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"Damn right she is," comes Cayden's voice from behind me, and I could kiss him.

With any luck, soon, I will.

Richard flinches again but then flexes his jaw. "Well. If that's all. Thank you for delivering your resignation in person. I wish you well in your future endeavors."

I'll bet he does.

Before he can walk away from me, I turn and stalk away from him. That has me running all but full tilt into the cluster of my boys, arrayed around me. They part deferentially, and something about that treatment—them looking to me, following me—makes me want to cry.

I hold back the tears, though. The whirlwind of the last couple of days paired with the stress of confrontation has me on a hair trigger.

I meet Cayden's gaze. Voice low, I murmur, "I really, really hope you meant it about wanting to keep me."

"Always," he promises, eyes fierce.

"Oh, thank God." My hands tremble. "Because I think I just talked my way out of a job."

"I think you just quit a bullshit job," Jax says.

"And it's a damn good thing, too," Sergio adds, his tone downright dangerous. Another shiver buzzes through me, but it's the good kind, this time.

"Is he still watching?" I ask.

"Like a hawk," Adam says.

"Like a cowardly fucking hyena," Deandre corrects him.

"Okay. Okay." I reach out my hand. I hardly care who takes it. I just want to make a point.

In the end, it's Cayden who hooks his fingers in mine. He squeezes my palm, and that's exactly what I needed.

Without a backward glance, I march with my men clear out the door. We emerge into bright sunlight, the early morning clouds having parted, and for a moment I bask in it.

I'm trembling with exhaustion. I'm tired and relieved. My chest burns with a hope strong enough to crack my ribs.

But I'm not done yet. I'm not.

I turn to the guys. I take another breath to fill my chest, then let it out, nice and slow. "Come on. I think it's high time we had a nice, long talk."

38

"Was that him?"

I glance over at Deandre, but he's staring straight ahead. His question lingers on the air, the echo of his voice dark and just a little dangerous.

We're on our way back to my tiny house. The rest of the guys piled back into the shop van they apparently all drove in for eight hours straight last night to get to me—and that level of dedication is still bowling me over, for all that I don't have time to focus on it right now.

Deandre insisted on riding with me. At first, I figured it was to keep an eye on me and make sure I didn't run again.

But maybe it was for this. For follow up questions he didn't want to ask in front of everyone else.

There's no point pretending I don't know what he's asking about. All the same, I clarify, "Who?"

"Him," Deandre rumbles. "The guy whose ass you just handed to him on a silver platter back there." We pull to a stop at a light, and he turns his head to look me in the eyes. His jaw flexes, and the tendons stand out in his neck. "That was him, right? The one who made you so afraid of us."

Jesus. How does this man see straight through me like this?

"Yeah." I look away again, unable to meet his gaze.