Page 28

Dante

Sunlight, pale and watery, barely touched the rumpled sheets beside me. Danny’s chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm as I slid out of bed, the mattress sighing in a soft protest. For the first time in ages, my bones felt unburdened and there was a lightness in my chest that surprised me. It was as if months of suffocating anxiety had finally exhaled.

Tiptoeing—the worn wooden floorboards creaking a familiar lullaby—I reached the bathroom. The cool ceramic of the sink was a welcome shock against my skin. The shower spray, a scalding torrent, washed away the residue of sleepless nights.

Downstairs, the kitchen hummed a quiet morning song. The scent of coffee, sharp and bitter, battled with the sweetness of frying bacon. I poured a mug for Danny—the man was a caffeine addict, if ever there was one—and scrambled eggs for myself.

The lingering warmth of last night clung to me. The memory of his hand in mine, the hesitant touch that blossomed into something fierce and undeniable. The way his eyes had found mine, the silent language spoken across the chasm of unspoken hurts. All the fear and doubt dissolved into the shimmering heat of that moment, leaving a clarity as bright as the dawn breaking outside the window.

A heavy thud, thud, thud echoed down the stairs.

The familiar sound of Danny’s approach. He shuffled into the kitchen, eyes still blurry, and a low groan escaped his lips. “Coffee,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Before he could reach the pot, he was in front of me. His hands cupped my face, his kiss a searing brand, a potent mixture of apology and ferocious need, a silent proclamation of everything we had overcome. My world tilted on its axis, then settled, perfectly aligned.

“What time is Haizley supposed to be here?” Danny asked as he poured his third cup of coffee.

“Soon,” I replied, clearing my plate, putting it in the sink.

“When was the last time you checked in with Dr. Jefferson?”

“It’s been a while,” I regrettably admitted. “I’ve been preoccupied with you.”

“I need to find her. She has our daughter.”

“I know,” I muttered, retaking my seat. Just thinking about Danika out there worried me. I missed our little girl and wanted her home where she belonged, but I also knew Danny wasn’t ready. He still needed to get his head straight.

“Can’t do my job unless I have a computer, Dante. You know that.”

“I know.” I sighed. “But Danika is safe. You said she would be, right?”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. I investigated the woman extensively, but with everything going on, I want to be sure she’s safe. Did you give her the documents?”

“Yes, and I told her exactly what you told me to say.”

Reaching across the table, Danny took my hands. “Dante, I’m better now. I need a computer.”

The sounds of gravel crunching in the driveway told me that Haizley had arrived.

Getting up, Danny and I went to the door to greet the woman when Danny cursed. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

Standing on the porch, Haizley’s hands went to her lips, trying to hide her split lip and bruised face. Her eyes darted between us, her face a mask of concern. “I was at a ranch and the horse hit me in the face,” she stammered, her voice shaking. “It’s nothing, really. I should have been more careful.”

“Bullshit,” Danny said, his voice sharp with anger. “I know a punch when I see one.”

Guiding her gently inside, Danny’s protective nature took over.

I knew he sensed her unease and his protective instincts kicked in.

As Haizley sat at the table, wincing when the ice bag made contact with her swollen lip, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness myself. This woman had become a friend, a confidant, and now she was here, hurt and in need of our help.

“What the hell happened, Haizley?” I asked, my voice gentle but insistent. “And don’t you dare tell us it was a horse.”

“It’s nothing, really. I swear.”

Danny growled, turning to Nav, who stood off to the side. “What the fuck happened to her, Zach? Did Gunner do this shit?”

“NO!” Haizley yelled. “He would never hit me!”

“Well, someone fucking hit you. Who was it?”

“You might as well tell him, Doc.” Nav sighed, then added, “Because he’s going to find out eventually.”

“Fine,” Haizley groaned, the word catching in her throat like a shard of glass. Nav’s shadow fell across her as he moved to stand behind her, his presence a solid, silent weight in the already heavy air. “Someone broke into my house two nights ago.”

Danny’s growl vibrated through the floorboards. My stomach clenched. This wasn’t just a burglary. Something far darker hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

“His name was Greg,” she admitted, her voice low and controlled.

“Was?” Danny’s whisper was barely audible, but the unspoken question hung between them, heavy with implication.

“I killed him,” she whispered.

Her words hung in the air, stark and brutal. Danny looked at Nav, his expression unreadable, a storm gathering behind his eyes. I felt a cold dread snake its way through me, knowing damn well this was going to be my life. There was no way Danny could let this go. Not when Haizley had come to mean something to the both of us.

Yet, this wasn’t the usual club business.

This was something... different.

Nav sighed, the sound weary and burdened. “He’s the fucker the club’s been looking for. Son of a bitch was drugging and raping women. We got wind of something when Sam, Jackass’ woman, was drugged at the bar.”

