Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Ophelia
The sandbox was Razor's idea. He'd built it himself last weekend, measuring and cutting the lumber with the same precision he applied to everything else in his life.
I watched Dante dig his small fingers into the clean, white sand, his face alight with concentration as he packed it into his blue plastic bucket.
The afternoon sun warmed my skin, but I couldn't relax into it, couldn't let the simple joy of my son playing wash over me.
My eyes kept drifting to the tree line beyond our fence, to the neighbor's upstairs window with its partially drawn blinds, to the shadows that seemed to shift when nothing should be moving.
"Look, Mommy! I'm making a castle for Razor-saurus!" Dante upended his bucket, carefully lifting it to reveal a nearly perfect sand tower. His pride radiated from him in waves, his small shoulders straightening as he admired his handiwork.
"It's perfect, baby," I said, forcing warmth into my voice. "He's going to love it."
Our backyard was modest but meticulously maintained—another surprise about Razor I hadn't expected.
The grass was neatly trimmed, flower beds lined the fence with early summer blooms, and a small patio held a grill and seating area where Razor had promised we'd have dinner once the weather settled fully into summer.
He'd thought of everything for Dante: the sandbox, a small swing hanging from the sturdy oak tree, even a patch of dirt designated as Dante's "garden" where they'd planted sunflower seeds together yesterday morning.
So much care and planning from a man I barely knew weeks ago. A man who now wore my ring and called my son his own.
My ears registered the silence before my conscious mind did—the complete absence of birdsong. The neighborhood had been full of chirping and calling when we'd first come outside, a suburban symphony that had faded so gradually I hadn't noticed until it was gone. Birds don't go silent for no reason.
My pulse quickened, a familiar tightness spreading across my chest as my eyes swept the yard more urgently.
Nothing seemed obviously wrong. The fence remained intact, six feet of solid wood providing privacy and a measure of security.
The back gate was still locked—I'd checked it twice before letting Dante play outside.
The neighbors' houses stood quiet in the afternoon sun, windows reflecting light, curtains still.
Yet the atmosphere had changed. The entire mood felt different now.
"This part is the dungeon," Dante explained, digging a moat around his castle. "For the bad guys that Razor-saurus fights."
I smiled automatically, the expression feeling stiff and unnatural on my face. "That's smart. A moat will keep the bad guys from escaping."
A branch moved in the copse of trees beyond our back fence—just a slight sway against the stillness of everything around it. No wind stirred the air; the day was breathless and hot. I squinted, trying to convince myself it was a squirrel or bird too small to see from this distance.
My fingers dug into the wooden edge of the sandbox, splinters threatening my skin.
Tyler was methodical. Patient. He wouldn't come himself—he'd send someone to watch first, to confirm our location before making any move.
My parents would be the same, gathering information before striking.
They all thought the same way, believed in the same cold efficiency.
"Mommy, you're not watching," Dante said, his small voice pulling me back to him. His lower lip pushed out slightly, disappointment clouding his eyes.
“I'm sorry, baby. Show me again?" I released my death grip on the sandbox edge and leaned closer, forcing myself to focus on his small hands shaping the sand.
A flash caught my eye—metal reflecting sunlight from the tree line. Binoculars? A camera lens? A gun sight? I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
"See? I'm making a special room for Razor-saurus here," Dante continued, oblivious to my distraction. "And this is where you and Daddy can sit."
Daddy. The word still startled me every time Dante used it, so easily accepting Razor in this role that Tyler had disdained. I nodded, not trusting my voice, and glanced again toward the trees. Nothing moved now. No more flashes. Had I imagined it?
My shoulders hunched involuntarily, body trying to make itself smaller, less of a target.
I caught myself chewing my lower lip and forced myself to stop—a tell Tyler had always mocked, had learned to recognize as a sign of my fear.
I pressed my hands flat against my thighs to keep them from trembling, fingernails digging into the denim of my jeans.
"Play with me?" Dante asked, offering me a small plastic shovel. His eyes were wide with hope, his entire being radiating the simple desire for his mother's attention.
"Of course," I said, sliding into the sandbox beside him, keeping my body between him and the tree line. My smile felt stretched tight across my face, a poor imitation of happiness. "What should I build?"
