I climb out slowly, legs shaky, groceries completely forgotten in the trunk, and the air feels different now. Heavier. Thinner. Like fear followed us home and got comfortable.
We barely get the groceries inside before engines roar up the street. Not one bike, but multiple. The kind of sound that rattles windows and sends a warning straight through your bones. Rev is already outside with his hand on his gun, scanning the street like he’s waiting for an ambush instead of backup.
Brooke and I step out onto the porch and my pulse is pounding against my ribs so hard it hurts. A full line of bikes pulls into the driveway and along the curb, and even without seeing the cuts, I’d know who they are. Familiar colors. Familiar faces. And Blade is the first one off his bike. He looks lethal. His jaw is tight and his whole body is coiled, eyes sweeping the neighborhood like he’s deciding who needs to die first, not once looking at me. There’s no softness there, no sign of the man who laughs against my neck or watches movies with his hand on my thigh. Just a soldier in a war I helped start without meaning to. The bottom drops out of my stomach so fast I’m surprised I’m still standing.
Riot and Ghost dismount too, and Mason’s truck rolls up behind them, the whole club turning Brooke’s quiet street into a stormthat makes neighbors peek through blinds before slamming them shut again. Blade goes straight to Rev, “You saw plates?” His voice is low but vicious.
Rev shakes his head. “None. The windows were dark and the driver never got out.”
Blade mutters a curse, hands fisting at his sides like he wants to destroy something just to feel better. And I’m standing on the porch hugging myself like the biggest idiot on the planet, watching the man I love talk about me like I’m bullet points in a mission briefing. Not his girl. Not someone he loves. Just a problem that needs securing. It stings so hard I feel it in my lungs. Brooke brushes her hand against mine like she’s trying to keep me from crumbling, but there’s a knot in my throat that won’t let me swallow down how much this hurts.
Blade finally looks toward the house, eyes checking windows, doors, exits, angles. He sweeps right past me again, his gaze grazing over me for a split second. It’s not soft or worried. It’s blame and fear and something colder than both. Then his attention is gone again and he’s talking to Mason instead. “We need two brothers posted here, all day and all night,” Blade says, voice dark and steady. “Nobody goes anywhere alone until we find out who the hell was driving that SUV.”
Mason nods like he already knew that was coming. “Riot and Ghost can stay until shift change,” he replies. Blade scrubs both hands over his face like he hasn’t slept, like he’s still half drunk, like he’s barely holding on. “They came after her,” he says to Mason, quieter but still furious. “They’re testing us.”
Mason gives him a look that straight up says obviously. Blade is unraveling and I can see it, even though he refuses to look in mydirection like I’m not worth a glance. And that… that hurts more than anything he said last night.
Brooke steps closer, planting herself between us like she’s daring him to look me in the eye. “She’s terrified,” she says, low but fierce. “And you acting like she’s not standing right here isn’t helping.”
Blade’s jaw flexes hard, but he still doesn’t look at me. He keeps his eyes locked on Mason and says, “Her feelings aren’t the priority. Her safety is.” That’s it. No hesitation. Not even a second thought. Like the two can’t exist together. Like caring and protecting are choices, and he’s already made his.
The words hit me like a crack straight through the ribs. Because safety is something you give to strangers on the street. Feelings are reserved for the people you love. And right now? I’m not feeling like someone he loves.
He finally lifts his gaze, but it slides over me like I’m just part of the scenery. He turns away again before any hurt can show on his face. But it’s too late. I feel every inch of distance he’s built between us. Every wall he’s thrown up. Every refusal to let himself see the damage he’s doing.
I thought I was his, but tonight, I’m not even sure I’m his problem.
Brooke tries to reach for my hand again, but I step away because if she touches me right now I’m going to cry in front of everyone, including the man who is pretending I don’t exist. So I walk inside quietly, fast, before the club sees how easily Blade just broke me.
I shut the door and lean against it, trying to breathe around the ache in my chest; Blade and the club are here, ready to protectme like I’m the center of this whole damn crisis, yet somehow I’ve never felt farther from him, and I manage to hold it together for maybe thirty seconds before something snaps, fury boiling up and refusing to let me hide, so I push off the door, whirl around, and stomp right back outside, marching down the porch steps like a woman officially done being dismissed and treated like she doesn’t matter.
I stop right in front of Blade, chin up, arms crossed tight over my chest so no one sees how hard my hands are shaking. “Blade, look at me you son of a bitch!”
Riot raises his brows like he can’t believe I’d just poke the bear. Ghost looks entertained, leaning back slightly like he’s waiting for the fireworks. Rev stares straight at Blade, not me, muscles tense because he knows exactly how close this man is to coming undone.
Blade finally looks down at me. And I hate the look he gives me. It’s made of fear. And fury. And control hanging by a thread. “You’re done out here,” he growls. “Go back inside. Now. I’m not arguing with you about this.”
“That’s hilarious coming from you,” I shoot back, “since you seem to think ignoring me solves everything.”
His jaw grinds. “This isn’t about talking through your feelings, Bri. It’s about survival.”
“And how would you know anything about how I’m surviving,” I shoot back, “when you won’t even meet my eyes?”
He gets so close I have to tilt my chin up. “Inside,” he repeats, voice rough enough to scrape my skin. “Last time I’m saying it.”
“I’m not a child you get to order around,” I say, even though my voice shakes traitorously. “I don’t need your permission to exist.”
He flinches at that, so fast no one else probably sees it. But I do. And it only hurts worse. “You don’t understand what’s coming,” he says, tone low, almost desperate. “You don’t understand what I see when I close my eyes.”
“And you don’t understand,” I whisper, voice breaking now despite how hard I fight it, “how it feels to love someone who would rather talk to everyone else but you.”
He steps in closer, towering, trying to cage me with sheer presence. “Get inside,” he repeats, the command slicing the air between us. “Last warning.”
“Oh trust me,” I say, a humorless laugh slipping out, “I got my fill of warnings last night. And yelling. And being treated like I’m stupid.”
He flinches. Barely. Enough that I see it. Enough that rage and heartbreak twist deeper in my chest.
“I’m not a child you get to order around,” I say, even though my voice shakes traitorously. “I don’t need your permission to exist.”
