CHAPTER 12
The bike thrums between my legs, engine hot from the long haul back from Terry. Six hours of warehouse inventory with Ledger, counting shit that isn’t on any manifest. My shoulders ache. My brand still burns under my shirt, the healing has been worse than the actual moment of branding.
Plastic bags of Chinese food hang from my grip, swinging as I take the last turn onto our road. Got Mercy those sugar donuts she likes. The ones dusted with cinnamon that leave her fingerprints everywhere.
I almost stop the bike when I see the Range Rover, white and gleaming in my dirt driveway like some alien spacecraft landed while I was gone. Savannah's ride. I'd know it anywhere—seen it enough times on her Instagram, parked outside fancy hotels, designer shopping bags arranged just so on the hood.
I kill the engine, let silence fill the space where my heartbeat should be. The food bags crinkle as I tighten my grip.
What the fuck is she doin’ here?
Five days since the silo.
Five days since I cut her loose, really expecting it to be the end this time.
Five days of nothing but the ache in my chest and the memory of her skin.
They know I'm here. You don't sneak up on anyone riding this bike. The door opens before I can reach for it.
"Legion!" Mercy's face appears, grinning wide. "We have a visitor!"
Like I could miss the six-figure SUV parked out front.
I step inside, keeping my face blank. Savannah sits on our couch, all honey-blonde and polished in her riding clothes. Tight white pants. Tall black boots. Hair pulled back in a low bun. The ring is back on her finger, diamond catching light like it's showing off.
"Brought dinner," I say, holding up the bags. My voice sounds normal. Doesn't give away the ache in my chest.
Mercy bounces over, snatching the bags from my hands. "Chinese?Yes!" She peers inside. "Did you get?—"
"Sugar donuts are in the bottom bag."
She grins, already digging for them. "Savannah came to see the new place!"
"So I see." I look at Savannah, really look at her. Something's off. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. There's tension in her shoulders I recognize—the kind she gets when she's trying not to crack.
"I was just in the neighborhood," she says. Bullshit. Nobody's "just in the neighborhood" of Kane land. We're the wrong side of everywhere.
"Nice of you to drop by." I keep my tone even. "Wasn't expecting company, or I'd have brought more food."
"Oh, I'm not staying for dinner." Her smile tightens a fraction. The diamond flashes again as she tucks hair behind her ear.
Mercy hauls the food to the kitchen, already opening containers, the smell of fried rice and kung pao chicken filling the air. "This is so much better than what we had at the clubhouse," she calls over her shoulder.
I watch Savannah flinch at the word "clubhouse." There's a story there. Something happened while I was gone.
"Mercy," I say, not taking my eyes off Savannah, "give us a minute, will ya?"
"But the food?—"
"It'll still be there." I reach out my hand to Savannah. "Let's go for a walk."
She hesitates, then takes my hand. Her fingers are cool against mine. I can feel the ring pressing into my skin.
"Don't touch my food," I warn Mercy. "I'll be right back."
"Whatever." She's already got a pair of chopsticks in her hand, rooting through the containers. "I'm not making any promises."
I lead Savannah outside, onto the porch, into the purple dusk. The air smells like dust and sage. Her perfume cuts through it—something expensive, subtle.
