Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Prime
The clubhouse felt different.
Quieter.
Tenser.
Like the walls were listening.
The guys weren’t saying it, but everyone was thinking it: if the killer had killed Bernice and hurt Bob, then he’d been close.
Too close.
I didn’t like that.
I didn’t like a lot of things lately.
I sat outside Shay’s door and leaned back in the shitty wooden chair I’d dragged there the night before. The hallway was narrow and dim, tucked away from the noise of the main room.
The door behind me creaked a little, and my hand dropped to the knife at my thigh before I realized.
Of course.
It was her.
“Prime?” Her voice was small. Tired, but not broken.
Not yet.
I straightened and opened the door an inch. “Yeah?”
Her eyes peeked through the crack. “Can I… come out? I’m not trying to roam or anything. I just… if I lie there any longer, my brain’s going to start inventing problems.”
It was half past two, and I thought she had been sleeping. Obviously not.
“You hungry?” I asked.
She nodded. “Maybe.”
“Thirsty?”
“I could go for a drink.”
“Lightheaded?”
She made a face. “Do I look like someone who faints easily?”
“You look like someone who overthinks easily.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I don’t overthink.”
“You just said you were.”
She huffed. “I’m going to go sit on the couch in the common room before you say something else insulting.”
I opened the door all the way and stood. She brushed by me, and even though she didn’t touch me, I still felt it. The air shifted around her. Warmer. Sharper.
She wore a baggy old sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. Too big. Too soft. Too… vulnerable-looking.
It made me feel things I shouldn’t feel.
I followed her into the common room. The place was empty except for Lost, who was passed out on the recliner with a blanket over his face.
“He didn’t make it far,” Shay whispered.
“Lost never does.” His road name fit him well. Lost just always seemed… lost. Like he didn’t know where he was going.
She gave me a tiny smile, and damn if it didn’t hit like a punch.
I motioned toward the couch. “Sit.”
She sat.
I grabbed water from the fridge and tossed it to her when I was close enough. She caught it with both hands like she thought it might explode.
“You good?” I asked.
She twisted the cap. “Can I just lie and say yes?”
“You don’t lie with me.”
Her throat bobbed. “Then no. I’m not good.”
I nodded. “Then you’re normal.”
She let out a shaky exhale. “Did the others say anything? About me?”
Shay had stuck to me like glue all day. I had expected Pearl to make an appearance at some point, but she hadn’t.
“They said what needed saying,” I answered. “Nothing more.”
No one was bringing up Bernice’s name out loud today. Not yet. Anchor was holding himself together by sheer force of will. Skull was cracking jokes to act like everything was fine. Vin was in silent attack mode. Wannabe was shadowing him like a guard dog.
Everyone handled grief differently.
I handled it by focusing on the threat.
Threat was easier.
Shay stared at her water bottle. “Do you think he’s watching right now? The guy…”
I sat on the far end of the couch but angled toward her. Close enough. Not too close.
“We’ve got the perimeter locked down,” I said. “Extra cameras. Extra patrols. He shows his face, he’s dead.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
I studied her. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“I think he’s already watched you and everyone in that file for a long time.” I didn’t sugarcoat it. Couldn’t. “The picture in the file wasn’t grabbed off the internet or a fake. It was taken while you were working. Someone got close.”
She swallowed and stared forward like she was trying not to panic. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Want me to lie instead?”
Her eyes connected with mine. “Don’t lie with me, either.”
“Then that’s the truth.”
She sank deeper into the couch cushions. “I wish I could remember… whatever that night was.”
“That’ll change,” I said. “Memories don’t stay buried forever.”
“Let’s hope not,” she whispered. She quirked her lips. “You said… earlier… that I’m not fragile.” She didn’t look at me. “You still think that?”
“Yeah,” I said immediately.
“Why?”
“You’re sitting in a clubhouse full of strangers with guns, with some psycho on the loose, and you’re not curled into a ball under a blanket. That’s enough of a reason.”
She huffed out a breath. “I’m curled into a ball on the inside.”
“Good thing I’m watching your outside then.”
She blinked at me.
Then… she laughed.
Soft.
Short.
But real.
It was the first real laugh I’d heard from her, and it did something weird to my chest.
“Well,” she said, “that’s comforting. I’m like a stress ravioli and you’re guarding the pasta shell.”
I stared at her. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered and rubbed her forehead. “I think I’m losing it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Definitely losing it.”
She reached over and punched me in the shoulder.
Light, but it surprised the hell out of me.
I smirked. “You hitting me now?”
“You deserved it.”
“Maybe.”
Her gaze held mine for a beat too long.
And something hot moved under my skin.
Not lust.
Well, not just lust.
Something else.
Something worse.
I cleared my throat and looked away before I did something I’d regret.
“TV,” I said, already reaching for the remote like I wasn’t fighting off kissing her. “We’re watching something until you crash.”
“Wow,” she murmured, “romantic.”
I gripped the remote tight in my hand. “It’s not supposed to be romantic.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m not.”
She smirked like she’d won something. Whatever. I was not going to rise to that.
I thumbed through the apps on the screen until I found some random action movie. The kind with terrible dialogue and explosions every ten minutes, then tossed the remote on the coffee table.
“Perfect,” she said. “Loud enough to distract me. Bad enough that I won’t have to think.”
“Exactly.”
She slid closer without making a big deal of it, but it was enough that her knee brushed mine. She didn’t pull away. I didn’t either.
The movie started.
She shifted toward me, and I didn’t move.
Somehow, don’t ask me how, her head found my chest. My arm found the back of the couch behind her. Her legs curled up under her, and she brushed against my thigh.
I pretended it didn’t make my pulse pick up.
She pretended she didn’t notice.
A minute passed. Then five. Then—
HRRRRF!
Lost, from the recliner, let out a snore so violent the whole damn chair vibrated.
Shay jerked. I startled. On screen, someone got blown through a window.
We both burst out laughing.
The real kind of laughter. The kind that shoves tension straight out of your ribs.
“Holy crap,” she whispered and covered her mouth. “Is he alive?”
“No,” I said. “Pretty sure he died fifteen minutes ago and the snoring is just muscle memory.”
She giggled into my shirt, and her forehead brushed my shoulder. “That’s so mean.”
“It’s accurate.”
Lost snorted again, somehow louder this time, like he was proving my point.
Shay shook with another laugh, softer now, and the sound relaxed something in me I didn’t even realize was wound that tight.
She got quieter.
Her breathing evened out.
Her head went heavier against my chest.
I glanced down.
Her eyes were half-lidded and fighting sleep the way a kid fights bedtime.
“You tired?” I asked.
“No,” she mumbled.
She was definitely tired.
“Good, neither am I.”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes slipped shut completely, and her hand curled lightly around the fabric of my shirt like she didn’t trust the couch not to swallow her whole.
My arm settled around her.
Her legs draped lightly against mine.
The movie flickered blue light over the room, making everything soft, blurred, quiet.
Lost snored again.
Shay didn’t even twitch.
Her breaths grew slow. Warm. Familiar.
Her fingers loosened their grip on my shirt and went slack against my chest.
She’d fallen asleep on me.
Of course she had.
And of course… I didn’t mind.
Not even a little.
I rested my hand carefully over hers, keeping it there. Not touching too much, but not too little.
Just for that moment, she wasn’t scared, and neither was I.