Page 24

"My apartment…"

"Is gone. You can’t risk going there" I check my phone. It's nearly midnight. “Hotel?"

"With what money? I'm barely making rent as it is."

I consider my options. The clubhouse is the obvious answer—safe, protected, full of people who would help without question. But bringing Paige there means involving the club. Means explaining to Phoenix why I knocked out a civilian in a parking lot. Means pulling my brothers into something that might escalate into club business.

Not yet. Not until I know what we're dealing with. Not until Paige decides what she wants to do.

"There's a motel," I say. "Edge of town. Clean enough. Quiet. Takes cash and doesn't ask questions."

She looks at me warily. "A motel."

"Just for tonight. Somewhere Cole won't think to look. Somewhere safe." I keep my voice level. Calm. "I'll stay with you. Make sure nobody bothers you."

"In the same room?"

"If that's okay. I can sleep on the floor or in a chair. Just want to make sure you're protected."

She's quiet for a long moment. Thinking. Calculating. Trying to decide if trusting me is more dangerous than the alternative.

"Okay," she finally says. "The motel."

"Okay."

We get in the sedan. I turn the heat up as high as it'll go. Paige huddles in my hoodie, arms wrapped around herself, staring out the window at Millhaven passing by in darkness.

"Thank you," she says. "For tonight. For everything."

"You don't need to thank me."

"I do, though. You didn't have to follow me. Didn't have to get involved. Didn't have to—" Her voice cracks. "You could've just walked away."

"I couldn't," I say honestly. "Not after Elaine. Not after promising myself I'd do better next time."

"Still. Thank you."

I don't respond. Just drive through the empty streets toward the edge of town where the Millhaven Motor Lodge sits like a relic from the seventies—faded sign, peeling paint, parking lot full of potholes.

But the owner is discrete. The doors have solid locks. And nobody who stays there asks questions about anyone else's business.

I pull into the lot and park near the office.

"Come with me," I tell Paige. "Better if they see we're together."

She nods and follows me inside.

The night clerk is an older man watching a small TV behind the counter. He barely glances up when we enter.

"Need a room," I say. "One night. Paying cash."

"Eighty dollars." He pulls out a registration card. "Name?"

"Smith."

He doesn't even blink at the obvious alias. Just writes it down. "Queen or two doubles?"

"Two doubles if you have it."