Isabel almost smiles. Almost.
“Look,” I say, “I’m not going to pry. Whatever you’re dealing with, whatever you’re running from—or running toward—that’s your business. But I want you to know that these people aren’t your enemy. They’re not going to hurt you. And if you need help, they’ll give it. No strings attached.”
“There are always strings.”
“Not here. Not with them.” I push off the wall, wincing slightly. “I know it’s hard to believe. I didn’t believe it either, at first. But the Stoneheart MC takes care of their own. And like it or not, Isabel, you’re one of their own now.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“Neither did I. And yet here we are.”
She stares at me for a long moment. I watch the war playing out behind her eyes—the desperate need to trust someone fighting against years of evidence that trust only leads to pain.
“I can’t stay,” she finally says. “There’s something I have to do. I—” She cuts herself off. “I just can’t stay.”
She’s already moving toward the back door when it opens from the outside.
Tank fills the doorway, arms crossed, expression flat.
“Going somewhere?”
Isabel freezes. For a second, I think she might try to bolt past him—but even she has to know that’s suicide. Tank is built like a refrigerator with a bad attitude.
“I need air,” she says tightly.
“Get it from a window.” He steps aside just enough to let her back into the hallway, then positions himself in front of the door. “Stone’s orders. Nobody leaves without an escort.”
Isabel’s jaw tightens. She shoots me a look—not angry, exactly. More like resigned. Like she’s expected this.
“Fine,” she mutters, and stalks back toward the guest rooms.
I watch her go, a heaviness settling in my chest.
Tank catches my eye. “Third time today she’s tried to rabbit.”
I wince.
“Stone’s getting twitchy about her. Whole club is.” He shakes his head. “Ridgeline crew can’t get here fast enough. We need more bodies if we’re gonna keep running a daycare for flight risks.”
Something has to give, and soon.
7
STONE
The Ridgeline boys arrive in the early afternoon.
I’ve been in president mode all morning, following up on calls, logistics, security rotations, and a dozen small fires that needed stomping out. But even with all of it demanding my attention, my mind keeps drifting to Josie.
I found myself walking toward the kitchen more than once, desperately drawn to her laughter as it rang through the house.
I didn’t. But God, I wanted to.
Four bikes roll into the lot in formation, engines rumbling in unison, and half the club comes out to meet them. Ginger is practically vibrating beside me, her eyes locked on the massive figure bringing up the rear.
“Bradley!” She’s moving before I can stop her, launching herself at her brother like a sequined missile.
Brick catches her easily, swinging her around like she weighs nothing.
