Page 35

Her breath hitched, tears gathering in those hazel eyes that had looked at me with such trust just days ago.

"But you'd rather run," I continued, each word deliberate. "Rather face whatever's out there alone than trust me with the truth."

"You don't understand—" she started, but I was done with excuses, done with lies wrapped in desperation.

"Then make me understand," I growled, settling back against the wall with deliberate casualness. "Tell me why Des Moines looks better than letting me help. Explain why you've been pulling away, building walls, acting like we mean nothing."

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.

I could see the war playing out across her face—truth battling with whatever fear had driven her to this point.

The laptop screen might be dark, but those bus routes still hung between us, mapping out a future where I woke up to an empty apartment and another woman who'd played me for a fool.

"I can't," she finally whispered, and the words hit like a death sentence.

"Why the fuck not?" The question exploded out of me, all my careful control finally snapping.

I pushed off the wall, needing to move, needing to do something with the energy coursing through me.

"What could possibly be so bad that you can't tell me?

What could be worse than letting me think you're just another lying—"

"Because they'll kill you!"

The words tore from her throat like they'd been ripped out with pliers. Suddenly she was crying, great heaving sobs that shook her entire frame, and the truth came pouring out in a flood that knocked me back.

"They said they'd kill you if I told anyone, if I didn't handle this alone.

They know about us, about how you take those morning rides on the back roads where nobody would hear—" She gulped air between sobs, words tumbling over each other in their rush to finally escape.

"He came to the bakery. This massive guy with teardrop tattoos and dead eyes.

Called me Rattler's little princess like I was seven years old again. "

My blood turned to ice. The bakery. They'd approached her at work, in Mrs. K's safe space, turned her sanctuary into a hunting ground.

"Said my father's been patient but now he knows where I am, who I'm with." She scrubbed at her face with shaking hands, but the tears kept coming. "They gave me a phone. Burner phone. Said they'd call when it was time to meet, and if I didn't come alone, if I told anyone . . ."

She pulled something from her pocket—a cheap flip phone that looked like poison in her small hand. Evidence of threats I hadn't protected her from, of danger that had walked right up to her while I'd been oblivious.

"They said they'd hurt you," she continued, voice breaking completely. "Said it would be easy to make you disappear, and it would be my fault for not cooperating."

The picture clicked into place with brutal clarity. Three days of pulling away. Three days of building walls. Not because she was planning betrayal, but because she was trying to protect me. Trying to handle an impossible situation alone because they'd made me the leverage.

There was anguish on her face. “He called. Late at night. But I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I thought they were going to hurt you, I thought—”

"They'd have to get through the whole club first. Too much hassle. And when you didn’t pick up, they went to plan B. Scorched earth.” I shook my head as understanding settled in.”

“I should have told you. I was just, so scared.”

“So scared you were going to run," I said quietly, understanding flooding through me like ice water. "Disappear before they could use you against me or the club."

She nodded miserably, curled in on herself like she was trying to become smaller. "I thought if I left, if I just vanished, they'd leave you alone. You'd be safe. The club would be safe. I could handle whatever happened to me as long as—"

"As long as I was okay." I finished the sentence, something fundamental shifting in my chest.

Not Vanessa.

Nothing like Vanessa.

Just a terrified woman trying to protect the people she loved in the only way she knew how.

"I couldn't tell you," she whispered. "Couldn't risk it. Every time I looked at you, I saw them hurting you because of me. Because of my father's poison following me here. I couldn't—I won't be the reason something happens to you."

I moved then, crossing to the couch in two strides. She flinched when I reached for her, probably expecting anger, but I pulled her against my chest instead. She collapsed into me like her strings had been cut, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe properly.

"Shh," I murmured into her hair, even as my mind raced through implications and options. "I've got you. You're safe. We're both safe."

But were we? She'd been carrying this alone for three days, planning to sacrifice herself to keep me safe. The flip phone in her hand felt like a bomb that had already gone off, just waiting for us to notice the damage.

"I'm sorry," she gasped against my chest. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you, wanted to trust you, but they said—"

"I know what they said." My voice came out harder than intended, and she stiffened. "But Cleo, this is exactly what they wanted. To isolate you. To make you feel like running was the only option. To destroy what we have without firing a shot."

She pulled back enough to look at me, and the devastation on her face made my chest tight. "I didn't know what else to do."

"You could have trusted me," I said, and watched her flinch at the quiet accusation. "Could have told me the truth and let me protect you. That's what I'm here for. That's what this—" I gestured between us, "—is supposed to mean. That you're not alone anymore."

"But they said—"

"I don't give a fuck what they said." The words came out rough, angry, but not at her. At them. At the situation. At myself for not seeing it sooner. "You think threats scare me? Think I haven't dealt with worse than some Serpent muscle making promises about back roads?"

She was quiet for a long moment, tears still tracking down her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was small and broken. "Are you going to leave me now? Because I lied? Because I'm like—"

"You're nothing like her," I said firmly, tilting her chin up so she had to meet my eyes. "Vanessa lied for gain. You lied for love. There's a difference."

"But I still lied," she whispered. "Still kept secrets. Still planned to run."

The admission hung between us, heavy with everything it meant. She'd chosen to handle this alone, chosen to believe the threats over believing in us. And while I understood why, while I could even forgive it, something had shifted that couldn't be shifted back.

"What happens now?" she asked, and I could hear the fear in it. Not of the Serpents or her father, but of losing this. Of losing us.

"Now?" I pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead that felt like a promise and a goodbye all at once. "Now we figure out if we can come back from this," I finished honestly. "If you can learn to trust me with the hard stuff, not just the easy. If I can—"

Learn to recognize the difference between betrayal and misguided protection. Learn to see the signs before they became walls. Learn to be the kind of man a woman could trust with everything.

"I want to try," she said against my chest. "If you'll let me. If you can forgive—"

"There's nothing to forgive," I said. “I—fuck it, Cleo, I love you.”

“I love you too!”

I held her while she cried. Held her while the flip phone sat between us like evidence of all the ways love could go wrong when fear made the decisions. Held her while the clock ticked down on the twenty-four hours I'd promised Duke.

Tomorrow, we'd face her father and whatever the Serpents thought they were owed. Tomorrow, we'd find out if the club would protect her or sacrifice her for peace. Tomorrow, we'd start the hard work of rebuilding what three days of lies had damaged.