Chapter Twenty-One
SHE MOVED BEFORE I could blink.
One second she was across the room, glass bird clenched tight. The next she slammed into me—hard, heat and bones and breath punching the air out of my chest.
I froze.
This wasn’t casual. It landed heavy, like it meant something. Instinct roared—shield her, hold her, lock it down before the world could steal it back.
Slow. Careful. I wrapped her up like she was a live wire. Not crushing, not loose. Just tight enough to say mine.
She fit against me anyway. Small, trembling, heartbeat jackhammering through my ribs. The glass bird pressed cold into my side. Her hair carried strawberries and her natural scent, the kind of smell that gets in your blood and stays.
She burrowed in, forehead jammed into my cut like she meant to bury herself there. So I let her. Held on. Didn’t let go. Every nerve wired hot, terrified I’d fuck it up and she’d slip away.
This hug—no words, no bullshit—hit harder than anything she’d given me. Not the looks. Not even her voice. This was real. Raw. And it gutted me.
Little by little, the tension bled out of her.
Not surrender. Not weak. Just easing, breath for breath, until she matched me.
My arms tightened on instinct, protective, steady.
I slowed my own breathing, gave her a rhythm to catch.
Became the tether. That’s what men like me do when we mean to keep someone alive.
Time went strange. Could’ve been a minute. Could’ve been forever.
When she finally pulled back, it was slow, painful, like she had to pry herself loose finger by finger. Her eyes hit mine last—wet, fierce, so alive it knocked the air out of me.
In that moment, she was mine. She knew it.
The floor creaked.
My body locked, every muscle ready to shield, to fight. Then I saw who it was.
Elara slipped into the doorway like she belonged in silence. A mug in her hand, steam curling up soft and lazy.
“Hey.” Her voice was quiet, not command, not judgment. Still scraped raw against the moment. Wren had just handed me something sacred, and now someone else stood in the aftertaste of it.
I almost told her to leave. To give it back to us. But Wren didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. She turned her gaze on Elara—calm, open, steady in a way that shut my mouth.
Elara crossed slow, careful steps. Set the mug down with a clink too loud in the hush. “Chamomile,” she said, eyes on Wren. “Good for the mind.”
Wren’s grip eased around the bird. Shoulders dropped half an inch. Not much, but enough.
Elara didn’t crowd her. Didn’t press. Just set her hand on the table, close but not touching. “You don’t have to drink it,” she murmured. “Sometimes it’s enough just knowing someone thought to bring it.”
Wren looked at the cup. Looked back. No words, just a nod.
The air shifted. A calm I couldn’t give her. Because Elara had something I didn’t: soft hands, quiet certainty. No leather, no iron, no blood. She could offer Wren a kind of peace I’d never touch.
Didn’t mean I had to like it.
Elara’s eyes cut to me, measuring. I stared back until she turned away. “You can talk to me,” she told Wren. “Anytime.”
Wren didn’t answer her. She looked at me.
That look burned hotter than the hug. Like she needed to know I was still here. Still hers to count on.
I gave her a small nod. A promise. She blinked slow in reply, like accepting a challenge. The air steadied, sharp as a storm about to break.
Elara rose, smoothed her dress. Paused in the doorway. “Warden’s looking for you.”
My jaw ticked. Of course he was. Business never waited.
I looked back at Wren. She clutched the bird in both hands, eyes wide and trusting, cutting through the noise of the world until only she was left. “I’ll be back,” I said low. A vow.
Something flickered in her eyes. Not refusal. Not surrender. Just something that asked me to stay. She shifted her shoulders, close enough to a nod. Then she lifted a book, held it up in a small, awkward promise she’d be all right.
I let that carry me. Gave her one last look, burning hot in my chest. Then I turned for the hall.
The door clicked shut behind me. Sharp as a gunshot.
Noise slammed back in, laughter, glasses clinking, voices riding high. My boots hit the floor heavy, every step dragging me from what I’d left in that room and back toward the mess waiting for me.
Brothers glanced up. Curiosity, suspicion, the usual shit. I ignored it. Let them look. Let them talk.
In the main room, Wreck tipped his chin. Warden stood by the pool table, Rex talking fast, adrenaline still dripping from his voice. Warden’s eyes cut to me, sharp, and the weight of business snapped back into place.
I rolled my shoulders, shoved the memory of Wren down deep where no one could touch it. Contraband. For the first time in too long to remember, I had something to fight for that wasn’t territory or profit. Something small. Something raw. Something bigger than all of it.
I stepped into the ring of men, voice steady even when my chest burned.
“Warden.”
Time to be the wall. Time to be the teeth.