The casual brutality of his words struck me hard.

This wasn’t just a single act. It was a pattern, a trail of broken lives.

“Have there been others?” I asked. My question formed a lump in my throat as I looked up at the two men, the weight of their unspoken knowledge pressing down on me.

Nav sighed again, a deeper, more desolate sound this time. “Yeah.”

The single word was confirmation of my worst fears.

“What else aren’t you telling me?” Danny’s words burst out, sharp and demanding.

“We’ve had two bodies pop up in the last four months,” Nav confessed, the air growing colder around me. “We’re not sure they are related, but I’m looking into it. Declan, the town sheriff and King’s brother, is still investigating.”

“I need a computer,” Danny demanded, his voice hard. His practical response to any horrific situation. I knew he felt the familiar pull toward a technological solution, the need to dive into data and unravel the truth.

“No,” Haizley said, rising to her feet, her sudden strength surprising me. Standing before Danny, she radiated fierce determination, the kind born from grief and outrage. “I appreciate your concern and your willingness to help, but you need to let the authorities handle this. You are only just recovering from a major trauma, and I don’t want anything to set it back. Now, let’s forget about me and go into the living room and talk.” Her voice held an edge of steely resolve, but underneath, I sensed a tremor of something else... fear?

Or was it something stranger, something akin to... acceptance?

Danny stayed in the kitchen with Nav, saying they needed to talk about club shit and that I should go first. I wasn’t upset. In fact, I didn’t know how I felt.

“Haizley, can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“How did you feel?”

“About what?”

“When you killed Greg?” I asked as she stiffened.

Dr. Haizley Walker was many things but I would have never pegged her for a killer. She was too calm, too relaxed, too stable enough to do something like that, so it was a shock when I heard her say she killed her intruder.

Not that I blamed her.

I would have done the same thing.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Dante. I struggled with not feeling guilty about what I did,” the woman admitted. “Greg had been hurting women for months. He made it clear what he had planned for me. But more importantly, he made it clear he wouldn’t stop. And he told me he would never leave another witness. In the moment, it was about saving myself. But afterward, when I really thought about what I had done, I realized the countless number of women that would be saved with him gone.”

“So, you had no choice?”

“We always have a choice. Sometimes the choices we are given are not a simple black and white. Right or wrong.”

“I had a choice. I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway.”

“You’re talking about the woman you saw Danny with?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I never liked her, nor any of the women Danny was with. I knew he was bisexual. That he swung both ways, but something about that woman just really rubbed me the wrong way. And when she laughed at me, I lost it. I just killed her. Why did I do that?”

“The mind is a complex muscle. Sometimes you only have a split second to make a decision. It might not always be the right one when we process it later. We all like to think we will always make the right decision when given a choice, especially in the matter of life and death. But until we are faced with the situation in real time, there is no way to know for sure what choice we will make. When Greg broke into my house, I thought I could talk him down. I assumed that years of education and training would be enough to reach him on a human level. I was wrong.”

“But I didn’t even try to talk to her. I just killed her. My rage at seeing Danny crumpled on the floor, his mind in torment, and her insidious laughter snapped something inside me. Before I even knew what I was doing, I shot her.”

“And how do you feel now?”

“I’m still angry at her. At Sinclair for putting her in Danny’s path again. At myself because I let my anger take control.”

“But not at Danny?”

My eyes snapped to hers as I shook my head. “He didn’t know.”

“Danny was in a vulnerable state, yes. It is important you understand that anger is not a bad thing. People often try to make us feel bad for getting angry. But it is a natural emotion, like love,” Dr. Walker said, her voice soft and steady. “It can be a driving force, a motivator, but it can also be destructive. And like love, it can be used to hurt. But it can also be used to protect.”

I looked away, a weight settling in my chest as I thought about Danny.

“I hated her,” I stated. “I still do.” My voice carried a hint of sadness. “And I was angry. At her, at myself, at the world.” I thought back to the night I killed that bitch. My anger had been a wildfire, consuming me, clouding my judgment. But in that moment, I had felt justified, my actions driven by a deep-seated rage that I had only just begun to understand.

“Do you regret it?” I asked, my voice quiet. “Killing Greg, do you regret it?”

Dr. Walker was silent for a moment, as if considering her answer. “No,” she finally said. “I regret I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. But when I think of what he had already done and what he wanted to continue to do. Knowing he came after me because he couldn’t have access to another woman prevents me from regretting the actions I was forced to take.”

“Then maybe,” I began, my voice steady, “maybe I shouldn’t regret what I did either. Maybe it was my protective instinct kicking in.”

Dr. Walker gave me a small smile, one that held both understanding and a hint of sadness. “Protection comes in many forms,” she said. “And sometimes, it’s not always pretty. But it’s important to remember that our actions have consequences, and it’s how we deal with those consequences that define us.”