Chapter 7
Emily
Everything feels different when I wake up. I can’t remember why, then the events of yesterday suddenly flood my mind. The fear, the certainty that I was about to die. But that’s not what’s affected me. I guess the only thing that has truly changed is me. And all it took was one visit from Onyx.
I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him. But I thought he saw me as a little sister. However, last night… I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that he wanted to kiss me. Even after sleeping on it, I still feel changed. I thought about it all night, wishing I had said yes when he offered to stay.
I’m finishing tidying up the cabin when there’s a knock at the door and I freeze.
A voice calls out, “I have a delivery from Onyx.”
A quick look out the window reveals a young prospect with a box. I don’t know him, but since he’s wearing a Sons of Rage cut, I trust that Onyx sent him. Opening the door, I say, “It’s not my birthday. Any idea why Onyx is sending me a package?”
I swear to God the prospect smirks for a second before remembering he shouldn’t be doing that. He clears his throat and replies respectfully, “Don’t know, ma’am. I’m just the delivery person.”
I take the package from him with a smile. “Thanks for dropping it off. I guess I’ll figure it out by seeing what’s inside.”
He snaps a pic of me holding it and takes off.
When I open it on my dining room table, it turns out to be a brand-new laptop, factory sealed in its own box, along with a new phone. There is a sticky note that says, ‘For work’. And a little x with Onyx’s name below.
I quickly set the phone up, linking it to my old number, and send Onyx a text.
Me: Thanks for fronting me the tech I need to work. I’ll pay you back ASAP.
A few seconds later, I get a text back.
Onyx: You know I’ve always got your back, girl.
My heart squeezes because that’s what he used to call me when we were little. And because it’s good to know he’s on team Emily.
I carefully unpack the laptop and get it set up. After it’s ready, I settle down to work. But, for some reason, I keep catching myself listening for footsteps that never come.
I try to fall back into my routine, but my concentration slips whenever the wind shifts or there’s a noise outside. I read the same email three times before realizing I haven’t absorbed any of it. I keep reminding myself the asshole is sitting in jail. He can’t get to me.
But that doesn’t stop me jumping whenever I hear any unexplained noise.
An unexpected call comes mid-morning, while I’m trying to force myself through a spreadsheet that should have taken ten minutes and is instead taking hours.
The number on the screen isn’t one I know, and for a second, I consider letting it roll to voicemail.
I almost set the phone back down, but something in me hesitates. I swipe to answer.
The voice on the other end is polite. The woman introduces herself as someone from the prosecuting attorney’s office.
My stomach drops before she finishes the first sentence.
She explains that she’s required by California law to notify me that the man who forced his way into my home has been granted bail.
I can’t get my head around what she’s saying until I remember Detective Morgan warning me that he might get bail.
I’ll admit that I thought he was just covering his bases by telling us that.
The reality is totally different. I’m stunned that asshole was granted bail less than twenty-four hours after breaking into my home and holding me hostage.
“He was released from jail pending trial.”
The words sound unreal at first. When it sinks in, fear and panic spike in my mind. He is out in the community. He could be anywhere, even on his way to settle a score with me or Onyx.
I grip the edge of my desk with one hand, as she continues explaining all the details.
But the only piece I cling to is that he’s wearing a monitoring device on his ankle.
That means they know where he is at all times, so he likely won’t risk trying to come here.
I manage to thank her before she ends the call, though I feel numb inside.
The moment the line disconnects, my anxiety spikes again. I begin to pace as I think about this latest turn of events. He knows where I live. He knows I’m alone.
I’m vulnerable out here all by myself. I walk over and double check the door is locked. I move from room to room, checking that all the windows are locked as well, even the one Onyx used to gain access to my cabin to rescue me.
I keep telling myself I’m safe, that he won’t come back. But none of it settles the panic building in my mind. I can’t stop thinking about how quickly things went wrong the last time, and how easily they could go wrong again now that he’s no longer behind bars.
***
I try and get on with my life. The bills won’t pay themselves, and thanks to Onyx’s club’s gift I can continue working. But I can’t stop the anxiety.
Not just for myself. Memories of Onyx’s face as he beat the intruder go through my mind. He could have killed a man because of me. He and his brothers are good men, but I can’t involve them in my life anymore. So when he offered to drop in to see me, I told him I was busy.
The excuses came easy.
I try to mean it when I say I’m busy. I tell myself it’s practical, sensible, even kind. Distance is a form of protection. That’s the story I cling to as I lock the door to the world and hide out in my cabin.
