31. Dot #2
“I did,” she says evenly. “The difference, though? I made sure I was absolutely certain of what I wanted before taking that final step.”
She exhales. “We’re fucked up people, Adora. Not just the men. Us, too. Relationships like ours are even harder work than normal ones. If you’re not sure of what you want, you won’t have the strength to fight when it matters. And then everything breaks at the drop of a hat.”
She points at me gently. “And you? You’re not sure. Even if you say you’ve made a decision. So it’s better to protect yourself right now.”
Damn it. Damn it to hell.
The dot is back. Same place. Just a few feet away. If I wanted to, I could see that dot with my own eyes in less than thirty seconds.
But I don’t want to. No, I don’t. Because I made a decision. And I’m sure of it, no matter what kind of woo-woo nonsense Temperance was talking about yesterday.
…
“Fuck my life,” I mumble ten minutes later, crossing the street and heading straight for the narrow alley tucked between the tiny hardware store and Ria’s shop.
I played myself with this tracker shit. Set a nice little trap and walked my booty straight into it.
At the sight of Ghost leaning against his bike — tattooed arms crossed, sunglasses on, hair messy, beard even messier — my heart stumbles.
Squeezes. Then expands. I’d think I was having a heart attack if some of those panty palpitations Temperance mentioned weren’t also throwing a party in my pants.
I truly am a fucked up woman.
“Brave. Cherished. Seen. Valued. Radiant. Important. Capable. Resilient,” I rattle off the moment I stop in front of him. “…Beautiful,” I add, huffing a breath and rolling my eyes.
I plant a hand on my hip. “Thank you for the words.” A beat. “They mean more than the house.”
“Here’s a sandwich to show my gratitude,” I say casually, tossing the paper bag at him.
He catches it easily, glances inside, then takes his sunglasses off. Is he moving in slow motion?
“Thank you, adorable,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I am hungry.”
His eyes darken.
Oh, shit.
“Very, very hungry.”
By the way he’s looking at me, this clever asshole is definitely not talking about food. My brain barely comes back online before he opens the bag and pulls out the two sandwich halves.
He holds one up toward me. “Will you join me?”
I glance around the alley. “Uhhh… here?”
I am hungry. And he is holding my actual lunch.
He shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Since we’re already here, why not?”
I lean sideways and peek behind him. “There’s a dumpster over there,” I point out, brows pinching.
His smile widens. “If you want, we can go to your back office at the bookstore.”
I freeze. I cannot be alone with this man in a closed space. Unsupervised. Not right now. Not with these stupid panty palpitations refusing to calm the hell down.
I sigh the heaviest sigh ever known to man, march closer, take my half of the sandwich from his hand, and immediately start unwrapping it. He does the same with his own.
“Bacon and cheese melt,” he says after taking a bite. “It’s delicious.”
“Yeah, just like me—” The words escape before my brain can stop them.
His body goes rigid instantly.
I decide to own the blunder.
“Dungeon throwback,” I chuckle awkwardly, forcing a smile as I tap my sandwich to his in mock cheers.
His body relaxes instantly and his eyes soften.
“Bike’s shiny,” I blurt, desperate to change the subject, jutting my chin toward the Harley behind him.
“Gave it a wipe today,” he murmurs. “It was needed.”
I nod slowly, staring at the ground. “Because you were gone. To Driftwood. Tolden City.” I swallow hard. “Willow Harbor.”
There’s a second of silence. Then he hooks a finger under my chin and tips my face up. When our eyes meet, there’s a fire burning in his. Black. Scorching. All-consuming.
“It will all be over soon. I made significant progress this time.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “You don’t need to worry. Enjoy your bookstore. Your friends. Make plans with your sister. Don’t waste another thought on those people in Tolden and Willow Harbor. They’ll be dead before you know it.”
A knot tightens in my throat. He doesn’t get it. He thinks I’m worried about my mother. About the cartel.
I step back and force a smile. “Okay, Ghost. I’ll follow your advice. For now.”
“When will you leave again?” I ask quietly, ripping a corner of my sandwich wrapper.
I’m back in the dumpster alley. With my Ghost dot.
I just couldn’t help myself, so when the tracker app called, I answered.
Maybe I’m doing this because there’s been a bad feeling growing inside me.
Bad and good. Like a split between the past and the future.
A dark foreboding for what’s ahead that makes me forget about the pain of what’s already been.
