Page 12 of Finn

Instead, my mind was a hamster wheel of worst-case scenarios. What if Malone noticed the missing fax? What if someone else requested it? What if I was already being watched, tracked, investigated?

What if I was about to throw away my entire life for a man I'd only known for a few weeks?

The address Finn sent led me down a quiet road on the outskirts of Edgewood, away from the main drag and the prying eyes of neighbors. His house was modest—a single-story ranch with a weathered porch and his Harley parked in the gravel driveway like a loyal dog waiting for its owner.

I pulled up behind the bike and killed the engine. For a long moment, I just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, staring at his front door.

This was it. The point of no return.

If I walked through that door and told him what I knew, I was committing a crime. Obstruction of justice, at minimum. Maybe worse. Everything I'd worked for—the steady paycheck, the health insurance, the illusion of a normal life—would be on the line.

But if I didn't...

The image of Finn in handcuffs flashed through my mind. Finn behind bars. Finn's face when he realized I'd known and said nothing.

I got out of the car.

He must have been watching from the window, because the door swung open before I even reached the porch. Finn stood there in a white t-shirt and jeans, his hair loose around his shoulders, those dark eyes scanning me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"What happened?" No hello. No small talk. He could read me like a book.

"Inside," I managed. "Please."

He stepped back to let me in, and I caught a glimpse of his living room—worn leather couch, flat-screen TV, a few framed photos I'd have to ask about later. It was masculine and sparse, but clean. Not what I'd expected from a biker, if I was being honest.

"Chloe." His hand closed around my wrist, gentle but firm, turning me to face him. "Talk to me."

The words came out in a rush.

"A fax came through today. From the Albuquerque Task Force. They're requesting files on the Guardians—membership records, known associates, financial connections, everything. They're building a case, Finn. A real one. And they're coming for you."

I watched his face as the information landed. First, a flash of something dark—anger, maybe, or fear. His jaw tightened. The muscles in his forearms tensed.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Replaced by something cold and calculating. The sergeant at arms, assessing a threat.

"How long can you stall it?"

"A few days," I said. "Maybe a week if I'm careful. I buried it under some old files, told Malone it was Devils paperwork. But Finn, if they find out I?—"

"They won't."

"You don't know that."

"No." He stepped closer, his hands finding my hips, anchoring me. "But I know you. You're smart. You're careful. And you didn't have to come here tonight."

I looked up at him, at this mountain of a man who'd somehow become the center of my universe in a matter of weeks. The tattoos. The scars. The gentleness hiding beneath all that rough exterior.

"I'm choosing you," I said. The words felt heavy, significant. Like wedding vows or last rites. "Over my job. Over my safety. Over everything I thought I wanted. I need you to understand that, Finn. I need you to know what this means."

His eyes held mine. In the low light of his living room, they looked almost black.

"Then I'm choosing you too." His voice was low, rough with emotion. "Whatever happens. Whatever comes for us. We're in this together now. You hear me?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He pulled me against his chest, and I let myself collapse into him. His arms wrapped around me like a fortress, and for the first time since that goddamn fax machine had started whirring, I felt like I could breathe.

"We'll figure this out," he murmured into my hair. "I need to talk to Pops, work out our next move. But right now..." He pulled back just enough to look at me. "Right now, you're staying here. With me."