1
WRECKER
Amanda woke up like she expected to fight her way out.
One second she was limp against the mattress, hair spread over the pillow, breathing slow. The next, her back bowed, a quiet sound ripped out of her throat, and her hand clawed at the blankets like she was still trying to get free.
I was out of the chair before I even thought about it.
“Hey. Hey, Red.” My hand closed over her wrist, warm and small and shaking under my fingers. “You’re at the compound. You’re safe. Breathe.”
Her eyes snapped open. Wild, unfocused, then sharp. They landed on my face, on my cut, checked the room fast. Ceiling. Window. Door. The old dresser in the corner. The cracked paint. A mental checklist, like she was looking for cameras and exits.
Her nails dug into my palm. She didn’t apologize. Of course she didn’t.
Four days ago, she’d been undercover in a logistics warehouse tied to the same trafficking ring that came to light when Ariel was taken. Four days since everything escalated fast and ugly. Since Amanda saw something no one should ever have to see, froze long enough for it to burn straight into her nervous system, and we pulled her out before they realized exactly whoshe was. Since then, sleep came in jagged pieces, fear lived just under her skin, and the compound had become less a clubhouse and more a shelter. Not because she was weak. Because what she walked away from had teeth.
“What time is it?” she rasped.
“Little after six.”
“In the morning?”
“Yeah.”
She slumped back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Her chest rose and fell in short, shallow bursts. It took her a minute to drag her gaze back to me.
“You’re still here,” she said.
My neck popped when I straightened. Sleeping in the chair all night had done a number on it. I rolled out my shoulders and tried not to wince.
“Yeah.”
“You shouldn’t have stayed.”
“I’m not leaving you alone. Not now.”
Her mouth twitched. It wasn’t a full smile. More like she wanted to argue and didn’t have the energy yet.
The room we were in was one of the side bedrooms off the main hall. It had bare walls and old wood floor. The bed frame had seen better years, but the mattress was decent. She had two blankets piled over her, a third kicked halfway to the floor. Someone, probably Ariel, had left a pair of slippers by the bed and a hoodie folded on the chair I’d commandeered.
The hoodie was mine. She pretended she didn’t know that.
“How long was I out?” she asked.
“Couple hours. You crashed around three.”
“Did I wake anyone up?”
“Just me.”
“Liar.” Her voice was dry as dust. She swallowed and winced like her throat hurt. “You stomp around like a freight train inthose boots. Half the clubhouse probably heard you when I… when it started.”
I thought about the way she had come out of it earlier. The choked noise. The way her hands had locked into fists so tight her knuckles had gone white.
I had heard worse in my life. I had heard men scream, heard the way sound broke when people thought they were going to die.
Hers still cut straight through my ribs.
