Page 17 of Finn

And now she was awake. She was going to be okay.

I stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button for the ground floor. The doors slid shut, and I was alone.

That's when I let out the breath I'd been holding for weeks.

The rage was still there—it always would be, probably. But something else was there too now. Something lighter. Hope, maybe. For Jessica. For the club.

For me and Chloe.

I pulled out my phone as I walked through the hospital lobby, squinting against the bright New Mexico sun as I pushed through the doors.

Jessica's awake. She's going to be okay.

Three dots appeared. Then:

That's amazing. I'm so happy for you.

I stared at the little heart emoji, and something in my chest cracked open.

Talked to Pops. We have a plan. Stay safe today, fox.

Always. See you tonight?

Count on it.

I pocketed my phone and headed for my bike, lighter than I'd felt in months. The task force was still coming. The Cobras were still a wildcard. And Chloe was still sitting in the middle of a powder keg, one wrong move away from losing everything.

But Jessica was awake. The club was solid. And I had a woman who'd chosen me over her whole damn life.

My father used to say the Guardians were forged in fire. That every challenge, every enemy, every brush with destruction just made us stronger.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe we were about to prove it.

9

CHLOE

Three days. Three days of walking a tightrope over a pit of alligators, and somehow I hadn't fallen yet.

I'd submitted a report on the Guardians. Had to—Malone was starting to ask questions about task force follow-ups, and I couldn't keep pretending the fax didn't exist. So I gave them exactly what they asked for.

Sort of.

The report was technically accurate. Old addresses from public records. A membership list that was at least three years out of date. Financial information pulled from their legitimate auto shop filings—nothing that couldn't be found with a basic Google search. I'd spent hours making it look thorough while being completely, utterly useless.

Malone had skimmed it, grunted, and tossed it in his outbox. "Good work, Chloe. Send it over to Albuquerque."

I'd smiled and said "Yes, sir" and gone back to my desk with my heart trying to jackhammer its way out of my chest.

That was two days ago. Since then, nothing. No follow-up calls. No agents showing up at the station demanding more information. No handcuffs clicking around my wrists.

Maybe I was going to get away with it.

Maybe.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:47 a.m. The morning had crawled by. I'd filed reports, answered phones, fetched coffee for Malone twice. Normal day. Normal Chloe. Nothing to see here.