When I gave her the phone, I asked her to share her location with me. She hesitated—I saw the old wariness flicker—until I told her it was only so I’d know she was safe out there. Nothing more. She’d agreed.
Her location comes up immediately. The little dot is moving slowly across the map. Too slowly.
My jaw tightens.
Of course, she chose to walk.
I gave her money for a ride. Told her not to walk. Told her the neighborhood wasn’t safe after dark—but not the real reason. The route between the diner and Wilder House cuts through territory that used to belong to the Serpents. Men I used to call brothers. Men who would stop at nothing to destroy me. Again.
A low, dangerous heat spreads through my chest.
I’m on my feet before the thought fully forms. I grab my keys, lock the office, and leave the building. The air outside is cooler than I expected, but I barely feel it. My focus narrows to a spot in the distance, and the worst possibilities my mind insists on offering.
The closer I get, the worse the feeling becomes.
Then I see her. She’s about two blocks away, stopped at a street corner. Two men are standing in front of her, blocking the sidewalk. Their posture alone tells me everything. One leans too close. The other laughs, eyes dragging over her in a way that makes my hands curl into fists.
Millie looks small. Tense. Her backpack clutched to her chest like a shield.
Then she sees me and relief washes across her face so quickly it hits me like a physical blow.
Something inside me snaps. I close the distance fast, the men noticing me too late.
I shove between them and step in front of her, forcing them back without a word. My body shields hers automatically, communicating my ownership.She’s mine.
“Problem?” I ask quietly.
One of them smirks. “Well, look who crawled back out of his hole.”
The other chuckles. “Didn’t know you liked them young now, Tate.”
Their words barely register. All I hear is the blood rushing in my ears. I lunge forward, ready to throw fists, but Millie’s hands wrap around my arm, the contact cutting through the rage. Suddenly, the stakes shift. I can’t afford to lose control.
Just when I’m about to talk myself out of my rage, one of the men reaches toward her. I move before he touches her, slamming the bastard into the wall with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. He pulls a knife, but he’s sloppy. I disarmhim in seconds, pressing the blade against his throat before he can blink.
The second man freezes.
“Back up,” I say.
He does, arms raised above his head in a sign of surrender. The man in front of me trembles. I press the knife harder, just enough to nick his skin.
“You’re going to give Cruz a message,” I tell him, my voice low and steady.
Fear floods his eyes. I keep going.
“If anyone from your crew comes near me, her, or Wilder House again, I will give the FBI everything I have.” I lean closer.
“And after that, I’ll make sure Cruz doesn’t live long enough to see a jail cell.”
Silence stretches, strengthening the impact of the threat. I let him go and watch the two of them scramble into the darkness.
For a moment, I just stand there, breathing hard, the last of the adrenaline burning through my veins. Behind me, Millie’s fingers tighten on my arm, reminding me of the need to breathe.
“Let’s go home,” I rasp, my tone clipped.
I keep my hand wrapped around hers the entire walk home. The night air is cool, but I’m burning from the inside out. Every muscle in my body feels tight, my jaw aching from how hard I’m clenching it. I force myself to breathe slowly, evenly.I won’t let her see how close I still am to losing control. She doesn’t deserve that kind of fear.
She walks quietly beside me. No questions. No nervous chatter. Just trust. Every so often her fingers tighten around mine, like she needs to feel that I’m still here.
