Chapter 10
Nya
The sun filters in through the front windows of Wild Petals, casting long golden streaks across the polished wood floor. I breathe in the scent of flowers, the peace of the space grounding me. After the night we had, I needed this.
Caleb—Ghost—was still asleep when I slipped out this morning. He’d looked so peaceful sprawled in bed, one arm across my side of the mattress, as if reaching for me in his sleep. I pressed a soft kiss to his temple and whispered that I’d be at the shop. Work waited.
Now, standing at the front of my shop with a pair of shears in hand and blossoms in every direction, it feels like I’ve returned to my center.
Murphy hollers through the open window of his food truck, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder, that familiar mischievous grin already in place.
"Well, well," he says. "Look who’s finally gracing us with her presence. I didn’t see you at all yesterday evening. Busy, were we?"
I arch a brow. "Murphy, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response."
"That’s as good as a confession," he says, chuckling as he sets the cups down near the espresso machine. "You got that look in your eye. Like someone wrecked your world, in a good way."
I toss a flower stem at him. He dodges, still grinning.
"I have a business to run," I say, smoothing the petals of a bouquet. "So if you’re done being a menace—"
"Almost."
He grabs his delivery clipboard, checks the top page, then looks back at me. "I’ve got a big drop to make. Shouldn’t be gone more than an hour. If anyone comes by and starts getting antsy, just tell them to wait. I’m worth waiting for."
I smile at him. "I’m sure they’ll wait, Murph."
He winks and heads out.
I return inside to my arrangements, losing myself in the hum of soft music and the rhythm of trimming, wrapping, tying. It’s meditative, the kind of quiet work that helps me breathe.
Then the front door swings open.
And everything inside me stills.
Jessica.
Of course she’s immaculate. A beige trench coat, glossy hair, dark sunglasses perched atop her head like a crown. She looks like she stepped out of a department store ad.
"Nya," she says with mock sweetness, lips curved like a dagger. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Jessica. We both know it’s not fancy. You came to gloat."
She smiles wider. "Only a little."
I set my shears down. My hands don’t shake. Not anymore.
"If you’re here to complain about something again, I’m in a good mood, and I’d rather you not ruin it. Please leave."
Her eyes gleam, voice dropping into that cold, syrupy tone she’s perfected. "Oh, sweet sister," she says, dripping venom. "I don’t give a damn about your mood. I came because I found a way to make things better."
She leans in just a little, voice lowering like we’re sharing a secret. "Better for me. Not so much for you. A way to make you, and your little biker boyfriend, wish you’d never crossed me."
The hairs on my arms rise.
Before I can respond, the door swings open again.
Three men step inside.
They’re not locals. One glance tells me that. Tattoos in foreign alphabets inked along their necks. One of them wears a leather jacket with the kind of weight that speaks of something darker than style. The way they move, dangerously, sends a cold thread of dread through my chest.
"This her?" the tallest asks Jessica.
Jessica nods. "That’s Nya."
The man walks toward me with a kind of lazy menace. "We lost good money last night. Product. Transport. Men."
I take a step back, hand brushing the edge of the counter.
He smiles, but there’s nothing kind in it. "Someone’s gotta pay for that."
"The club will never let you—"
He laughs. Actually laughs. "The club’s not here. You are all alone.”
Another one pulls something from his pocket. A rag. He starts toward me.
And that’s when the front door bursts open.
Viper. Havoc. Two other men, they call them prospects.
And Ghost.
The air shifts in an instant.
He’s in front of me before I can blink, his body blocking mine completely. Shoulders tense, rage etched into every line of him.
His voice is pure gravel, low and dead calm. “Touch her, and I’ll end you where you stand.”
The man holding the rag freezes.
Viper and Havoc fan out, hands near their weapons, not drawn but clearly visible. The prospects move in behind them, expressions carved from stone.
Jessica backs away slowly, her eyes wide now.
Ghost doesn’t even look at her.
“We’ve been watching,” Viper says, his gaze locked on Jessica. “Ever since your little tantrum at the festival. We knew you’d try something.”
“You were never alone,” Havoc adds. His voice is low and steady. “Not for a second. You’re one of us now.”
I still can’t speak. My heart slams against my ribs.
Ghost tilts his head toward me, just slightly. “You okay?”
I nod, my throat tight.
Outside, sirens rise, sharp and fast.
“Police are on the way,” one of the prospects says. “We called as soon as they stepped through the door.”
The man in the leather jacket snarls. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“No,” Ghost replies, eyes burning. “You don’t.”
The cops arrive in a blur of motion. Guns drawn. Voices barking orders.
The men are cuffed. One resists and ends up face-down on the floor.
Jessica tries to walk out like she wasn’t part of this.
“She brought them here,” I manage, voice quiet but sure. “She told them where to find me.”
Jessica turns, panic breaking across her face. “You can’t prove that. I didn’t know—”
“Save it for the judge,” one officer snaps, grabbing her arm.
“Nya!” she cries, her voice cracking. “I’m your sister! I didn’t mean for it to go this far! Please!”
I say nothing.
I just watch as they lead her out.
Then, silence.
The shop feels still again, like everything inside it is holding its breath.
Ghost turns to me.
His hands come up, touch my arms, my face, like he’s checking for injuries. Like he still can’t believe I’m okay.
“Why did you leave?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“I had to open the shop.”
He leans in, pressing his forehead gently against mine.
“I don’t want to lose you from my sight. Ever.”
I nod, the corners of my mouth lifting. “You can’t keep me locked up. You know that, right?”
“I know.” He sighs. “But there will always be someone from the club keeping an eye on you.”
“Okay.”
Then I step into his arms. And I let myself shake.
For the first time in forever, I let someone else be strong for me.
And he is.
He always is.