He met her eyes and didn’t look away. “Because I want you to live.” Her breath trembled. “Because I care,” he added.
Her eyes softened, disbelief and longing warring inside her. “And,” he said, reaching out and laying a hand over hers on the table, “because whether you accept it or not, you’re with us now. With me.”
Her fingers curled slightly under his touch, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a gravel-soft murmur. “And I’m not letting your father or anyone else take you from me.”
She closed her eyes tightly, emotions flickering across her face like something too big to hide. “Cyclops,” she breathed, his name sounding like a whispered prayer.
He stepped even closer, their bodies nearly touching. “You don’t have to say it back. Not yet. Not ever if you’re not ready. But I’m going to tell you the truth every time.”
“And what’s the truth?” she whispered.
He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “That I’m in this. For real. For good.”
Her breath hitched. He felt it. And for a second—for one suspended heartbeat, he thought she might say something that would change everything. But before she could, the intercom crackled.
Ink’s voice shouted through the other end of his comms. “Cyclops, we’ve got something. You’re gonna want to see this—now.”
Cyclops swore under his breath, and Trixie stiffened. He squeezed her hand once—firm and grounding. “Stay here.”
“No,” she said instantly. “I’m coming.” He stared at her, torn between fury and admiration.
She lifted her chin, stubborn and brave. “If it’s about me, I’m not hiding in your safe room.”
He growled under his breath. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But not today.”
He exhaled sharply, then nodded. “Fine. Stay right beside me.” As they headed toward the door, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She wasn’t scared. In fact, she seemed to be ready. And that scared him more than anything else.
Ink met them outside the surveillance room, his face grim. Cyclops braced himself for bad news. “What did you find?” Ink handed him a tablet. Cyclops stared at the screen and felt his blood turn to ice. Trixie leaned in to take a peek and gasped, because on the screen was a photo taken from the woods minutes earlier.
“Who’s the guy?” Cyclops asked her.
“He’s my father’s second-in-command.” He looked more closely at the photo and saw that the guy was holding a phone in his hand and showing a picture—of Trixie.
“That is a picture of me,” she breathed. “And it was taken in the hallway upstairs.”
“Shit,” Cyclops breathed. That was impossible. How had someone gotten a photo of her inside the compound?
She spun to Cyclops, voice barely a whisper. “There’s someone in your club working for my father.” The thought of her being right made him physically ill. How could one of his brothers betray him that way? How could they betray her? He had no idea who it was, or why a club member would want to hurt him and the Road Reapers, but he was going to find out—one way or another. There was no way that he’d let anyone get close enough to Trixie to hurt her—not again.
TRIXIE
The blood drained from Trixie’s face so fast she felt dizzy. The tablet slipped in her hands, and Cyclops caught it before it hit the floor, but she barely noticed. She stepped back, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, the world narrowing to a tunnel.
They had a photo of her—inside the compound. It wasn’t from the yard, but from inside. The sight of it made her blood run cold. If there was a traitor in the Road Reapers, what was stopping her father from getting to her? Nothing—that was the answer. Nothing was stopping her father from getting to her.
Someone had gotten close enough to take her picture through a window or from a doorway—close enough to breathe the same air as her. And they’d sent it to her father. Her skin felt cold. Ink swore under his breath as Venom growled something about a traitor. Razor appeared in the doorway, shoulders broad enough to block out the light. But Trixie barely registered any of them.
She whispered, “Someone here, someone in your club is helping him.” The words tasted like poison. Cyclops didn’t say anything at first. His jaw clenched, muscles in his forearmflexing around the tablet. He didn’t seem surprised—not exactly. But he seemed to be furious. Not at her, but at whatever bastard had set foot into his territory and betrayed one of his own.
Trixie suddenly didn’t feel protected—she felt hunted, again. The same cold, suffocating dread that had chased her across three states rose and wrapped around her throat.
Cyclops seemed to see it. “Trixie,” he said quietly. “Look at me.” She couldn’t. She stared at the floor instead because if she met his eye, she’d break.
“Trixie,” he repeated, voice firmer. She lifted her head. His gaze hit her like a lifeline—fierce, focused, and absolute.
“We’re going to find out who did this,” he said. “And we’re going to end it.”
