I hear the motorcycle. Loud and unmistakable, the rumble rolling over the street, thunder with a heartbeat. It cuts througheverything, cars, café chatter, my own breathing, and my body turns toward the sound before my brain catches up.
Knox pulls up hard and controlled, killing the engine as he swings off. Helmet off. Cut on. His gaze sweeps the scene in a single brutal scan, Candace, Darla, Kyle, Rider, and locks on the back seat window, the rest of the world falling away.
He doesn't ask questions.
Knox walks straight to the door, crouching so he's level with me. His eyes hit my face. His jaw locks, vein pulses at his temple, eyes go hot, and very, very controlled.
"Sloane." Certain. My voice is gone. I drop my gaze, unable to hold his, and his hand is there, two fingers curling under my chin, guiding my face up. "Look at me." I do, and see a faint sheen of sweat at his temple. He rode too hard to get here. "I've got you." A claim. "Breathe."
I shake my head. "He was there."
His nostrils flare. One fast glance at Candace. "Your dad."
She nods sharply. "Approached us in the café. Dropped Alice's name. Threatened her without touching her."
His eyes go black. His hand slides to the side of my neck, thumb over my pulse, anchoring me through skin. "Okay. Stay with me."
He shifts closer and drops. Puts one knee on the pavement, palm still on my neck, the other catching mine. He cups them palm to palm, enclosing the tremor, building a barrier around it.
"Cold hands," he murmurs. "Count with me. In. Two. Three. Hold. Out."
I follow because his voice gives me something to hook onto. In. Two. Three. Hold. Out.
Again. My chest still spasms, but air goes deeper. Fingers stop tingling and start aching, the sensation returning the way a bruise does.
Knox leans closer, forehead almost touching mine. "You're in my city. He doesn't get to touch you here."
A shuddering breath tears out of me. It's a small, broken sound and Knox moves. One hand stays at my neck, the other settling at my waist.
"I'm getting you out."
"I can't—"
"Yes, you can."
No doubt in his words. He reaches in, arm behind my knees, other behind my back, and lifts me without effort. I cling without thinking, fingers grabbing his cut. The scent hits: smoke, cedar, and the faint bite of gasoline. My grip loosens on his cut. Just a fraction. Just enough.
Darla's voice wobbles. "Sloane—"
Knox turns his head slightly. "She's coming with me." Quieter. "You did good."
Candace steps out, fury in every line. "I should've broken his nose."
"You didn't," Knox says. "That means you were smart." His eyes flash with a violent promise under control. "I won't be."
Kyle shifts, phone still in hand. "We got his plate. Ran it as soon as he pulled out."
Rider gives a single nod from the side, eyes on the road.
Knox's gaze flicks to them. "Good. Back to the club. Now."
He carries me to the bike. My boots hit the pavement, and he keeps his hands firm at my waist until my legs hold. He fits the helmet over my head, his movements practiced and precise, fingers tugging the strap snug. Knuckles brush my skin, brief but steady.
Knox guides me onto the bike, pressing my thighs in, shifting me flush to his back. He squeezes my thigh. Firm. Certain. The same place he always puts it, checking I'm real before he moves.
"Hold on."
I cling. Cheek to his shoulder blade. The vibration rolls through my arms, a low purr. We move. Street noise blurs. The wind batters the helmet until I can't hear anything but the engine and my own breathing. Knox's back is a wall, broad, solid. He finds my thigh again at every red light, palm warm through my jeans, thumb pressing hard enough to say still here. I match my breathing to his shoulders because it's the only rhythm that makes sense.
