I considered lying, considered softening the truth.Decided against both.“Letter came.Under the door.”
Her fingers tightened around the mug, knuckles whitening.“About me.”
Again, not a question.She knew.
I nodded once.“Just someone asking questions.Nothing to worry about.”
The attempt at reassurance fell flat between us.Her shoulders curved inward.The mug trembled slightly in her grasp.
“He’s looking for me,” she whispered, gaze fixed on the sink where I’d destroyed the evidence.
I set my mug down and took hers from her unresisting fingers, placing it beside mine on the counter.Then I turned to face her fully, waiting until she met my gaze.
“Let him look,” I said quietly.“Nothing changes.My claim stands.You stay right here.”
Her gaze searched mine, looking for uncertainty or deception and finding neither.The morning light caught in her hair, turning it to honey gold at the edges, contrasting with the shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin.
“I’ve brought trouble to your door,” she said, echoing her words from last night.
“Trouble knows where I live,” I replied simply.“Has for fifteen years.”
Something shifted in her expression -- not quite a smile, but a softening around the edges.She reached for her coffee again, and I noticed her hand was steadier now.
“What do we do?”she asked after a moment.
“First, we eat.Then I talk to Beast.”I opened the refrigerator and pulled out eggs and bacon.“Then we plan our next move.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself.“They won’t stop looking.”
“Good.”I cracked eggs into a bowl with more force than necessary.“Let them waste their time.You’re not going anywhere.”
The simple declaration hung in the morning air between us, both promise and challenge to whatever waited beyond these walls.
* * *
The compound’s main gate stood open just enough for a single bike to pass through, chain pulled to the side and secured with a heavy padlock.Two Prospects watched from the shadow of the guardhouse, cigarette smoke curling above their heads in the morning air.As I approached on foot, their postures shifted from casual to alert, hands drifting toward concealed weapons before recognizing me.Standard protocol, even for a patched brother.The Kings hadn’t survived this long by being careless.
“Samson.”The older Prospect nodded, flicking his cigarette into the gravel.Mason, his name, had been with us about eight months, still earning his patch but showing promise.The younger Prospect, whose name escaped me, stepped forward, tension clear in the set of his shoulders.
“Been quiet?”I asked, scanning the road beyond the gate.
Mason exchanged a glance with the younger prospect.“Not exactly.”
“Had a couple visitors,” the younger one added, voice dropping as he stepped closer.“Not the usual kind.”
I waited, giving them space to explain.Mason shifted, gaze constantly moving between me and the road beyond.
“Sheriff’s deputy pulled up about an hour after sunrise,” he said.“Claimed he was just passing by, wanted to know if we’d seen any ‘new faces’ around the area.Said there was a vulnerable woman missing from the next county over.”
“And it’s our county?”I asked, already knowing the answer.
“From Riverbrook, by the accent.”Mason rubbed his jaw.“Didn’t push when we told him to move along, but he took his time leaving.Circled back twenty minutes later, parked down the road for a while.”
The younger Prospect nodded.“Then about thirty minutes ago, some suit showed up.Said he represents a wealthy client looking for a runaway relative.”His mouth twisted with disgust.“Offered cash for information.Left a business card.”
He pulled a white rectangle from his pocket, holding it out.I took it, studying the embossed text: Carter Wallace, Attorney at Law.A local number beneath.
“What did you tell him?”I asked, pocketing the card.
