Chapter 3 #2
We stare at each other. She knows I don’t believe her. I know she knows. But I also know that pushing will only make her retreat further, so I let it go.
“How long have you been here?” I ask instead.
“Five days.” She fidgets with the edge of the curtain, not meeting my gaze. “I’m supposed to leave tomorrow.”
“And then what?”
“I go home.” She says it flatly, like it’s obvious. Like there’s no other option. “My stepdad’s picking me up.”
The way she says stepdad lands like a stone in my stomach. I keep my expression neutral, but inside, a cold fury is waking. My hands want to curl into fists. I want to find this man and make him understand what it feels like to be small and scared and hurt.
Instead, I keep my voice gentle.
“That’s good,” I say carefully. “That you have someone.”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t sound convinced. Doesn’t sound much of anything, really. “He’s been worried about me.”
I’ll bet he has.
“Hey.” I wait until she meets my gaze. “If you ever need help—legal help, or just someone to talk to—I’m a lawyer. Josie Bright. I’m in the book.”
Her lips twist into a thin line. It’s the look of someone who knows exactly why I’m offering and hates me for it.
“I don’t need a lawyer. I fell down the stairs.”
“Of course you did.”
She doesn’t respond. Just stares at me for a long moment, then retreats behind the curtain without another word.
I lie back against my pillows, exhausted by the brief conversation.
Stone, who’s stayed silent through the whole exchange, raises an eyebrow.
“Friend of yours?”
“Not yet.” I close my eyes. “But give it time, I’ll win her over.”
The afternoon brings doctors, nurses, and more bad news.
The concussion has been downgraded to “moderate”—which apparently means I’ll be dealing with headaches and light sensitivity for weeks.
“You’re very lucky,” the doctor says, flipping through my chart. “If that car had hit you dead on, your outcome could have been much worse.”
Lucky. It’s a word I’m really starting to hate it.
“When can I go home?”
“We’d like to keep you another few days for observation. The concussion and burr holes are our main concern—we want to make sure there’s no lingering issues. If your scans stay clear, you can be discharged later this week.”
“And then?”
“Rest. Lots of it. No work for at least two weeks. No driving until you’re past the headache and light sensitivity phase of the concussion. Someone should stay with you for the first few days in case of complications.”
I think about my empty house. My empty life.
My parents are in a retirement village down in Florida.
I love my parents, but they’re the kind of people who had a kid cause it was expected, not because they wanted one.
Their proudest moment was waiting until they’d shipped me off to college to turn my room into a man cave.
I know they love me, but asking them to come help would be a nightmare.
I rack my brain trying to think of someone who might be able to help.
I guess I could ask Kya or Mercy but they’re both neck deep in the reopening of Devil’s.
Emma is Stone’s kid, so she’s off the table, not to mention recovering from surgery.
Poppy or Andi could be an option, but they’ve both got kids to focus on.
I could try Maggie or Ginger, but I don’t feel like I know either of them well enough to impose upon them like that.
I glance at Stone.
The fact is the only person I want to call is currently sitting three feet away, watching me with those unreadable gray eyes.
“I’ll figure something out,” I say.
The doctor nods and leaves. Stone waits until the door closes before speaking.
“You’re not going back to your house.”
“Excuse me?”
“The crash wasn’t an accident, Josie.”
I’ve been waiting for this. Have known, on some level, since I woke up. But hearing it confirmed still hits like a punch to the chest.
“You’re sure?”
“Hawk pulled the traffic cam footage. The SUV was waiting. It ran the light specifically to hit you.” His jaw is tight, his eyes hard.
“After impact, the driver bailed. Footage shows him staggering out, holding his ribs. He might have been moving slow, but the bastard knew exactly where he was going.”
The clinical details make it worse somehow. This wasn’t road rage or an accident. Someone sat in that SUV, watched me approach, and made the decision to end my life.
“Someone tried to kill you. And until we find out who, you’re under club protection.”
Our gazes meet, and I can see the fury banked behind his eyes.. We both know exactly who ordered the hit.
Summit.
“Club protection means what, exactly?”
“You’ll stay at the clubhouse where we can keep you safe.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Josie—”
“I have a life, Stone. A job. A home. I can’t just move into your clubhouse because someone—”
“Someone tried to murder you.” He leans forward, intensity radiating off him.
“You’re the one who built the case against Summit.
You’re the one who connected their shell companies.
Without your evidence, the DA’s entire investigation falls apart.
” He pauses, letting that sink in. “You really think they’re going to stop at one attempt? ”
I open my mouth to argue—and for a split second, I’m back there. Headlights filling my windshield. The screech of metal. The world spinning, glass shattering, my own scream lost in the impact.
I blink and it’s gone, but my hands are trembling in my lap.
He’s right. I know he’s right. Summit has cartel connections, and cartels don’t believe in half-measures. If they want me dead, they’ll keep trying until they succeed—unless someone stops them first.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say, but there’s no heat in it.
“Then think of it as a strategic relocation until we neutralize the threat.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll post guys outside your house, and you’ll spend the next few weeks tripping over bikers every time you leave.” He almost smiles. “The clubhouse has better coffee.”
I glare at him. He gazes back, implacable.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.”
“And if I fight you on it?”
“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you there myself. Broken ribs and all.”
“That’s kidnapping.”
“Sue me.”
We glare at each other. His eyes are steady, unyielding. Whatever else has happened between us, whatever confusion still lingers—in this moment, he’s the president of the Stoneheart MC, and he’s not going to budge.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “But this is temporary. And I want it on record that I’m agreeing under extreme duress.”
“Duly noted.”
“And I’m not going to be some damsel locked in a tower. I have work to do. Cases to manage. A DA filing to complete.”
“You can work from the clubhouse. We have WiFi.”
“How modern of you.”
“We also have Netflix. I’ll even spring for HBO, if that sweetens the deal.”
I snort despite myself. “You’re a jerk.”
“So I’ve been told.” He stands, stretches—I try not to notice the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders, or the strip of toned stomach that appears when his shirt rides up. He stops at my bedside, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone, feather-light.
My breath catches.
“You had fluff there,” he says, removing his hand.
Somehow I don’t believe him.
“Get some rest.” His voice is low, rough. “I need to make some calls, set up the security rotation. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He’s nearly out the door when I call his name. He stops, turning back toward me.
“Thank you.” The words come out grudging, but genuine. “Even if you are being a high-handed asshole right now, I appreciate it.”
His mouth curves into an almost smile. “You’re welcome. Even if you are being a stubborn pain in the ass.”
He leaves before I can throw a pillow at him.