We survive.
I watched his chest rise and fall again, slower now, deeper.
Somewhere out there, 8-Ball and Turnpike were preparing to ride north, bringing answers or more questions with them. Somewhere in a hospital bed, Miami lay stitched and sedated, unaware of the target someone had painted on him.
Somewhere beyond all of that, men in suits with blood on their hands shuffled money and were planning another hit.
Well, they’re not the only ones playing the game.
They’d forgotten about women like us.
By the time the first smear of pale light crept in at the top of the window, my eyes burned, but my focus hadn’t shifted. Not once did it falter.
He stayed asleep.
The compound stayed standing.
The bag stayed where it belonged.
And I stayed exactly where Liberty put me.
Between his world and mine. Between his potential war and my nest. Between the past I’d crawled out of and whatever fresh hell was now barreling toward us.
I didn’t know yet if Jersey Boy was going to end up being an ally, a problem, or the kind of catastrophe that rewires your whole life.
I just knew one thing for sure.
He’d come into my territory on fire.
And if we weren’t both careful, we were goingto burn together.
Nine
Jersey Boy
Morning came in sideways.
I woke up to a thin strip of light cutting across my face and the sound of a bike starting somewhere in the yard. For a second I forgot where I was. The ceiling was wrong. The walls were darker. There were knives instead of my usual collection of dented posters and piles of old poker chips.
Then the backpack strap dug into my fingers, and it all came back.
The Shore Viper’s clubhouse. Valkyrie’s room. Air mattress. A bag full of someone else’s nuclear option sitting against my ribs because even in my sleep my hand hadn’t left it.
I blinked the blur out of my eyes and turned my head.
Valkyrie was already up.
She sat on a chair by the door looking to the window, black tank top, hair pulled back in a loose knot, forearms braced on her thighs. The tattoos on her throat and arms looked darker in the early light.
“You snore,” she said without looking over.
“Lies,” I said. My voice came out rough. “I’m a graceful sleeper. Silent as a cat.”
“A dying cat maybe,” she replied.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
“All night,” she said. “You were asleep before I finished pretending not to watch you. You didn’t move. Good for your health. Terrible if someone tried to kill you.”
