Fair.
“You going to lose control?” I asked.
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Eventually.”
I nodded. “Let me know before that happens.”
Ghost finally looked at me then. His eyes were dark. Focused.
“They didn’t take her,” he said quietly.
I waited.
“They marked her.”
The words settled deep.
I left him there and went back to Amanda.
She was standing near the doorway, arms crossed tight, jaw set. “I heard.”
“I know.”
She looked up at me. “This doesn’t end here.”
“No,” I said honestly. “It doesn’t.”
She studied my face. Searching for something. Then she nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Then we keep choosing each other anyway.”
I pulled her close, pressing my forehead to hers.
“Always,” I said.
And somewhere behind us, the clock started ticking.
EPILOGUE
AMANDA
I woke up to quiet.
Not the brittle, waiting kind. Not the kind that made my chest tighten or my breath hitch like something bad was about to happen.
This quiet was warm.
Sunlight spilled through the narrow window, pale gold stretching across the floor and catching on dust motes that drifted lazily through the air. Somewhere outside, a motorcycle engine rumbled to life and cut off again. Voices carried low and familiar, the cadence of men who knew each other well enough not to shout.
I lay there for a moment, just breathing.
Listening.
Letting my body register that nothing was wrong.
Wrecker slept beside me, sprawled on his back, one arm bent above his head, the other resting heavy across my waist like it belonged there. His chest rose and fell slow and steady beneath my palm. There was a faint bruise along his ribs, yellowing now instead of angry purple, and a thin cut on his knuckle that had already started to scab.
Proof he was real. Proof we both were.
