When they finally clear her to a room, I follow. Sit in the chair beside the bed. She watches me the whole time. Eyes huge. Waiting for the catch.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But you’re not going back there. Not ever. Club’s got a safe house. You stay as long as you need. Or longer. Your call.”
She swallows. Voice barely there. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why help me?”
I look at her. Really look. The way she’s curled on her side, knees to chest, hoodie drowning her. The way she’s still shaking even under blankets. The way she trusts no one but still hasn’t told me to leave.
“Because I know what it feels like to think nobody’s coming,” I say. “And because you deserve better than chains and dark rooms.”
Her eyes fill. One tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. I reach over slowly. Give her time to pull back. She doesn’t. I brush the tear off with my thumb. “You’re safe, Anya. I swear it on my patch.”
She nods once. Small. Then closes her eyes. Exhausted. Spent.
I stay in the chair all night. Back aching. Eyes burning. Watching her sleep. Watching her chest rise and fall. Making sure no one comes through that door who isn’t supposed to.
I look at Anya again. Sleeping. Safe. For the first time in who knows how long. I lean back in the chair, cross my arms.
Read Riot and Anya’s book here.
EPILOGUE
LUCKY
Thirteen years later
The house smellslike pancakes and syrup and the faint motor oil that never quite leaves my skin no matter how many showers I take. I’m leaning against the kitchen island, coffee mug in hand, watching the circus unfold.
Ryder is twelve now, lanky as hell, already taller than Savannah when she’s not in heels. He’s got his head in the fridge, rummaging for the orange juice like it’s buried treasure. Riley, our first girl who is eight going on eighteen, is perched on a barstool, braiding her own hair while scrolling on her tablet. Rowan, her Irish twin, born eleven months later, because Savannah and I apparently have zero chill, is on the floor with Luca who’s four and obsessed with anything that has wheels, pushing a toy truck into her knee over and over.
“Rowan, stop ramming me,” Riley snaps without looking up.
Rowan grins, all teeth and mischief. “It’s a monster truck. It has to ram.”
Luca giggles and joins in, banging his truck against the cabinet door.
Savannah walks in from the hallway, hair still damp from the shower, wearing my old black hoodie that hits her mid-thigh and nothing else. She looks at the scene, sighs like she’s been doing this forever, and heads straight for the coffee pot.
“Morning, chaos gremlins,” she says, pouring herself a mug.
“Morning, Mom!” they chorus, except Luca who just yells “Pancakes!” and bangs his truck harder.
She takes a sip, turns, catches me staring at her legs. Her mouth curves into that slow, knowing smile that still makes my dick twitch after all these years.
“You’re supposed to be helping,” she says, walking over.
“I am helping.” I set my mug down, slide my hands around her waist, pull her back against my chest. “I’m supervising. A very important job.”
She leans into me, head tipping back on my shoulder. “Supervising from behind, huh?”
“Best view in the house.” I kiss the side of her neck, low enough that the kids can’t see. “You smell like my shampoo.”
“Because you keep stealing mine.” She turns in my arms, loops hers around my neck. “Doctor said you’re cleared for everything. No more restrictions. You gonna keep standing there or actually do something about it?”
My hands slide down to grip her ass, squeeze hard. “Kids are right there, baby.”
