Except tonight she did. Tonight, some asshole thought he could put his hands on her, and if I hadn't been here, if I'd left five minutes earlier, what would have happened?
The thought makes my hands curl into fists.
Pain shoots through my knuckles and I force myself to relax. Breathe. Count to ten.
This is what the corner's for. Decompression. Letting the adrenaline drain out before I do something stupid.
Too late for that, apparently.
Joanna's finishing up now. Dumping the dirty water into a drain, rinsing out the bucket. She's done this a hundred times. She hangs up the mop, wipes her hands on her jeans, and glances around the warehouse one last time. Making sure she didn't miss anything.
Her eyes land on me again. This time, I don't look away. Neither does she. We stand there for a handful of seconds that feel longer. Her expression's guarded but not hostile. Wary but not terrified. Progress, I guess.
She breaks first, turning toward the exit. She's got a small backpack slung over one shoulder. She pulls it tighter against her body, like she's trying to make herself smaller again. I push off from the wall.
She doesn't hear me at first. I'm quiet when I want to be, something else prison taught me. But then my boots scuff against concrete and she spins around, eyes wide.
"Sorry," I say. Hands up. Non-threatening. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't." A lie. Her pulse is probably hammering right now. "I'm just... heading out."
"I know."
"Okay." She shifts her weight. Uncertain. "Did you... need something?"
Yeah. I need to know you're safe. Need to know that asshole didn't rattle you so bad you quit this job and end up somewhere worse. Need to know you're going to be okay.
Can't say any of that.
"I'm heading out too," I say instead. "I'll walk you to your car."
Her eyes widen. "You don't have to do that."
"I know."
"Really, I'm fine—"
"Joanna. Let me walk you to your car."
She stares at me. I can see her weighing it. Deciding if I'm more dangerous than whatever might be waiting in the parking lot.
Finally, she nods. "Okay. Thanks."
I fall into step beside her as we head for the exit. Not too close. Don't want to crowd her. The Riders nod at us as we pass—Beast,and two others whose names I forget. They don't ask questions. Just watch us go. My breath mists in front of me. Joanna hunches her shoulders, pulling her hoodie tighter.
The parking lot's mostly empty. A few bikes belonging to the Riders, and Rampage's truck.
"Which one's yours?" I ask.
She points to a small sedan in the far corner. Older model. Dented bumper. Rust around the wheel wells. Of course, she's parked in the darkest corner of the lot. We walk in silence. My boots are loud against the asphalt. Hers are quieter. Sneakers, probably.
When we reach her car, she digs keys out of her backpack and unlocks it with shaking hands.
Still shaking.
"Thank you," she says. "For tonight. For... everything."
"Don't mention it."
