I can still smell her on my jacket. Smoke, jasmine, and sin. It makes my chest ache in a way no bullet ever has. I drag in another breath and keep walking.
The clubhouse looks half asleep under the snow. The front steps are buried, the porch light dim. The world around it’s nothing but white silence and tire ruts.
Inside, the air hits different with oil, leather, heat, and noise. Familiar chaos. My chaos.
Rock’s voice rumbles from the main room. “Boss is back!”
Crusher looks up from where he’s pouring coffee behind the bar, eyes bloodshot but alert. “You look like hell.”
“Feels mutual.” I strip off my coat, hang it on the rack, and grab the mug he slides over, letting the caffeine burn down my throat.
“You check the shop?” Rock asks.
“Yeah. Generator’s shot. Storm took out a couple of trees out back, nothing major.”
Crusher nods. “Aria still around?”
My spine stiffens, and I hesitate long enough for both of them to notice. “She’s fine,” I say finally. “Staying till the plows make it through.”
Rock whistles low. “Man, that’s one way to spend a snowstorm.”
I ignore the grin that follows. “Anybody check on the north fence line?”
“Throttle’s out there now,” Crusher says. “Said he’ll radio when he gets eyes on the road.”
I nod, but my focus drifts. The phone buzzes in my pocket again. I pull it out, half-hoping it’s her.
It’s not.
It’s the same number that sent Aria the threatening messages. Same message. Same threat. Only this time, the timestamp’s updated.
Read: 9:14 a.m.
Someone’s still watching. A chill crawls up the back of my neck, the kind that has nothing to do with the cold. Whoever’s out there didn’t just send a warning, they’re tracking.
The coffee goes sour in my stomach.
Crusher frowns. “What?”
“Nothing.” I pocket the phone. “Handle the morning brief without me. I’m gonna check the perimeter.”
“Steel.”
“Not a request,” I demand.
Crusher nods once. “You got it.”
I push out the door, the cold hitting harder now that I’ve been warm. My breath burns white. The snow crunches underfoot, the sky too blue for what’s coming.
I glance back once, toward the garage in the distance. Smoke still curls from the chimney, faint against the pale morning.
She’s in there. Safe, for now. But the peace I left her with feels like a lie. The text burns in my pocket, a silent countdown I can’tignore. I tell myself that’s enough, but the truth is, the quiet after a storm is never peaceful. It’s just the pause before you find out what survived.