Work becomes my refuge and my punishment.
I throw myself into it with a ferocity that surprises even me.
Early mornings bleed into late nights. I take on extra jobs, anything that keeps my hands busy and my mind occupied.
Paperwork, calls, invoices—mundane tasks become lifelines.
If I’m focused on work, I don’t have to think about the sound of my own breathing when panic creeps in. If I’m exhausted, maybe I won’t dream.
But exhaustion has its own sharp edges.
Every unexpected noise makes my heart slam against my ribs.
A twig cracking outside. The wind blowing over the wooden shingle roof at night causes me to freeze and lie awake listening, counting, and waiting for something terrible to happen.
My body hasn’t caught up with my logic. It doesn’t care that Charles Brennan is gone. It remembers.
Almost two weeks pass like this—me moving through my days with a brittle kind of determination. I function. I hide out in my cabin like a fugitive.
At night, the silence is unbearable. Still, sleep comes in fragments.
When I close my eyes, I see flashes of Onyx’s face, twisted with a rage I’d never seen before.
His fists. The way his body moved like something unleashed.
The terrifying knowledge of how far he would have gone if he hadn’t been stopped.
All because of me.
The weight of that presses down on my chest until it’s hard to breathe.
I replay the moment over and over, rewriting it in my head.
What if I hadn’t been there? What if I hadn’t needed saving?
What if I hadn’t brought danger to his door, to his life, to his club?
Onyx lives on the edge of the law as it is.
One wrong move, one charge too many, and everything his family built could come crashing down.
I can’t be that risk.
So I don’t answer his messages right away. Then I don’t answer them at all. When my phone buzzes and his name lights up the screen, my stomach twists painfully. I let it ring out, telling myself he’ll understand. That he’s busy too. That this distance is temporary.
The lies get easier the more I repeat them.
It’s not the quiet that hurts—it’s the absence of him.
He doesn’t know it, but I know he used to come and check on me regularly after my grandfather died.
I’d hear his bike approaching and sometimes see him standing guard, like a silent sentry.
To some it might have seemed creepy, but to me it made me feel less alone.
I’ve not seen him since the night Brennan forced his way into my cabin.
I miss him with an ache that feels physical.
I tell myself that surviving doesn’t always mean being brave. Sometimes it means being stubborn. Sometimes it means choosing the harder path because it’s the safer one for everyone else. I remind myself that I’ve handled things on my own before. I can do it again.
After almost two weeks, I feel like I’m going mad. Then my phone rings. My heart jumps, thinking that it’s Onyx, but my eyebrows knit when I see it’s Queenie. I answer.
“Okay, honey. Enough’s enough,” she says by way of introduction.
“Hello, Queenie.”
“You’re ignoring my boy. Wanna tell me what that’s all about?” she asks.
Onyx’s mom is a formidable figure. Though I suppose to be de facto queen of an MC you have to have balls of steel. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.
She lets out a sigh. “Emily. Don’t kid a kidder. You went through some shit, believe me I know what it’s like to feel like you’re helpless, but shutting yourself away won’t help. Talk to me.”
It all comes out then, along with the tears that start streaming down my face. “They let him out. He’s on house arrest but what if he finds a way around it? I’m so scared, I don’t know what to do,” I sob.
“Oh honey. Why didn’t you call? Onyx would help you,” Queenie says, her voice laced with concern.
“I know,” I say. “But I don’t want him getting involved. I thought he was going to kill Brennan. I don’t want that on my conscience. You’re all good people. You don’t need my shit.”
She gives a dismissive laugh. “Sons of Rage is an outlaw club. You think a bit of trouble’s gonna scare off my boys?”
“That’s not it,” I protest. “It’s just…” I stop. I don’t know what to say.
“Is it being alone that’s worrying you?” she asks.
“Being alone. Not being able to pay my bills because I’m scared to go into town and meet new clients.
Thinking back to that day and what could have happened if Onyx hadn’t turned up when he did.
Take your pick…” I pause, realizing how pathetic I sound.
“I know I should just pull myself together, but I can’t. ”
There’s silence for a few moments and then she speaks. “Have you been given a trial date yet?”
I answer, “No.”
There’s another silence. “What if I said I think I know a way to keep you safe, and help out the club at the same time?”
Okay, I’m intrigued now. “Tell me,” I say, suddenly feeling like this spitfire of a woman might hold the answer to my prayers.