floods me so fast my knees threaten mutiny. It’s Blade. Broad shoulders. Arms crossed. Jaw sharp enough to slice through a brick. He looks like a walking warning label that says touch her and die.
I unlock the door, pull it open, and before I can manage a hello, Blade steps inside just enough to grab my duffel right from my hand like it weighs nothing.
His eyes scan the apartment once, checking corners, windows, exits. Always assessing. Always ready to throw down.
Ansley hops up and folds her arms, doing her best to appear like she’s not intimidated by a six-foot-plus biker dripping danger. “Take care of her,” she says, no-nonsense tone fully engaged.