“Sometime next week,” he says, flashing a playful smirk. “Why? Will you miss me?”
“What’s there to miss?” I say snootily, nose tipped high.
His eyes darken, and he steps closer. So close I can smell the leather of his cut. I have to tilt my head all the way back to keep eye contact.
That look on his face turns the stubborn panty palpitations I can’t seem to shake into a full-on panty storm.
“I can give you something to miss, adorable,” he murmurs, a needy, quiet groan in his voice. “If you’d only let me.” He leans closer. “Just say the word.”
He tugs gently on my bottom lip, then steps back before I even realize what’s happening.
“You’re not ready though,” he adds quietly, taking a bite of his Monte Cristo.
My breath comes back to me. For a few seconds, I just inhale and exhale, riding out the wave of confusing emotions inside me.
“I’ll never be ready,” I whisper when I finally find my voice. I glance down at my shoes, then back at him. “I won’t deny there’s attraction. But there’s also too much history.”
His shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “That history that you’re afraid of is what actually makes us stronger.”
“You don’t really believe that,” I frown.
“I do,” he nods. “We’re both forged in hellfire. We belong together. And I intend to prove it to you.”
A pause. His eyes narrow, drifting to the side.
“Somehow.”
I don’t think I was meant to hear that whispered word. The boyish determination in it makes me press my lips together to hold back a chuckle. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s just getting drunk on water.
I clear my throat. Square my shoulders. “I think we can agree to disagree on this topic.”
He looks at me like he knows something I don’t. I ignore it. Only time will convince him we’re better apart than together.
“You said I could ask you more questions if I had any,” I continue. “Is that offer still on the table?”
“Everything is always on the table for you, adorable.” There’s that tone again. “Ask away,” he adds casually, like he didn’t just imply that his dick is on that metaphorical table too, right next to the questions.
I shoot him a glare but don’t call him out. There’s no time for that. My lunch break is almost over, and I am curious.
“Have you been watching me from this place the whole time I was ignoring you?”
“While you were working, yeah,” he nods. Then he smiles, just barely. “I have other hiding spots too. Do you want me to show them to you?”
That idea — walking around town with him while he shows me his secrets — sends an unwanted spark of pleasure through me. I shove it down.
“How come you didn’t just barge into my bookstore when you came back to town?” I squint, suspicion rising inside me. “Let’s not pretend you still felt the need to hide this time.”
“Are you disappointed?” The heat in his gaze could turn everything around us to ash. His voice drops. “Did you want me to come?” He steps closer. “Maybe break into your bookstore? Surprise you with that day’s note myself?”
“As if!” I snap, suddenly feeling ten years old. I pull my phone out and wave it between us like a shield. “I would’ve known anyway. I see every move you make now.”
“Careful, adorable,” he says, glancing at my phone, then back at me. “You might end up turning into a stalker like me.”
He moves even closer. Just a few inches away. His expression softens in a way that’s rare enough to almost daze me. He catches a strand of my hair and wraps it around his finger.
“You wanted control,” he whispers. “I can’t stay away from you, but I didn’t want to force a meeting either. You knew where I was, so I left the choice to you.” A quiet sigh slips out. “I won’t lie, it was almost impossible to hold myself back. If you hadn’t come, I would’ve snapped soon.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. It shouldn’t. I try to crush it, but it’s too late. It spreads fast, all the way to my fingertips. Logic tells me this is messed up, but my heart doesn’t care.
I need distance. I need clarity. I need to stick to my decision.
“My break’s over,” I say quickly. “I have to go.”
I walk backward, keeping my eyes locked on his. He looks one second away from pouncing and starting to chase me down. It sends a thrill down my spine.
“Oh, by the way,” I add breezily, just before exiting the alley, “stop buying me houses. I would’ve found something eventually. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” he replies calmly. “But if I can make your life easier, why wouldn’t I?” A smile curves his mouth. “Does Gary like his new home?”
“He loves it!” I laugh, then turn and run back to the bookstore.
What the hell am I doing?
Because sanity is a ladder and I clearly tripped on the first step, I’m once more back in the alley, following the dot like it’s a beam calling me home.
“How have you been sleeping?” I ask in a whisper.
We’ve been eating in silence for a few minutes now. Well, I’ve been eating. He hasn’t. He’s just been watching me with a frown all this time.
“You don’t have a big space and floor-to-ceiling windows at the clubhouse. And you’re on the road a lot now.” I look at him. “Do you still have nightmares, like the one you had at the motel? Do you remember them all?”
