Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
BLADE
I watch her walk away. The door shuts in my face like I earned it. And I did. I fucking did.
Every brother around me is dead silent. They don’t have to say it.
I feel the judgment like a spotlight. Riot looks like he wants to hand me a shovel so I can keep digging my own grave.
Rev looks like he’d drag me inside and make me apologize if he wasn’t respecting the chain of command.
Mason is giving me that steady stare that says fix it or I’ll fix you.
And me? I’m just standing here like a jackass who shot his own foot.
I drag a hand over my face. “Fuck. I went too far.”
Riot claps me on the shoulder. “No argument here, brother.”
I shoot him a look that would usually shut him up.
Today he just raises both brows like I deserve the attitude.
He’s not wrong. I take a second to breathe.
Not that it helps. My pulse is still climbing the walls.
I can’t get the image out of my head: Bri shaking, scared, holding herself together by sheer stubborn force.
And I made it worse. I damn near shoved her fear right into her throat.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. She looked at me like I’m the danger.
And hell if that doesn’t cut deep. I want nothing more than to go inside, wrap my hands around her waist, and keep her right there where the world can’t touch her.
Pull her into me until she stops shaking.
Tell her she is everything and that I am terrified of losing her.
But wanting her won’t save her. And every time I think I have a grip on this shit, fear knocks it right out of my hands again.
I glare down the street where that SUV disappeared. “They are coming at her because of me,” I say, voice low. “They are testing me. They think she’s my weakness.”
“She is not weak,” Rev cuts in. Hard. Defending her without hesitation.
“I know,” I snap back, too fast, too sharp. “I know she is strong. But this life doesn’t give a shit about being strong. It takes whatever breaks you most and aims for that.”
Ghost leans against his bike. “So talk to her like she is a partner instead of a liability.”
I ignore him. I look at the door she just walked through. My throat tightens. “If those bastards try again, if anything happens to her…” I shake my head. “I’d burn down this whole town.”
Riot whistles low. “Then maybe start by not lighting your own house on fire.”
Everyone keeps offering advice like that.
Reasonable. Smart. Balanced. Things I should do.
But my heart is wired like a damn landmine.
It hears danger and it explodes. “I need to find who did this,” I say.
That is the only thing I trust myself to handle.
“I need to get ahead of it before they try something worse.”
Mason steps toward me, voice low so only we hear. “You think protecting her means shutting her out. It doesn’t. That makes you unpredictable. And unpredictable gets people killed.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that every time someone points out the problem, the culprit looks a whole lot like me.
“You want the truth?” Mason asks.
I nod once. Gritting my teeth.
“Your love won’t hurt her,” he says. “Your silence will. Your fear will.”
I look toward the house again. The curtains shift like someone inside is watching. Brooke probably. Maybe Bri. Maybe both. And God help me, the idea that she sees me as a monster makes me sick.
Riot kicks dirt at his boots. “You gonna fix it? Or just stand there and look scary?”
I want to fix it. I do. But right now, I am too wired. Too angry. Too scared. I step back from the porch like getting closer might make me say shit that can’t be undone.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, and the words taste like humiliation on my tongue.
Rev doesn’t blink before firing back, “You start by shutting up, then you listen,” like it’s the simplest thing in the world, even though it feels damn near impossible right now.
I glance toward the house again and catch a glimpse of her moving past the window, and the tightness in my chest damn near steals my breath.
All I want is to go to her, to hold her, to swaddle her in my arms and shield her from every threat waiting in the dark, but the harsh truth sits like lead in my gut: pulling her close might be the very thing that gets her killed.
Riot keeps muttering his commentary under his breath, half smartass, half concerned, while Rev just stares at me like he’s trying to decide whether to break my nose or shove me through the damn door himself.
Mason stands there silent as a loaded gun, steady and unyielding, saying fix it without having to say a word.
I know what I’m supposed to do, bark orders, track the SUV, get the brothers moving.
But instead I’m standing here like an idiot, staring at that front door like it’s a line I’m not sure I’m allowed to cross anymore. What if she doesn’t want me to? What if I already screwed this up so bad there’s no coming back?
