Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Prime
Shay didn’t sleep.
I knew she wasn’t sleeping because every damn time I shifted in the chair outside her door, I heard her move too. Light steps across the carpet, the springs of the bed, and soft breaths she tried to keep quiet.
She wasn’t crying.
Not panicking.
Not breaking down.
Just awake.
Too awake.
When her door finally clicked open, it wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. I noticed immediately.
I lifted my head. “Can’t sleep?”
She stood in the doorway wearing the same oversized sweatshirt, hair pulled up in a messy knot that somehow made her look even smaller than she already was. Her eyes weren’t red, but they were tired, big and dark with exhaustion she didn’t want to admit.
“I’m trying,” she said softly. “But my brain is… loud.”
“Yeah.” I stood. “Come on.”
“Where?” she asked, surprised.
“Somewhere quiet.”
She blinked. “Isn’t my room quiet?”
“No,” I said. “It’s loud inside your head. That’s different.”
She wrapped her arms around her stomach like she was holding herself together. “Oh.”
I headed down the hallway and motioned for her to follow.
The clubhouse was at half-volume. It was half past nine, and Skull and Wannabe were wrestling over a controller in the living room.
Vin was in the corner polishing a rifle with the precision of a surgeon while Anchor and Pearl were sitting at the bar close together.
I took Shay down a side hall that led to the maintenance room, the laundry, and one weird supply closet no one entered voluntarily because it smelled like bleach and death at the same time.
She came quietly, barefoot, and her hands tucked into her sleeves. When she reached me, she tilted her head. “What are we doing?”
“Breathing,” I said. “That’s your job for the next ten minutes.”
She gave me a side-eye. “I’m pretty sure I’ve mastered breathing. You’re going to supervise me breathing?”
“Yes.”
“That’s… weird.”
“That’s what you signed up for,” I said. “Well. That’s what you signed up for the second your picture showed up in that file.”
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but she didn’t.
Instead, she stepped into the laundry room when I opened the door.
It was quiet. Warm from the dryer running someone’s load. Dim because only one bulb worked. It smelled like detergent and cotton. Not a bad smell, just… peaceful. Forgotten.
She looked around. “This is cozy.”
“It’s a laundry room,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, well, it’s cozier than my brain.”
I didn’t smile, but I felt something in my chest loosen.
Shay climbed onto one of the folding tables and tucked her knees under her.
I stood nearby but not too close. She seemed like she needed a pocket of space right now.
A few seconds passed.
Then she sighed. “I keep thinking that if I close my eyes, I’ll see something bad. Or I’ll remember something I’m not ready for.”
“You don’t need to close them,” I said.
“But I should.”
“No,” I said. “You should rest. That’s different.”
She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “What if I remember something and it’s horrible? Or what if it explains everything and it’s even worse?”
I crossed my arms. “Then we deal with it.”
“We.”
“Yeah,” I said.
She stared down at her hands. “You keep saying that like it’s a promise.”
“It is.”
Her breath caught.
Shit.
Too much. Too honest. Too soon.
I shifted my weight and looked away, pretending to examine the dryer like it was capable of telling me secrets.
She hopped down from the table and landed softly on her feet. “Prime.”
I didn’t look at her.
Not at first.
But Shay wasn’t the kind of person you could ignore, not when she was standing in front of you with that look on her face like she was trying to understand you and herself at the same time.
“Why are you helping me so much?” she asked. “Really? Don’t tell me it’s just your job. I’m not stupid.”
I clenched my jaw. “Didn’t say you were.”
“But you’re acting like there’s more.” She stepped closer. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. “I’m doing my job.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s more. You’re… you’re different with me. You’re softer.”
“I’m not soft,” I snapped.
“Soft-adjacent,” she corrected.
Fuck, she was impossible.
“Shay—”
She shut her eyes for a second, exhaled, then opened them again slowly. “Every time I look at you, it’s like you’re… carrying something. Holding something back. And I—”
Her voice shook.
That did it.
I stepped forward and caught her elbow before she could wrap her arms around herself again.
“You don’t need to figure me out right now,” I said. “You already have enough going on in your head.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But you’re in my head too.”
I froze.
Her eyes widened slightly like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She swallowed and whispered, “Sorry. That sounded weird.”
“No,” I said. “Not weird.” I cleared my throat. “Just… unexpected.”
She took in a shaky breath. “Can you stay with me for a little?”
There wasn’t a version of reality where I would’ve said no.
I nodded and leaned back against the washing machine. She stood beside me. Close enough that our arms brushed.
Her breath came out slow. Then slower.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t push.
We just stood there together in the hum of the machines.
After a few long minutes, she murmured, “I remember the water.”
I turned my head slightly and saw her eyes were closed. “Yeah?”
