Always had been. Always would be.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tool watchedGypsy scanning the perimeter. His jaw was tight as he issued quiet orders, assigning brothers to overnight patrol. No one argued. They knew better. Tool didn’t wait for a briefing.
He killed the engine and dismounted in one fluid motion, eyes sweeping the dimly lit parking lot. The soft glow from the porch light barely reached the parking lot, but he didn’t need it. He knew where she’d be.
His steps were slow, deliberate, boots echoing softly as he moved across the lot toward the side door. There was no point pretending like things hadn’t shifted between them. Not after the way the night ended. Not after what they’d said—and hadn’t said.
They had things to talk about. Things he should have said weeks ago. Tool pushed open the side door, the familiar creak of the hinges sounding louder than it should have in the stillness. The soft tick of the grandfather clock in the front hall counted down each step as he moved through the house, heavy boots muffled against the worn runner carpeting the stairs.
The place was mostly dark—just the dim glow of a lamp left burning on a side table casting long shadows across the wood-paneled walls. Most everyone was down for the night. But not him. Not tonight.
He climbed the stairs slowly, hand trailing along the banister more out of habit than need. When he reached the top, he didn’t pause—didn’t let himself hesitate as he crossed the narrow hall and stopped in front of her door.
Maybe she was still getting ready for bed. Maybe she hadn’t even gone to sleep. Hell, maybe she was lying awake, same as him, heart pacing the floor with all the words they hadn’t said yet.
He raised his hand and knocked. Once. Firm. Solid. Then again softer.
“Brandi,” he said, his voice low but clear. “Open up.” No demand. No bite. Just a request that carried weight he couldn’t put down anymore.
Tool waited, the silence stretching longer than he liked. He leaned in a little, listening for movement—anything. But the room stayed quiet.
He knocked again. Slower this time. Three short taps. “Brandi… it’s me.”
Still nothing. He let his hand fall to his side, jaw clenching. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she was pretending to be. Either way, she wasn’t opening that damn door, and he wasn’t going to stand there all night like some fool begging for scraps.
With a muttered curse, he turned and headed back down the hall. The stairs groaned under his weight, the old wood giving him away with every step. Once outside, the chill of the early morning air slapped the heat off his skin.
Across the lot, a few of the guys were still moving around. Killer and Angel were laughing low about something, but when Tool approached, their conversation shifted to silence.
“You bunkin’ here?” Angel asked, cocking a brow.
Tool shook his head. “Nah. I’m not gonna hang around.”
“Hotel?” Killer offered, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Tool muttered. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t look back at the building. Didn’t look up at the second window where her light still glowed behind thin curtains.
He just got in the truck, slammed the door, and told himself that walking away was better than breaking.
Even if it didn’t feel that way.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Thesharp ringof the phone jolted Gypsy awake. Annoyed at the disturbance, especially with the sun barely making an appearance, hegrowledinto the receiver. "What?"
A pause. Then a voice, official and clipped. "Is this Nicolea Petrovic?"
Hearing hisChristian namesnapped him fully awake. His head cleared as he sat up, already bracing for whatever this was about. "This is he."
"Do you own a black 2023 Escalade?"
Tension coiled in his chest."I do. Who is this?"
"Sorry, Mr. Petrovic, this is the California Highway Patrol."
