Page 26 of My End (Iron Fiends #10)

Tilly

It had been over an hour.

I was still sitting on the edge of Jake—no, Stretch’s—bed, clutching the burner phone in both hands like it was some kind of lifeline.

Maybe it was. No one had called back. No one had come pounding down the stairs demanding to know why I was snooping around.

No one even opened the door. Just the low thumps of footsteps above me.

Occasional voices, too muffled to understand.

The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchenette.

The steady beat of my heart pounding in my ears.

God, I wished I could go back to not knowing anything.

Back to the simple lie I’d told myself that I was here because it was easier.

Safe. Comfortable. Boone might have been a controlling asshole, but I was a good liar when it came to myself.

I could pretend that I didn’t notice the men coming and going. The half-whispered conversations.

But I couldn’t pretend anymore.

Now I knew. Or I was starting to know. Stretch wasn’t just some guy Boone hired for protection. Boone and Gibbs weren’t just vaguely dangerous men. They were the kind of men who sniffed out rats. The kind who made them disappear.

And Stretch was the rat.

The door handle rattled, and I jumped up like I’d been shocked.

“Tilly?”

I almost sobbed in relief.

“Jake?” I called softly and stepped closer.

“Open the door,” he ordered, his voice low and urgent.

I scrambled for the knob and threw the door open. He barreled in like a storm and slammed the door shut behind him. His arms wrapped around me and lifted me off the ground as he buried his face in my neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “You’re okay. Thank fuck.”

I clung to him, my heart hammering in my chest. I had a thousand questions. A million. But one of them wasn’t how I felt about him. Even if he had lied. Even if I didn’t really know his name until yesterday.

“We have so much to talk about,” I mumbled into his chest.

He let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, there might be a thing or two I need to correct.”

I leaned back and looked up at him. “Yeah, Stretch.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Still don’t like it?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I can get used to it.”

His lips pressed to mine, a soft promise in the midst of chaos. It was quick, too quick, but grounding.

“I called your friends,” I said when we pulled apart. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I know,” he said simply.

I frowned. “How do you know? Did they call you or something?”

Stretch shook his head. “No. This is going to sound crazy, but Adam? Not really Adam. He’s with the FBI.”

I blinked. “I, what?”

“He’s been doing the same thing I’ve been doing. Except he’s been a hell of a lot better at it than me. About an hour after you called my club, Adam got word. He came clean.”

My knees buckled, and I sat back on the edge of the bed.

“So... Adam is a fed. You’re a biker. Boone is worse than I thought. And Gibbs is still the creep in the shadows.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Everyone’s been lying to me.”

Stretch knelt in front of me. “I never wanted to lie to you.”

His words were quiet, sincere. And they hurt.

“I know,” I whispered.

And somehow, I did. Underneath all of this, under the secrets and danger, I knew he cared. That he had protected me the only way he could. But now, that wasn’t enough.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

His jaw clenched. “You pack. Whatever you can carry. Backpack only. We leave tonight.”

I stood quickly. “Excuse me?”

He nodded. “I need to get you out of here before shit hits the fan.”

“Stretch-Jake, I can’t just leave. My stuff, my paintings, I can’t leave it all behind.”

“I don’t know if you’ll get another shot to come back for it,” he said, voice grim. “I hope you can. I hope we both can. But we’re out of time.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Right. Pack a bag. Backpack only.” This was life or death. I could replace most everything in my studio.

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Meet me out front in fifteen.”

I nodded and squeezed his hand before I slipped out of his room. I waited by the door, listening. The house was quiet. No footsteps above. No voices. I darted out and moved fast up the stairs and through the halls.

My studio was like a sanctuary, and stepping inside felt like I was closing the door on my whole life.

I grabbed a backpack from the closet and flung it on the bed.

It was time to work a miracle and pack this sucker full.