"A garage for Daddy's motorcycle!" He pointed to an empty space beside his castle. "Right here."
I nodded, mechanically scooping sand, my eyes darting up every few seconds to scan our surroundings.
The silence pressed against my ears, unnatural and heavy.
No birds. No distant traffic. Even the usual sounds of the neighborhood—lawnmowers, children playing, dogs barking—seemed muted, as if the world was holding its breath along with me.
My instincts had kept us alive when we'd fled Tyler. Had warned me when his moods were shifting before he showed any outward sign. Had alerted me to danger countless times before. They'd never been wrong.
"Mommy, are you okay?" Dante's small hand touched my arm, his eyes studying my face with that unnerving perceptiveness children sometimes have.
"Just hot," I lied, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "We'll go inside for a cold drink soon, okay?"
He nodded, returning to his castle, but the worried glance he shot me revealed he wasn't entirely convinced. He'd become too good at reading tension, at sensing when adults around him were on edge. Another consequence of the life we'd fled.
I shaped sand into the semblance of a garage, my body angled to keep the entire yard in my peripheral vision.
Every instinct screamed for me to grab Dante and run inside, to lock doors and draw blinds and call Razor.
But I wouldn't frighten my son unless I was certain.
He deserved these moments of normal childhood, of simply playing in a sandbox without fear.
But I knew what I felt. Someone was watching us. Someone had found us.
And I needed to get my son to safety before they made their move.
Razor
I tapped my calculator, double-checking the week's receipts from the motorcycle shop against the spreadsheets on my laptop.
The numbers weren't adding up, and I suspected Socket had been sloppy with the intake forms again.
Typical. Guy could rebuild a Harley blindfolded but couldn't be bothered to write down part numbers correctly.
The clubhouse hummed with afternoon activity around me – Loch and Screwball arguing over a pool game in the corner, J.D.
stocking the bar for tonight, the prospect's boots squeaking on the worn floorboards as he mopped.
Just another Tuesday until my phone buzzed against the table, Ophelia's name lighting up the screen.
"Hey," I answered, leaning back in my chair and pinching the bridge of my nose. The sight of her name still gave me that strange flutter I was getting used to but couldn't quite name. "How's the sandbox working out?"
"Good. Dante loves it." Her voice came through clear but tight, like a guitar string tuned a half-step too high. Most people wouldn't have noticed. But I wasn't most people, and in the week since Vegas, I'd learned to read the subtle harmonics of her voice.
"Sounds like you've got a lot on your mind." I closed my laptop, giving her my full attention as I glanced at the club's wall clock. I'd planned to be home in an hour anyway.
A pause. Then, "Probably nothing."
"Tell me anyway." I kept my tone casual, but I was already noting the hesitation, cataloging it alongside the strain in her voice.
"I just... something feels off." She lowered her voice, probably not wanting Dante to overhear. "We're outside in the backyard, and it's too quiet. The birds stopped singing about twenty minutes ago."
My spine straightened, body responding to the threat before my mind fully processed it. Birds going silent was nature's alarm system. "What else?"
"I saw movement in the trees beyond the fence.
And sunlight reflected off glass or metal—I couldn't tell which.
" Her words came faster now, as if admitting one fear had cracked open the rest. "I know how it sounds.
There's no one visible, no strange cars that I can see from here. I'm probably being paranoid."
"You're not being paranoid." I was already on my feet, my body shifting seamlessly into the alert state I knew too well from years of club business going sideways. "Your instincts kept you and Dante alive before you met me. I trust them."
The clubhouse faded to background noise as my focus narrowed to Ophelia's voice and the potential threat to my family. My family. The thought no longer felt strange or foreign—just fact.
"You've been watching the yard. Any cars parked on the street that don't belong?" I kept my voice level as I moved toward the bar where I'd left my cut, sliding it on with one hand while keeping the phone pressed to my ear.
"No, nothing like that. The neighborhood looks normal. Just... the silence. The movement in the trees. And—" she hesitated again.
"And what, Ophelia?" I pressed, signals firing through my system, readying for action.