Chapter 27
Hayden
“Ready or Not- Fugees”
One week later…
Seven fucking days. That’s how long it takes for me to start losing my mind again.
Firefly never misses race night. Not anymore.
Not after the weekend we spent wrapped around each other making promises we probably had no business making.
But tonight? Nothing. No bike roaring into the lot.
No teasing grin beneath her helmet. No tiny blonde menace wrapped in my hoodie pretending she doesn’t own my entire damn soul.
Just silence. And I hate silence where she is concerned, because that usually means somebody took her from me—again.
I lean against my bike outside the warehouse staring at my unanswered texts while irritation twists beneath my skin. I went to the spot and waited. I fucking waited for two hours for her. Then I got a call that it was race night. I show up here and still. She’s nowhere to be found.
Me:
Where are you?
Me:
Race starts in twenty.
Me:
Firefly, answer me.
Nothing. Not even read.
Ryker strolls past me holding a beer and immediately notices my expression. “You look homicidal.”
“She’s not answering.”
“Maybe she’s busy.”
“She’s never too busy for me.” That comes out way more possessive than intended, making him grin.
“Toxic.”
“Helpful,” I say, finally pulling up the tracker on my phone. Yeah, I tracked her bike. Sue me. Like I’m supposed to let my Firefly just roam around unsupervised? Absolutely the fuck not.
The little blinking dot shows up exactly where I expected. The warehouse.
“She left the bike,” I spit, and Ryker snorts.
“Brother, you need therapy.”
“I need a tracker inside her body,” I say, and that earns a full bark of laughter.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, but anxiety still crawls beneath my skin. Something feels off. Wrong. And after prison, after losing her once already, I’ve learned to trust that feeling. So while everyone else heads inside, I start digging.
Twenty minutes later, I find the answer. Brimstone Country Club Gala. Of fucking course.
Rich people pretending they don’t fund half the crime in this city while sipping champagne worth more than my rent. And Ophelia’s father is one of the honored guests tonight. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
I should leave it alone. I know that. Showing up there is reckless. Stupid. Dangerous. But the thought of Brayden having access to her tonight while I get ignored like some dirty little secret? Nah. Fuck that.
So, an hour later, I’m walking into the most expensive building in Brimstone wearing all black and enough attitude to get escorted out immediately.
Crystal chandeliers glow overhead while violin music drifts softly through the ballroom.
Women glitter in designer gowns while men shake hands over dirty money and fake smiles.
And right in the middle of it all… There she is—my Firefly. My breath catches instantly. Jesus Christ.
She stands near the balcony in a dark emerald gown that hugs every curve of her body like sin itself.
Blonde curls spill down her bare shoulders while diamonds sparkle against her throat.
Beautiful. Too beautiful for this place.
Too beautiful for anyone else to look at.
Her eyes finally lift, and the second she sees me…
panic flashes across her face. Not because she doesn’t want me here.
Because she does and that’s the problem. She wants me too much.
She immediately slips away from Brayden and rushes toward me before anyone notices.
“What are you doing here?” she hisses quietly, grabbing my arm.
“I texted you.”
“I know.”
“Then answer.”
Her eyes dart nervously across the ballroom. “Hayden, my father's here.”
That answer alone pisses me off. Not because she’s worried but because she’s scared. Still scared of him.
“You think I give a fuck?” I mutter darkly.
“I do!” Her voice cracks softly. “Please. You can’t be seen here.”
My jaw tightens painfully, because there it is again. Stolen moments, and I fucking hate it.
She reaches for my hand gently. “I missed you.”
And God help me… That almost softens me. Almost.
Until Brayden fucking Augustine appears behind her adjusting his cufflinks like he belongs beside her. My vision instantly narrows as his eyes flick toward me calmly.
“Can I help you?” he asks, but I don’t answer him. I just keep looking at my girl who looks seconds away from vomiting. He slides one possessive hand against the small of her back.
My fists tighten at my sides as I try to breathe in through my nose and let it flow out of my mouth, but the rage boiling over inside me pressures me to just put him through the nearest window.
Mine. Every violent instinct inside me screams it, but her father stands only twenty feet away laughing with city officials and judges.
Wrong place
Wrong time.
Wrong fucking universe.
“I dropped my phone in the parking lot. He was just giving me my phone back. See I got it,” she says, holding her phone up.
“Hey, Brayden, come here for a moment,” some pretentious asshole calls out.
“If you will excuse me,” he states, then kisses her on her cheek, and she nods.
He walks away and all I can think about is how he gets this version of her.
The public version. The girl in beautiful dresses, standing beneath chandeliers.
While I get hidden warehouses and goodbye kisses before sunrise.
And suddenly, it's not enough anymore. Not even close. I spin and walk away before I do something I’ll regret.
The clicking of her heels as she follows has my jaw tightening to the point of pain.
“Hayden, please don’t leave here angry,” she begs.
Too late.
So, I spin and push her into the dark hallway. I step closer until my mouth brushes against her ear.
“You smell like him,” I growl, and she gasps.
“Hayden...” she whimpers.
“I fucking hate it,” I spit. It’s the truth. The raw ugly truth.
Her eyes immediately fill with tears. “I had to come tonight.”
“I know. But… this isn’t enough for me. Having you as a secret? I can’t do it anymore.” And that fucking grates on my nerves, because she’s trapped here. Still fucking trapped, wearing chains disguised as diamonds and designer gowns.
I stare at her for one long, devastating second before moving backward completely, and her expression crumbles.
“Please…”
But if I stay any longer, I’m either dragging her out of here over my shoulder or killing Brayden in front of half of Brimstone. Neither option ends well.
So instead, I walk away furious enough to choke on it. The cool night air hits my face hard outside the ballroom while rage and heartbreak tear through my chest simultaneously. ,
Because I’m starting to realize something dangerous.
I don’t think stolen moments with Ophelia will ever be enough for me again.
Not after having her. Not after hearing her laugh in my apartment.
Not after waking up with her wrapped around me like she belonged there and the thought of Brayden having all that while I get shadows and secrecy? It’s eating me alive.
By the time I climb onto my bike, my hands shake violently around the handle bars. The universe keeps trying to separate us. Her father. Brayden. This city.
But one thing becomes painfully clear riding away from that gala beneath Brimstone's glittering skyline.
I’m done sharing what belongs to me.