Rock crosses his arms. “If someone’s stalking your girl, it’s all of our concern.”
“She’s not.” The word girl sticks in my throat. “She’s not mine.”
Crusher laughs once, humorless. “Keep telling yourself that.”
My phone buzzes again.
Aria: Where are you?
Aria: Tell me what to do.
Her fear hits harder than any punch I’ve taken.
I stand so fast the chair kicks back. “I need the cage.”
City blinks. “The what?”
“My SUV,” I grit. “Now.”
Rock’s jaw drops. “You’re leaving? In the middle of…”
“I said now!” I bellow loud enough to echo off the walls. Crusher’s the only one who moves. He tosses me the keys without question. Our eyes meet for half a beat. His expression says,Do not come back without her.
I pocket the keys and push out of Church.
Rock’s voice follows me out, “Steel, wait.”
But I don’t. I can’t. Crusher’s the only one who understands. He watches me go with that grim, silent nod that means handle your shit, brother. The second the door shuts behind me, theworld narrows to one truth. Aria is in danger because of me. Fear hits first. Then the kind of rage that turns your pulse into gunfire. The cold sinks in, but it’s not enough to numb what’s clawing up my spine.
Aria’s face filled with fear.
That photo.
Her sleeping beside me. Someone inches away with a camera while I didn’t wake up.
I don’t remember crossing the lot. I don’t remember getting in the cage. I only remember the wheel under my hands and one thought hammering through my skull. Get to her. Now.
It’s a twenty-minute drive from the clubhouse to her little house in St. Louis. I do it in twelve.
The snow along Route 46 is piled high on either side, plow lines jagged like a scar cutting through the white. My pulse hammers the whole way. Halfway there, a shape flickers in the trees, creating a shadow.
A dark sedan slows two car lengths behind me, then speeds off the moment I check my mirrors. My shoulders knot. My pulse spikes. Paranoia, or instinct? Doesn’t matter. I’ve survived this long by trusting both.
Aria’s silver Jeep is parked in her driveway, dusted with snow.
I breathe a sigh of relief knowing she’s ok. I should pull into her driveway. I should see her with my own eyes. But if I do, I won’t leave. And if I don’t leave, I’ll drag her deeper into whatever hell is circling us.
So, I force distance the only way I can. I send the text.
Steel: Motel on M-20 at dusk.
Aria: Ok.
That single word both steadies me and guts me.
I turn the SUV around, heart pounding against my ribs, and drive. I don’t pick a direction. I just let the wheels roll and themiles blur, the windshield frosting at the edges as the day bleeds into a pale, stretched-out afternoon.
The lie I told myself, the one about keeping my distance, crumbles fast. Because every fifteen, twenty minutes, I loop back toward her neighborhood. Not close enough to be seen. Just close enough to catch a glimpse of her front porch through the trees.