“There’s rarely been a night without nightmares since you’ve been gone,” he answers quietly. “And I remember every one of them.”
Something inside me hurts.
He steps closer, his hand cupping the side of my neck. Worry darkens his eyes.
“Is this a bad day?” he asks. “Are the shadows back?”
“No,” I shake my head with a half-smile. “It’s not a bad day, but it’s not a good one either.” I take a deep breath. He lets me gather my thoughts. “I had a nightmare last night,” I whisper. “I don’t remember it, but I woke up saying Bowie’s name.”
My ribcage tightens. I don’t know why I’m telling him this. It’s a grenade, and I just threw it at our feet.
I search his face, not sure what I’m looking for. A sign. Something dangerous. Something that would tell me to run. But there’s nothing there except worry.
“You think I’d snap again,” he murmurs, brows knitting, “if I heard you say his name in your sleep.”
I press my lips together. “Actually… no. Not really. At least not anymore.” My shoulders lift with a sigh. “It was just a shitty way to start the day. It made me remember too much of the past.”
His knuckles brush my cheek. Soft. Intimate. I close my eyes and lean into his touch, needing more of his warmth. His fingers slide into my hair.
“You’re a miracle, Adora,” he whispers, so close I feel his breath on my skin. “You survived things most people couldn’t even think about.” A pause. “I promise I’ll end everyone who ever hurt you.”
Another pause.
“Except myself.”
My eyes fly open.
There’s a small, almost sad smile at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t give you my head on a platter. I’m a selfish asshole. I want a future with you, and I’ll fight for it with everything I have. So all you’re getting on that platter is my heart.”
My eyes narrow, suspicion rising. “That was some almost poetic bullshit.” I step back, putting space between us. “How many of my books have you been reading?”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Then shrugs.
“Quite a few,” he admits. “I get bored on the road, and they are somewhat entertaining.”
“You should go back to your history stuff,” I grumble. “Your brain cells aren’t trained for romance.”
“Oh, they’re trained enough,” he glares. “I’ve read that favorite book of yours, by the way. And I have questions.” It’s his turn to look offended. “Why the fuck is it about the mafia? Your favorite book should be biker shit. Mafiosos are a bunch of pussies.”
“And bikers are dicks,” I fire back. “At least a pussy can take a pounding. Pound a dick and see what happens!”
His mouth falls open. I don’t even get to enjoy it because my alarm goes off, signaling the end of my break. I silence it and look back at him with a sickly sweet smile.
“Same time tomorrow?”
He sobers instantly.
“I got new intel,” he says quietly. “I have to leave tonight.”
My heart sinks like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean. He was supposed to leave days ago. Instead, it’s been two weeks of shared lunches. Daily meetings. Even Sunday, when my bookstore was closed, the dot still showed up in the same place, right on time. And of course I followed it.
I want to tell him not to go. To stop. To let it all go. That the cartel is too strong. That revenge isn’t worth losing his life. That there’s this bad feeling that’s been clinging to me for weeks now, growing and growing.
Instead, I keep my smile in place. Hide the cracks of my heart. It was so much easier when I pretended I didn’t care about him.
“Okay. See you when you get back.”
“Thanks for dropping me off, Noah,” I say gratefully, pushing the truck door open.
“Of course.” He hesitates, then smiles. “I’ll walk you up.”
He’s already out of the truck before I can protest. By the time I close the passenger door, he’s at my side.
“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” I tease. “I only have a few feet of driveway to survive.”
He squares his shoulders, mock-serious. “My mom raised a gentleman.”
“Ah. A mom-induced sense of honor,” I chuckle, digging through my bag for my keys.
We barely take two steps when I freeze. Noah stops too.
The porch light clicks on, triggered by the motion sensor, and illuminates a bulky, tall, very angry-looking biker standing on my front steps.
Shit.
I haven’t checked the app in over an hour. The dot was at the clubhouse then — barely got into town. I thought I was seeing him tomorrow, for lunch. Like usual.
I should’ve known. Give a biker a finger, and he takes your whole body.
I glance down at the cute dress I’m wearing. Then at Noah. Then at Noah’s truck. This looks like I just came back from a date.
Fuck.
Ghost steps forward. He’s looking right at me, not sparing Noah a single glance.
When he speaks, his voice is a full-on savage growl.
“I will paint this entire street with his blood.”