The room tilts.Sound becomes muffled, distant.My hands start shaking; violent tremors I can't control.
Declan.
It's Declan.
He knows where I am.He's watching.He saw me today.You look different—that means he's close.Close enough to see me.Close enough to…
I can't breathe.
My lungs won't work properly.My chest is too tight, vision narrowing to a tunnel.The phone slips from my fingers and clatters onto the concrete floor.
No, no, no, no, no.
This can't be happening.I left.Three years ago, I packed Warren up in the middle of the night and we left, and Declan wasn't supposed to find us.He wasn't supposed to know where we are.
But he does.
He knows.
And he's coming.
My legs go weak.I press my back against the wall and slide down until I'm sitting on the cold concrete, head between my knees, trying not to pass out.
You look different.
What does that mean?Different how?My hair?My clothes?My face?
Or does he know about Tank?
The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through me.If Declan saw me with Tank—at the clubhouse, leaving together, anything—he'll think...God, I don't even want to imagine what he'll think.
What he'll do.
I grab the phone with shaking hands and, fingers fumbling, delete the message.Get it off my phone.Get it gone.Like deleting it can undo the fact that he found me.
But it doesn't work like that.
He's found me.And messages like that, they're never just messages.They're warnings.Promises.Threats wrapped in familiar endearments that make my skin crawl.
I shove the phone deep into my pocket like it's evidence of a crime.I can't let anyone see, can't let anyone know.
Especially not Tank.
The thought of Tank finding out, of him getting involved, of Declan turning his attention toward him… No.I can't let that happen.
I force myself to stand, legs unsteady but holding, and wipe my face even though I'm not crying.Not yet.I can't cry.Not here.Not now.I have to finish my shift.Have to act normal.Have to pretend everything's fine.
But when I turn to serve customers, everything feels wrong.Too bright.Too loud.Every face in the crowd could be him.Every shadow could be hiding something.
Someone.
Tank's still there.
Still watching.
And for one terrifying second, I want to walk over to him.Want to tell him everything.Want to let him fix it the way he tried to fix things last night, with careful hands and quiet promises.
But I can't.
