Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I don’t know how to feel about him. Because there is this part of me that finds comfort in him.
And that feels all too dangerous to my fragile heart.
It’s storming outside and I wonder if he will come tonight. Rain slams against the windows, thunder cracking like the world’s coming apart. Skye is curled up in her bed but alert. I’m on the floor again, curled into myself, sobbing until I can’t breathe.
Justin shows up without knocking. Just walks in like he’s done every night this week. He takes one look at me and drops to his knees, pulling me into his arms.
"I want to feel alive again," I sob. "I don’t want to be dead like him. I can’t keep living like this."
His hands cradle my face, his forehead against mine. "You’re not dead. You’re grieving. And I’m right here."
I don’t know what comes over me. I kiss him.
It’s desperate. Raw. Messy.
But he kisses me back like I’m something fragile and breakable. Like he wants to take my pain and hold it for me.
The kiss deepens. His hands slide into my hair, then down to my hips. He lifts me without a word and carries me to the bedroom. Our clothes fall away, slow and purposeful.
“You want this to stop, say so darlin’.”
I grab at him firmer, kissing him hard. I can’t speak. I can only fall in line with what my body craves.
Him.
In this moment, I’m not grieving the man who was safe for my heart. No, I’m embracing the passion that wrecked me once and will wreck me again. I can’t help myself. My very soul wants to be connected to him just once more.
When we fall into bed it’s not about sex. It’s not about the past. It’s about now.
About need.
About trying to remember what it feels like to be alive.
His touch is patient. Sweet. Every brush of his mouth on my skin is like a reminder that I still exist. That I still have a body. That I’m still here.
That I’m safe.
I’m always safe with Justin. The world can’t touch me when I’m in his arms. He’s always been my safety net. But what happens when he’s gone again? I shake off the thought. I can’t help myself. I’m a glutton for punishment and I need to be in his arms. I need my body connected to his. I need this feeling. The way he’s always cherished me, honored me.
He moves with me, not against me. And when I come undone, it’s not in pieces but in something whole. Something warm. Something human.
We fall asleep tangled together, his heartbeat steady under my cheek.
Morning comes with golden light through the blinds. My limbs ache in a way I forgot they could. My chest is heavy but not empty.
Justin is still here.
His arms wrapped around me, our bodies close.
I trace a line on his skin, then whisper, "Just like before, nothing changes."
He exhales slowly, his voice quiet. "I know."
I roll away, needing space, needing breath. He lets me. Doesn’t chase. Doesn’t push.
It was just release. A moment. Not a promise.
And yet, for the first time in weeks, I feel the flicker of something that might one day become hope. And that isn’t about Justin.
It’s about me being me once again.
SEVEN
TOON
ONE MONTH LATER
"Life's challenges are no match for a bear's determination." — Unknown
Tripp’s voice is gravel wrapped in steel when he gives the order. “Transport, nine one oh. Florida run. Sinister Sons. You and BW. Leave tonight.”
I don’t ask questions. Don’t need to. When Tripp gives a directive, you follow it. Loyalty isn’t just ink on my back or the leather I wear—it’s in the miles, the risk, and the silence between commands.
BW’s already loading the cargo van when I get to the garage. He tosses a grin over his shoulder like this is just another Saturday drive, not a run carrying enough gun parts to turn a good man into a felon five times over.
“Hope you packed your sunscreen, old man,” BW jokes, voice light, like it’s a vacation.
“I don’t burn. I simmer,” I deadpan, earning a smirk.
We roll out early morning when it’s still dark out, the van packed, tires humming over the asphalt like a warning. North Carolina slips behind us, replaced by the long southern haul—highways that stretch like promises and threats at once.
By the time we’re two states in, the weight of the job settles. No tails. No red flags. Just endless road and two patched brothers keeping their own pace.
We don’t talk much. Don’t need to. Me and BW, we’ve ridden enough together that the silence says more than words ever could. It’s just past noon when his burner rings. BW glances at the screen and answers with a grin that fades too fast.
“Hey, Ma,” His voice is lower now, careful. “What’s wrong?”