My car won’t start. I have barely any money left, no friends I can call, no family I can run to without dragging them into something worse.
My fingers curl into the blanket beneath me as that thought settles in, heavy and suffocating.
Because here… as much as I hate admitting it, at least I know what I’m dealing with.
An ex-MC member.
Michael’s Legion.
The name alone should be enough to send me running, and for a second… it almost was.
But I’m still here.
And that sits wrong in my chest, sharp and heavy, like something I can’t quite breathe around.
I hate that I’m even considering staying.
Hate that, in the end, survival is louder than pride.
With a tired sigh, I push myself up and step out into the hallway, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around me again. I move slowly, listening out of habit, half-expecting something to shift, to change, to remind me I don’t belong here.
Nothing.
Just silence.
I make my way into the living room, and for the first time, I really take it in.
It’s… lived in.
A big screen TV dominates one wall. Video game consoles are stacked neatly beneath it. Framed photographs sit on shelves and surfaces, Dex with people I assume are his family. I move closer, curiosity tugging at me despite myself.
There’s Summer in a wedding gown beside Cas. Penny smiling next to him. Dex with the man I saw at the bar the other night, same face, different energy, like opposite sides of the same coin. And next to them, a smug-looking guy with a girl who has light brown hair and Dex’s eyes.
How many siblings does he have?
My gaze drifts to Dex himself, dressed in an all-black suit. The man irritates the hell out of me, but I can’t deny he looks good, especially in that damn suit. I look away quickly.
That’s when I see the bookshelf.
I freeze.
“No way.”
I cross the room and carefully lift one of the figurines, my breath hitching as recognition slams into me. My fingers trace the familiar shape.
“Bet you don’t know what you’re holding there, Tinker.”
His voice is low, close enough to make me jump.
I turn to find him changed, black T-shirt, jeans, barefoot. His hair is a mess, and for some reason that makes my cheeks warm.
I shake my head, annoyed with myself, then smirk at him.
“You mean Rocket?”
For a split second, his eyes widen. Then the scowl is back, sharp and suspicious.
“How do you know Rocket?” He tilts his head, stepping closer.