“It’s dark,” she said. “And there’s a… light? Not a flashlight, more like… glow. On the surface.” Her fingers curled. “There’s screaming.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“There’s a woman,” she whispered. “I think she was calling for someone. And a man yelling. And my mom pulled me away. Hard. Like she was scared.”
Her voice broke.
I reached out slowly. Slow enough she could pull away if she wanted, and placed my hand over hers.
She didn’t move.
Not away, not closer.
Just… accepted it.
“I don’t know if it’s real,” she whispered and opened her eyes. “Or if I’m imagining it.”
“It’s real,” I said. “Memories aren’t fake.”
Her eyes glistened. “What if remembering makes everything worse?”
“Then you won’t be alone in it.”
She took a breath, then leaned her head against my shoulder.
Just lightly. Barely there.
I didn’t breathe for a second, then I relaxed into it.
“Prime?” she murmured.
“Yeah?”
“You scare me a little.”
My stomach tightened. “Why?”
“Because I don’t even know you,” she said softly. “But I trust you. I’m safe with you.”
My hand tightened around hers.
She trusted me.
She shouldn’t.
She absolutely should.
Both felt true.
“You’re safe with me,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
We stayed like that for minutes, maybe more, until the dryer buzzed and she startled so hard she practically jumped out of her skin.
I caught her waist before she could stumble over.
Her hands flew to my chest and gripped the front of my cut.
She stared up at me as her breath hitched, and her lips parted.
My pulse went wild.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“You’re okay.”
I didn’t let go of her waist.
She didn’t let go of my cut.
Her eyes flicked down to my mouth.
I shouldn’t.
I really, really shouldn’t.
But she looked up at me like she was trying to decide if I was dangerous or if she was safe, and I knew the answer was both.
“Prime,” she breathed.
I leaned in.
Just an inch.
Maybe less.
And then—
The laundry room door banged open, and Skull stuck his head inside.
“Hey, oh SHIT, sorry, sorry, holy crap, I didn’t see anything! Continue whatever not-kissing thing you weren’t doing!”
Shay jumped, and her hands flew away from me.
I stepped back, glaring so hard that Skull physically flinched.
“I’m leaving now!” Skull stammered. “Also, let me know when you’re done because I’m on my last pair of underwear!”
“Get out,” I growled.
He disappeared.
Fast.
Shay pressed a hand to her chest. “I swear, this place is going to give me a heart attack.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Yeah. Me too.”
She looked at me then, really looked, and something soft and warm filled her expression.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
“For being here.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
If I said anything, it would come out wrong. Too much. Too honest.
Instead, I jerked my chin toward the door. “Come on. You need fresh air.”
She followed me outside onto the small back porch behind the clubhouse.
Shay wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s peaceful.”
“For now,” I said. “The haunted house is going to start up next weekend, along with the ghost boat tours. We’re working on getting eyes on every inch of the island before then.
People in town are starting to talk about us being shut down, so we need to get back to looking like business as usual.
And when we do open, you don’t go out here without me. ”
She glanced over. “You guys are going to open up even with that crazy person out there?” she asked.
“We don’t have much choice,” I sighed. “We don’t need the cops sniffing around here. We’re going to catch the psycho doing this.”
“But what if….”
“What?”
Shay sighed. “What if… what if this person hurts someone else before you guys figure it out? Don’t you think the police could help? Handle this quickly?”
I shook my head. “We’re cordial with the police, but we don’t want them sniffing around the island.
This is happening to the club, so it’s club business.
Once you cross over the bridge, we are the police.
” My voice dropped low. Rough. Certain. “This asshole is going to regret messing with the club and with you.”
Shay swallowed. “Because… I’m club business?”
“No,” I said. “Because you’re mine to protect.”
Her breath stuttered.
“You don’t even know me,” she said.
“I know enough.”
She shook her head slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she should step closer or run. “Prime,” she whispered, “I’m scared.”
“I know,” I said. “But I’m not.”
She blinked. “You’re not?”
“No,” I said. “Because you’re here. And I’m here. And nothing’s getting past me.”
The wind shifted and blew her hair across her cheek. She tucked it back, eyes still on mine, full of a trust I didn’t deserve but would die to protect.
I didn’t touch her.
Didn’t kiss her.
Didn’t cross a line we weren’t ready for.
But the air between us felt charged, alive, like something was waking up.
Shay let out a breath, quiet and shaky. “What now?” she asked.
I kept my gaze on her. “Now? You stay with me.”
“And then?”
“And then,” I said, “we get ready.”
“For what?”
“For the next move he makes.”
Shay crossed her arms tighter around herself but didn’t look away.
“And me?” she whispered. “What’s my next move?”
I stepped closer, not touching her, not crowding, but enough that my heat wrapped around her.
“Your only move,” I said, “stay alive.”