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CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE CHAIR CREAKED beneath me as I shifted my weight, careful not to make a sound. Her hand had slipped away when sleep finally took her, but I could still feel it—soft fingers, just a brush, like she thought I’d disappear if she held on too tight.

She didn’t say a damn word, and still... she spoke louder than most ever had.

I should’ve left by now. Brenda had poked her head in earlier, offered to take over. I just shook my head. I wanted to be the one here for her.

Didn’t make sense.

She wasn’t mine. But she didn’t feel like danger either. Just broken pieces trying to find where they fit again. I knew that feeling too well.

I leaned back, studied the soft rhythm of her breaths, the way her face relaxed in sleep—like the pain had finally eased off its chokehold. Bruises still traced her cheekbone. Fainter now, but stubborn, like a memory that refused to fade.

I hated those marks.

Hated that I couldn’t go back and kill the bastards all over again.

I rubbed a hand down my face, jaw tight.

My brothers had noticed. The sideways looks, the offhand remarks.

“Mystic’s gettin’ soft.”

If only they knew.

Soft wasn’t the word. Obsessive? Maybe. Possessive? Definitely. I didn’t want anyone else tending to her. Not because I thought they’d hurt her—but because they didn’t see it. That deep sadness hiding under her silence. The kind that eats you from the inside out.

And maybe... maybe part of me recognized it. Too well.

She looked at me like I wasn’t some ugly circus act.

Like I wasn’t already owned by something I couldn’t shake free of.

No one will ever want someone so fucking messed up in the head.

The voice whispered up like rot in old wood. Quiet, familiar, and venom-laced. I clenched my jaw. Shut it down before it went deeper.

Not now.

Not here.

She didn’t know what I’d done to keep that voice at bay. The lies I’d buried beneath duty. She didn’t know what I’d promised. What I was still paying for.

And if she did?

She wouldn’t be reaching for me in the dark.

A knock snapped me out of the spiral. I stood slowly, eased the door open. Chain was there, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting a while. Arms crossed, eyes probing.

“You alright?” he asked. Too casual.

“Fine.”

He didn’t move. “She sleepin’?”

“Yeah.”

His jaw ticked. “You’ve been in there a lot, man.”

I gave him a look. “She needs someone. What the fuck do you care?”

“She’s got a whole clubhouse,” he shot back. “You don’t usually play nursemaid. And you know why I fuckin’ care.”

My shoulders stiffened. I stepped past him. “You got a point?”

Chain pushed off the wall and followed. “Not one I’m ready to make yet.”

We reached the end of the hall. The light above flickered, buzzing in that way cheap bulbs do—just loud enough to fill the silence. Just annoying enough to remind you where you are.

Chain kept walking, but tossed a parting shot over his shoulder.

“Just sayin’... you’re carryin’ somethin’, and it’s heavy enough to pound you ten feet under.”

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. Unknown number. No ID.

But I knew.

My throat closed up. Heart kicking at my ribs. I stared at the screen. Then answered, low and clipped. “Yeah?”

A pause.

My pulse drummed in my ears.

“Where are you calling from?”

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stood there while everything inside me twisted tight. Whatever peace I’d found in that room was gone. Shattered beneath the weight of everything I hadn’t buried deep enough.