Page 108 of Mystic's Sunrise

The sheriff didn’t argue. He stood, reached for the key, and unlocked the cuffs without a word.

“Get out of here,” he muttered, like it was a favor.

I stood slow, rubbing my wrists as the blood rushed back into them, the metal ghosts still lingering on my skin.

As I passed the sheriff, I paused just long enough to say, “Have a nice night.”

Didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t need one.

The air outside was thick with humidity, but it felt cleaner somehow.

Free.

No apology. No acknowledgment that they’d nearly let a liar destroy me.

Didn’t matter.

Devil clapped a heavy hand on my back as we crossed the parking lot, his smirk crooked. “You owe me a drink.”

I huffed out a laugh that felt like a release. “You want top-shelf?”

He shrugged. “After tonight? You’re buying the damn bottle.”

***

I BARELY REMEMBERrolling through the gates,barely registered Chain nodding at the prospects standing by the building. It was all muscle memory now—habit, reflex. The body moving even when the mind had gone quiet. And when the engine cut off beneath me, I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, hands still wrapped around the bars, the warmth of the motor fading into the night as the air turned cold around me.

Behind me, the clubhouse carried on as if nothing had happened. Laughter spilled out the open windows, the sound of music rising and falling with the pulse of the crowd. Pool balls clacked on felt, glasses clinked, and someone let out a holler that reached across the lot.

Life kept going.

Like I hadn’t just been cuffed, locked up, paraded like a criminal.

Like Chelsea hadn’t damn near tried to bury me.

I stared straight ahead, jaw tight, breath steady. The shadows in the night didn’t offer any answers, but I watched them anyway. Maybe hoping they would. Maybe hoping they wouldn’t.

I should’ve known better. Should’ve seen this coming.

Chelsea was never going to let me go without blood on her hands.

She didn’t love me—she never had.

Chelsea didn’t know love.

She knew control.

She knew how to take a man’s past and make it a weapon. How to smile while twisting the knife and make you thank her for the favor.

And somewhere deep down, she still believed she owned me.

I exhaled slowly, the tension easing from my fingers as I flexed them against the grips. My knuckles ached, not from the fight—but from holding too much in for too long.

I felt someone beside me.

Devil.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood by my side, lighting a cigarette with one hand, the flame flaring and casting his face in a wash of red and shadow.