“What are you waiting for?” Rev finally asks, low and sharp, not really a question but a shove in verbal form.
I mutter something that probably sounds like “fuck off,” but my boots are already carrying me forward, heavier than concrete as I climb the steps one at a time, bracing for whatever version of her is on the other side.
Judgment. Anger. Tears I caused. Consequences I earned.
I reach the door, grip the handle, draw a breath that shakes all the way through me… and then I push inside.
The house is too quiet. Like the air itself is bracing for impact. Brooke spots me first from the kitchen doorway. Arms crossed. Protective big sister mode fully activated. She doesn’t tell me to leave. But her eyes tell me not to make this worse.
I nod once. Promising without words. Then I walk into the living room and there she is curled into herself in the corner of the couch. Knees to her chest, fingers digging into her own arms like she’s holding herself together because if she lets go, she’ll fall apart completely.
Her mascara is smudged, her cheeks are blotchy, and her breathing is uneven. She’s pissed, but that isn’t what guts me. It’s the pain underneath the anger. The kind that looks like it’s eating her alive.
She looks at me… and God, it hurts. Like she doesn’t know whether I’m the man she fell for or the one who broke her heart. Her voice barely makes it out. “What do you want?”
One sentence and she knocks the wind out of me.
She isn’t scared. She isn’t crying. She’s just done.
I take a small step toward her and she goes rigid, so I stop cold, like I’m one wrong move away from losing her for good.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” I say, each word scraping my throat raw.
“Not in front of the club. Not anywhere. Not ever.”
Her laugh is sharp and painful. “That’s what you think needs apologizing? The location?”
I close my eyes because the truth of that hits hard. I was an asshole everywhere. Not just in public. “I was scared,” I admit. The words taste like humiliation. Because fear, for me, always comes out as rage.
Her eyes flash. “You think I wasn’t terrified? They tried to take me, Blade. And you made me feel like the problem instead of the victim.”
She wipes a tear with the heel of her hand, angry at herself for shedding it.
“You made me feel like a burden,” she whispers. “Like if I’d just stayed home like a good girl, everything would be fine.”
Jesus Christ, her words are a knife in the heart. “It’s dangerous because of me,” I say, voice shaking. “You being with me paints a target on your back.”
She steps back, shaking her head like that isn’t enough anymore. “Then talk to me. Don’t make me feel like you regret touching me. Or loving me. Or that I exist.”
Something cracks down the center of my chest. “I don’t regret you,” I swear. “Not one fucking second. I regret that I can’t seem to keep you safe without hurting you.”
Her lip trembles. She bites it hard, like she’s punishing herself for feeling anything at all. “Every time you yell,” she says, “I feel like I did something to deserve it.”
“No.” I step closer, desperate now. “No, Bri, that’s not—”
“That’s how it feels!” The shout rips out of her. Raw and tearing. “You made me feel small. Like nothing. Like loving you was stupid.”
I want to hold her. I want to fix it. But I can’t touch her yet.
I don’t get to just take when she’s hurting because of me.
I sit on the edge of the couch. Not touching her.
Just close enough that she can move if she wants.
Her fingers flex against her legs, like she’s fighting not to reach back.
“I’m trying,” I say. “But I don’t know how to do this without messing it up. ”
She finally looks at me again. And the pain in her eyes? It’s brutal. It’s honesty. It’s love terrified of its own depth. “Then learn,” she says. “With me. Not over me. Not around me. With me.”
I nod once. Because if I try to speak, everything I’m too scared to say is gonna come out.
She watches me. Long enough that I feel every mistake I’ve ever made crawling across my skin.
“I’m here,” I tell her, voice low and wrecked. “I’m not walking away. Not even when you want to.”
She doesn’t soften. “You don’t get to just say that,” she says. “You have to prove it. With more than fear and fists.”
“I will,” I promise. “However long it takes.”
She swallows, and one more tear slides down, slow and silent. “I want to believe you so bad,” she whispers. “But right now… I’m scared to trust you.”
Fear and love battle inside me, and love finally wins by a hair. “Then let me rebuild what I broke,” I say. “Piece by piece. With you telling me where to fucking start.”