I watched her leave at the end of her shift and walk to her car like she’d been taught how to survive.
My job wasn’t to step into her life.
My job was to make sure she kept it.
And I told myself that was enough.
Until tonight.
Because tonight she didn’t just need a shadow.
She needed protection.
The club in Silverbrook Valley comes into view like a bruise against the dark, neon and headlights and bodies clustered outside. Music thumps through the walls. Lines at the door. Laughing girls. Men with too much confidence.
I kill the engine near the curb and swing off the bike.
The cut does half my work before I say a word. People look. Step back. Recalculate.
Good.
I walk toward the doors.
A bouncer starts to block me, then sees the patch and hesitates.
I don’t slow down.
The doors open. Heat and noise hit hard.
I sweep once.
Bar. Dance floor. Rope. Suits that cost more than sense.
And her.
Near the rope. A man’s hand locked around her wrist.
Our eyes meet.
Everything else falls away.
Black dress. Boots planted like she’s bracing. Hair loose over her shoulders, catching the light. The fabric curves to her body in ways that make my pulse kick hard and low.
Something deep and territorial locks into place.
Her face is pale. Eyes too wide. Fear riding just under her skin.
His grip is easy. Familiar. Like he believes he owns what he’s holding.
Something inside me goes still.
I move.
Heads turn. Noise dips.
They clock the patch and step aside.
Men in black peel off toward me.
