Page 211 of Safe Word

Helmet on. Throttle twisted. I rode for Ossidiana.

The city smeared past – red, gold and rot. Neon bled like stained glass.

Inside that venue awaited the next offering: slick with sweat, drunk on lust, deaf to salvation. Every soul in there was begging for deliverance.

They just didn’t know who would answer.

The moment we stepped inside the ensuite, I became acutely aware of how small the room was. Maybe because when Cain moved towards the window, without switching on the light, his broad frame blotted out the city glow – letting shadow swallow the space. He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the glass.

That grim and hollow expression belonged to a man who had just watched his home burn, and his past return with the force of a runaway train. And it twisted something in me. He looked like someone who’d run out of places to bury his grief, and I hated that some of it now carried my name.

This was why I never asked for help. Because the few times I had, people lost things. People got hurt.

And as I held his gaze – him standing so still in the dim light – a decision settled quietly inside me: I couldn’t let him get caught in this. Couldn’t let him bleed for something that had nothing to do with him.

But how the hell was I supposed to stop it?

‘Thank you for… earlier.’ His voice cut through the heavy silence, but he didn’t turn. His back was to me, tension drawn tight across his shoulders.

‘I couldn’t listen to him any more,’ I admitted, taking a step towards him.

The dull thud of my shoes on the carpet made him snap his head to the side.

I stopped. There was something in that sharp, animalistic movement that stabbed cold in my gut.

My eyes narrowed. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

Cain didn’t answer immediately. He turned slowly. Darkness played across his face, sharpening the already unforgiving angles.

‘Never do that again,’ he whispered – but beneath the words was a nail digging into my chest, something I couldn’t quite place. ‘You’ll get hurt.’

I sobered. That was it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just anger – it was fear. He couldn’t bear to see me hurt.

‘I’ll be f—’

He flinched. Just slightly. As though the sound of my voice scraped against something tender in him.

‘How long were you planning to keep lying to me?’ His voice dropped an octave, its edges turning razor-sharp.

A shiver licked down my spine. The way he said it – more Ghost than Cain – usually sent my pulse racing. But this time, something else bled from it.

‘Lying about what, Cain?’ I asked, turning fully towards him.

His eyes didn’t waver. ‘I don’t like lies. Of any kind.’

‘What lies?’ I pushed, irritation flaring to the surface, but it was already splintering into something hotter.

‘Your family. Did they have any dealings with Travis? Is that why they let this play out?’

I snapped upright as if struck. My hands went to my hips, my teeth grinding.

‘They’re not gangsters,’ I bit out. ‘My uncle is a good man. My brothers are good boys.’

Silence. Long, heavy. He let me stew in it for several beats as he turned to face me.

‘So… you do know what they do.’

‘There’s nothing to know,’ I shot back. ‘They own the workshop, they—’